Lyt makes a halfhearted attempt to break the silence by telling them how he got a blowjob from a girl at Kevin’s party, but when he won’t say who the girl was it becomes obvious that he’s lying. Everyone knows Lyt can’t keep a secret. Lyt looks as if he wants to say something else, but glances toward Kevin with an anxious look on his face and says nothing. The players move out toward the ice, Lyt tapes his pads and tears the loose scraps of tape and throws them on the floor. Bobo waits until almost all the others have left the locker room before bending over, picking them up, and dropping them in the garbage. He and Amat never talk about it.

They’re halfway through the training session before Kevin finds a way to end up close enough to Amat during a break in play to be able to talk without being overheard. Amat is leaning forward on his stick, staring at his skates.

“What you think you saw . . . ,” Kevin begins.

He’s not threatening. Not hard or commanding. He’s almost whispering.

“You know what women are like.”

Amat wishes he knew what he is supposed to say. Wishes he had the courage. But his lips remain sealed. Kevin pats him gently on the back.

“We’re going to make a fucking good team, you and me. In the A-team.”

He glides away toward the bench when Lars blows his whistle. Amat follows, still staring at his skates but unable to look right at the ice. Frightened of seeing his reflection in it.

27

The lump in Kira’s stomach refuses to give up its grasp. She keeps telling herself that there’s nothing wrong with Maya, that she’s just a normal teenager, that it’s just a phase. She keeps telling herself to be the cool mom. It’s not working.

So when her colleague blunders in through the door, Kira feels grateful rather than annoyed. Even though she’s got an ocean of work to drown herself in, she’s relieved to see her standing there shouting that she needs “help crushing these bastards!”

“Didn’t this client agree to a settlement?” Kira asks as she scans the document her colleague tosses onto her desk.

“That’s the problem. They want me to back down. Like some sort of coward. And do you know what the Badger says?”

“Do as the client sa . . . ,” Kira suggests.

“DO AS THE CLIENT SAYS! THAT’S WHAT HE SAYS! Can you believe that he’s in charge? IN CHARGE! What is it with men? Have they got a different density from women, or what? How come anyone with a dick always rises to the top of every single organization?”

“Okay . . . but if your client accepts the terms, then . . .”

“Then that’s my job? Go to hell! Isn’t it my job to look after my client’s best interests?”

Kira’s colleague is bouncing up and down with anger, her heels leaving little marks in the floor of the office. Kira rubs her forehead.

“Well, yes, but maybe not if the client doesn’t actually want you to . . .”

“My clients have no idea what they want!”

Kira looks at the document, sees the name of the firm representing the other party. And starts to laugh. Her colleague applied for a job there once, and didn’t get it.

“Okay, but the fact that you want to win this particular case . . . that wouldn’t be because you just happen to hate this particular firm . . . ?” Kira mutters.

Her colleague grabs her over the desk, her eyes flashing:

“No, I don’t just want to win, Kira. I want to crush them! I want to give them an existential crisis. I want them to walk out of the negotiation room and think that they might like to move to the coast and renovate an old school and open a bed-and-breakfast. I want to hurt those bastards so badly that they start meditating and trying to FIND THEMSELVES! They’ll turn vegetarian and be wearing socks with sandals by the time I’m finished with them!”

Kira sighs and laughs.

“Okay, okay, okay . . . give me the rest of the file and let’s take a look . . .”

“Socks with SANDALS, Kira! I want them to start growing their own tomatoes! I want to ruin their self-confidence until they stop being lawyers and try to be HAPPY and shit like that instead! Okay?”

Kira promises. They close the door. They’re going to win. They always do.

*

Peter closes the door behind him. Sits down at his desk. Stares at the resignation papers that are waiting for Sune’s signature. If Peter has learned one thing about human nature during all his years in hockey, it’s that almost everyone regards themselves as a good team player, but that very few indeed understand what that really means. It’s often said that human beings are pack animals, and that thought is so deeply embedded that hardly anyone is prepared to admit that many of us are actually really rubbish at being in groups. That we can’t cooperate, that we’re selfish, or, worst of all, that we’re the sort of people other people just don’t like. So we keep repeating: “I’m a good team player.” Until we believe it ourselves, without actually being prepared to pay the price.

Peter has always existed on various teams, and he knows the sacrifices that being on a team truly demands. “The team is greater than the individual” is just a cliché for people who don’t understand sports; for those who do, it’s a painful truth because it hurts to live in accordance with it. Submitting to a role you don’t want, doing a crap job in silence, playing on defense instead of getting to score goals and be the star. When you can accept the worst aspects of your teammates because you love the collective, that’s when you’re a team player. And it was Sune who taught him that.

He stares at the space on the forms where Sune has to sign his name, so absorbed in his thoughts that he jumps when the phone rings. When he sees that it’s a Canadian number, he smiles as he answers: “Brian the Butcher? How are you, you old rogue?”

“Pete!” his former teammate exclaims at the other end.

They played in the farm team league together. Brian never made it all the way to the NHL as a player, but became a scout instead. Now he identifies the most talented teenagers for one of the best teams in the league. Every summer when he hands in his report ahead of the NHL draft, he fulfills and crushes lifelong dreams the whole world over. So he isn’t just calling for Peter’s sake.

“How’s the family?”

“Good, good, Brian! How about yours?”

“Oh, you know. The divorce went through last month.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Pete. I’ve got more time for golf now.”

Peter laughs halfheartedly. For a few years over in Canada, Brian was his best friend. His wife was close to Kira, and the children used to play together. They still call each other, but at some point they started to talk less and less about each other’s lives. In the end there was only hockey left. Peter is about to ask Are you okay? but doesn’t have time because Brian has already exclaimed: “How’s your boy getting on?”

Peter takes a deep breath and nods.

“Kevin? Fantastic, really great. They won the semifinal. He’s been brilliant.”

“So I won’t regret it if I tell my people to include him in the draft?”

Peter’s heart starts to beat faster.

“Seriously? You’re thinking of drafting him?”

“If you can promise me that we won’t be making a mistake. I trust you, Pete!”

Peter has never been more serious when he replies:

“I can promise you that you’ll be getting a fantastic player.”