Chapter Text
Steve Moses — Pekka Rinne — Kevin Fiala
Ostrava, Czech Republic - May, 2015
The US. team had the day off before they faced the Swiss, and most of the guys were on a bus tour of the city, strung tight together like kindergarten kids tied to a rope. Steve had ducked out and gone for a walk to explore on his own. He'd been in Ostrava long enough to find his way around a little, and it was summer there, or close enough for him.
He found shopfront bar adjacent to a park full of seats in the sunshine, and he joined the lineup of mostly young people waiting to order food. When it was his turn, he smiled, led with the politely worded apology for only speaking English and acquired a beer and a sausage on a bun that smelled like heaven.
He found a seat at a long table next to a crowd of people talking and laughing and enjoying their lunch. It was familiar, letting the voices wash over him. The white noise of a language he didn't know was soothing, the occasional clang of English almost annoying. He watched people come and go and didn't regret escaping from the team for one day. It wasn't how you were supposed to act, but sometimes he just needed to be himself.
A guy a few tables away caught his eye. He looked familiar more than interesting, and Steve tried to figure out why. The guy probably just looked like someone he knew, but he couldn't place him. He stopped watching the guy, not wanting to give the wrong impression; he looked like a kid anyway.
What he he should have been doing was a little research on the Swiss team, their opponent in the quarters, but he was enjoying the day, and, dammit, that's who the guy was.
Steve looked over, but the guy was gone. He looked around quick, stood up to get a better view, not that that gave him a sightline over many heads, but it helped enough, and there he was, winding his way up to the counter. Steve cut the angle and aimed to meet him at the end of the line.
Up close, there was no mistake. "You're Kevin right? Kevin Fiala?" Steve said, smiling, trying to look harmless and friendly.
"Um, yeah," Kevin said. Looking around and then settling his eyes on Steve again. They were nearly of a height, which made Kevin an awesome guy as far as Steve was concerned. He smiled a little wry at the thought, stuck his hand out and said, "Steve, Steve Moses." He got a blank look, and he laughed, genuinely amused, and added, "I'm on your team now. You know, the one in Nashville?"
"Oh, oh," Kevin ran out of words, or English words, but he had enough blood to blush red with.
"Buy you a beer?" Steve said.
"Oh, yes, okay. Maybe I should order. You like Czech beer? Pilsner? Or American?"
"Czech is good."
They were up next, and Kevin spoke rapidly to the barman and they got two beers, and Steve only needed a little help with the money.
They found seats together, and Kevin sipped his beer and looked around a little shifty. "Maybe we are not supposed to be friendly?"
"I won't be tomorrow, I promise," Steve said with a grin. The kid looked very serious, but he cracked half a smile. "I ducked out on the team tour of the city today, so what's one more rule broken?"
"Ostrava is beautiful, nice place."
"Right, you guys just got here didn't you?"
"We did yes, today. I will tell you the truth, I was tired of being translator for the team, and some of the guys, they have not so good German, so I would have to do English, and bah, too much work. Roman, he said I should get away for a day, was good advice. He is good guy—you should meet him."
"I guess I will tomorrow. I hope I can get behind him instead of meeting him."
Kevin frowned and then smiled when he got it, shook his head. "No, no, not possible."
"You keep that in mind about Jonesy too—you know him, right?"
"I do, yes. I played only two games with the team. Only a few days in Nashville at camp, and then I went to—" he glowered while he said, "Milwaukee," awkward and slow.
"Oh, man, you are so lucky you didn't end up in Boston."
"Why?"
"Massachusetts," Steve said and Kevin scowled.
"People think Czech is a funny language. German. They are wrong. America is the place where all these words are impossible."
"Finland," Steve said.
"Okay, yes, that I agree. Sweden was okay. I could figure out things written down sometimes right away. You like it in Finland?"
"I liked playing," Steve said. "I was homesick always, but Jokerit is a good team. Last year was something."
"Yes, KHL? Russia? Is—was it different a lot to the Finnish league?"
"Very, very different. I liked it. It wasn't everyone playing the same system, and may the best passers win, you know?"
"Oh, yes, I know that one. You should not say that to a Finn, I think. Swedes will laugh. We had lots of those last year, it was good."
"Swedes? In the AHL?"
"Yes in Milwaukee." He struggled a little less with the word "Maybe I won't need to say this name, maybe I will be in Nashville. Also, everyone calls it MKE which is easier."
"You going home after this tournament?"
"I have prospect camp in Nashville for July, and then, my dad, he thought maybe I should come home, but I think it would be better to be in America, make them know I am serious, you understand? There is training space in MKE in summer, but I want to stay in Nashville." He shrugged. "If they let me, I think I should go early for the prospect camp."
"Not a bad idea. Keep tuned in to the team, be ready for training camp." Getting them to see you as a serious worker was always a good thing when you weren't a big guy.
"You go home for the summer? Where is this?"
"Yeah, I go home. Massachusetts," he said, rolling out the word because getting Kevin to frown was already one of his favourite things. He had a hell of a scowl.
"Is that far from Nashville? I don't know where anything is. It was a shock how long the plane rides were for games."
"Yeah, it's pretty far, east coast, near Boston."
"If you wanted to come to MKE, I think they would let you—but maybe you don't want to—it's not, maybe it's not proper to go where the Admirals guys are? I don't know exactly how it works."
"Neither do I," Steve said. The kid wasn't wrong; if he had a big ego about it, he'd think it was beneath him to go hang with an AHL team, but he'd never had that problem. Any advantage he could get, he'd take.
It wasn't the worst idea ever, training with this kid who was going to be a star and who only had a couple of inches on him. If he got to know some other guys, even career Ads guys, it would make him part of the group. He could get his agent to ask discreetly, find out what the team thought about it.
"I might show up, Kevin. I want to go home for a while after we're done here, but you never know. Too bad Rinne won't be there, I'd like to get some more by him."
"You scored on him!" Kevin said. "Yes, this I heard. Was he angry? He seems so—I don't know, so big! I was trying to be serious at practice, last year, in camp and then later in the playoffs, you understand? And he would talk to us, you know, on a rush, he would say things, and it put me off! I was so frustrated."
"Aw, he's just a goalie. Finland is full of them. He didn't look very happy when I scored on him, but I was." He grinned thinking of it. It had been the perfect way to make a splash at a tournament most NHL teams ignored. "I can't wait for training camp and the chance to do it again. That's what you should be telling yourself."
"I know," Kevin said, "I know. It will be better next year. I'm not the new guy." Kevin grinned at him, and Steve shook his head. He was too old to be a rookie, but he was, and he better get used to it. He might get hazed by the guys, take lots of flak from Rinne. He'd have to put up with it, up to a point, but he hoped to give Rinne lots of new excuses to be annoyed with him.
He had games to play first, and he ended up with a bronze medal to shove in his suitcase. And then it was time to go pack up his life in Helsinki, maybe for the last time. He'd loved it at times, but he sincerely hoped to never go back to Finland.