David hates it, hates playing for a team where giving up is expected, and he can see the mutinous look on Kurmazov’s face as well, but everyone else seems like they’ve checked out, looking ahead to when their families are here, when the season’s over, an end to another disappointing year, the roster spreading out and then getting shaken up again, because nothing’s working, so what’s the point?

David tries anyway, because it’s his job, because he can’t not, and his line blows past the sleepy Panthers defence — they were probably given the same awful speech — sling in a goal, and then tap in another. It’s 2-0 by the end of the first, and with everyone playing the lacklustre game they are, that’s where it sits at the close of the third.

The locker room is loose, proud, and jocular after the game, as if anything other than David’s line and their goaltending contributed to the final score. David bites down the thought. He pats Knutsen on the shoulder on his way to the showers because he genuinely earned the shutout, even if the opposing offence was pathetic, since the Islanders D was as lazy as the Panthers’ was.

When he exits the locker room he’s expecting Jake to be lounging against the far wall, and when he isn’t, he tries to push down the feeling of disappointment for a moment before he pulls his phone out, refusing to just swallow it.

Being a sore loser? he texts, sends it after a moment of pause, because Jake isn’t the kind of person who would be, and he’ll probably just find it funny.

have to go to bed early, Jake texts back. big date tmrw :).

David rolls his eyes and calls him before he can rethink that either.

“What’s up?” Jake asks, enough noise in the background that it’s clear he’s still in the locker room.

“Are you seriously just going back to the hotel?” David asks.

“I don’t know,” Jake says. “Do you have a better offer?”

“Come get a drink?” David asks. “Or food. Or whatever.”

“Are you asking me out?” Jake says, sounding delighted.

“What do you think?” David asks, instead of answering.

“Meet you the usual place?” Jake asks. “Gimme ten.”

It takes him twelve. A number of Islanders filter out before he arrives, eyeing David askance when they see him standing outside the room, and he’s fidgety, uncomfortable by the time Jake finally gets there. He tugs David into a loose hug that’s the norm in hockey playing circles, but it still gets a raised eyebrow from Eisler on his way out because David doesn’t submit to hugs except on the ice. He used to go stiff the second Eisler would sling an arm around him, obvious enough that Eisler doesn't now, thankfully.