William Lyt goes out onto the ice with a greater need for violent affirmation than ever. David pretends not to understand, but of course he does, all too well. He didn’t become a hockey coach by accident; he knows what his words can accomplish. All while the boys were growing up, he has watched William compete against Benji for everything, without winning a single time. David knows that jealousy is a terrible feeling, but it can also be a motivating force. So he distributes it in small doses, on purpose, because leadership is a matter of manipulating emotions to achieve results. David knows that what he’s doing is dangerous; he knows that William may well hate Benji so much that he’ll hurt him in the game. But all the best hockey teams have someone who plays on the edge and sometimes goes over it. William is at his best when he’s full of hate.

David still loves Benji, more than any other player he’s coached, and he’s ashamed that the boy didn’t dare confide in him. One day David may be able to make up for that, as a human being. But those feelings belong to life outside the rink, and this is life inside. Here Benji is an opponent. If William crosses the line in the game, then so be it. If Benji gets injured, then Benji gets injured. David’s a hockey coach; he’s doing his job. He’s doing all it takes for the only thing that matters.

* * *

Winning.

* * *

Benji is lifting weights on his own in the outhouse at the kennels when darkness falls. Before he raises the bar he takes off his wristwatch. It’s old and worn, heavy and clunky, and doesn’t really suit him. But it was given to him by David. They haven’t spoken a word to each other since the coach switched clubs, but Benji still doesn’t go anywhere without it.

* * *

William Lyt is doing push-ups until his arms hurt as much as everything else. He falls asleep holding the cigarette lighter that was left in his locker. He knows who put it there. William might not be thinking of hurting Benji, not yet, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt someone else.

24

But the Bear Inside Her Has Just Woken Up

Ramona stomps down the stairs from her apartment in a cloud of invective to see who’s banging on the door of the Bearskin after closing time. She’s expecting to see a drunk but finds something else.

“What are you doing here, you silly old fool? It must be at least forty years since you last showed up at my door trying to get a drink in the middle of the night! It didn’t work then, and it’s not going to work now!” she snaps at Sune as she buttons her dressing gown.

Sune laughs so loudly that he frightens the puppy beside him. “I need a piece of advice, Ramona. Two, maybe.”

Ramona lets him in and gives the dog a bowl of water. The dog empties it and starts to chew the furnishings.

“Well?” she grunts.

“I want you to talk to Teemu Rinnius for me,” Sune says.

If anyone else had asked, Ramona would have said “Teemu who?” But not Sune. The old man has spent all his life dealing with difficult boys with a talent for hockey, while Ramona has spent hers dealing with the ones without any talent.

“About what?”

“The club.”

“I thought you’d stopped being coach. What have you got to do with the club?”

“They’re keeping me for the women. Eye candy.”

Ramona laughs up a whole decade of cigarette smoke. Then she gets serious. “There are rumors, Sune. The paper’s talking about a ‘new sponsor’ and the GM taking part in ‘secret meetings.’ That sort of thing makes Teemu and his boys nervous. It’s their club.”

“It’s not only their club,” Sune corrects her.

He can’t help thinking what a colossal nightmare of a town this is in which to try to make anyone happy. If the club had gone bankrupt, Peter would have gotten the blame, and now that he’s managed to save it financially, he’s still getting shit. Ramona puts three whisky glasses on the counter. One for Sune, two for her.

“So what do you think about the new coach? She comes here and eats potatoes from time to time,” she says.

“Zackell? I don’t know. She’s mad. She doesn’t seem to give a damn about what Peter Andersson thinks—”

Ramona grins. “Good start.”

“—but I have a suspicion Teemu and his guys aren’t quite so enthusiastic about having a female coach.”

Ramona snorts. “They love their club. You know that. They’re worried she’s been appointed as some sort of PR stunt. They don’t want to be made fools of, and they don’t want to see a load of political agendas dragged into hockey.”

Sune rolls his eyes. “?‘Agendas.’ Is that what we’re calling it now? Can’t women be allowed to sleep with whoever they like?”

“Ha! There’s no one who has more sympathy for lesbians than me, because as far as I can see they’ve drawn the winning ticket! There’s no reasoning with men, so you might as well get rid of them!”

“So what’s the problem with Zackell, then?”

“The problem is that the boys think she’s steered by Peter Andersson and the sponsors and the politicians, and they don’t want another coach who’s—”

She stops herself. Sune takes over. “Who’s like me? Weak?”

He knows what people say about him. That he let the sponsors and politicians take over the club in recent years and let them run the club into the ground without a fight. People are right. Sune got older, too tired to argue. He always hoped that the hockey would be good enough to keep the club on an even keel, both financially and morally, but he was proven wrong on both counts.

“I didn’t mean any criticism,” Ramona mutters.

“Oh, they’re right. I wish I’d given this town more to be happy about. But Zackell isn’t me.”

“In what way?”

“She’s the sort who wins.”

“You’re here for my advice? The boys need proof.”

Sune sighs. “Then tell Teemu that as soon his little brother gets let out of custody, he should go straight to the rink.”

* * *

Ramona is left speechless. That takes a lot of doing.

* * *

Peter gets home late again. Kira is sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop; she came home from work early today to cook for the children and do the washing and cleaning. Now she’s working again, but without her bosses seeing: she puts in more hours than any of her colleagues but will soon be known in the office as the woman who always goes home early. Being a mother can be like drying out the foundations of a house or mending a roof: it takes time, sweat, and money, and once it’s done everything looks exactly the same as it did before. It’s not the sort of thing anyone gives you praise for. But spending an extra hour in the office is like hanging up a beautiful painting or a new lamp: everyone notices.

Peter talks to her, she talks to him, but without making eye contact. How was your day? Fine, how was yours? Fine. Have the kids eaten? Yes, there’s leftovers in the fridge. Can you drive them to school tomorrow? I need to get to the rink early. She says “Of course” even though she feels like yelling “And what about my job?” He says “Thanks” even though he feels like whispering “I feel like I’m drowning.” She says “No problem” when she feels like shouting “Help!” Neither of them says anything else, even though they’re both thinking “I miss us.” Peter leaves the kitchen without running his fingertips through her hair. She sits there without breathing against the back of his neck.

* * *

Ramona is staring at Sune. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No. Elisabeth Zackell has no sense of humor.”

“Is she going to let Vidar play hockey again? What does Peter say about that?”

“She doesn’t care what Peter thinks.”

Ramona chuckles. She’s always been a bit fonder of the Rinnius brothers than all of the Bearskin’s other boys. Teemu gets her groceries for her every week; Vidar used to do his homework here. Many years ago, just after Holger died, the boys heard someone say that Ramona had “started to forget things, could be Alzheimer’s.” It wasn’t, it was just a perfectly ordinary broken heart, but the boys read online that you can delay the aging process in the brain, so they started forcing her to do crosswords. Every morning they would bring her a new one. She swore loudly and loved them unconditionally for that. So now she says, “So Vidar shits on a desk and Zackell doesn’t give a shit about Peter? That’s not going to end well.”

“No,” Sune agrees.

Ramona scratches under her chin with one of the whisky glasses. “It’s not like you to go against Peter.”

“No,” Sune concedes.

“Why? Is she that special, this coach?”

Sune sighs deeply, making the hairs in his nostrils sway wildly. “Either we win or we go under, Ramona. Vidar used to be one hell of a goalie, and if he still is, then I’m prepared to take a chance on his . . . personality.”

Ramona smiles. “When the Devil gets old, he gets religious.”

“Can you see to it that Teemu takes Vidar to practice?” Sune wonders.

Ramona raises an eyebrow. “Listen, you old fool, do you remember how Vidar used to play hockey? You had to drag him off the ice when practice was over! And now he’s been locked up for . . . hell, you won’t be able to keep him away from that rink, no matter how well armed you are!”

Ramona doesn’t say what she’s thinking: that she’ll drag Vidar to the rink herself if need be. She was never quite able to save Teemu; he was too angry to change. But perhaps Vidar can still have a different life, and Ramona isn’t about to let that opportunity go, even if it’s the death of her.

Sune nods and sips his whisky. It makes his eyes water. “Well, then.”

He falls silent. Ramona snorts. “Anything else?”