Heart of Man

Anna Trovato

*In Russian*

“The entire Avangard Hockey Club would like to thank the entire Dynamo Moscow Hockey club for hosting the draft at the end of our final year of the Russian Superleague. It has been nothing but hospitable, and I have never seen a draft run this smoothly.” Anatoly Bardin, Avangard’s GM making the statement I had already heard twice, by CSKA and by Lada. “I like change. Change has always been something I have embraced heavily. Everyone is not certain of what things like this can do to us, but it can only make us stronger. With our first pick, third overall, from Venice, Italy, we would like to select Anna Trovato.”

He looked at me expectantly, as I stood up awkwardly from my aisle seat, a few rows back. There was a stupid grin on my face that I couldn’t fight back, as Val pulled me into a death lock. He let go pretty quick, since I had to make my way up to the stage. Making my way up the short set of stairs, I shook the coach’s hand, whom I hadn’t known at that point. He smiled, before pointing to Anatoly, who was unfolding the Omsk jersey, which happened to have a new design on it for the new upcoming league.

Holding the left side up, so pictures could be taken, as we were instructed. The ‘Тровато’ written on the back make me smile, as I resisted the urge to look at my last name in Russian, the 57 boldly emblazoned below it. He stood back for a moment, allowing me to slip the jersey over my head, so we could take more seizure-causing photos with the coach added.

Once that was done, we separated and I was allowed to return to my seat. Before I could even sit down, Teemu was there, wrapping me into a hug that I couldn’t forget.

~

Standing awkwardly at our table, the First-Rounders Hour was horrible. Reporters, cameras, people who paid to get into the should-be-private affair. “She will sign a one-year entry contract, good for the 2010-2011 season.”

The urge to bang my head against the table was horrendous. There was too much talking in half a dozen languages, my brain was going into overload, trying to translate everything at once. “A contract was already negotiated? Is this because of rumours of her joining the female Olympic team?”

“She had her terms, and they were agreeable. Miss Trovato plans on finishing her training program in Finland, and then joining us. I know nothing about that. All I know is that her training in Finland is year-round, and if that is what she does to prepare herself, it’s the same as having a player fulfill their contract before leaving us to the NHL, or vice-versa. I don’t have a problem with it, and neither should anyone else.”

“Will her inability to speak Russian affect her in Omsk?”

“I speak Russian just fine.” Smiling nonchalantly at the reporter, Anatoly just laughed as the man’s jaw dropped. “I was fluent by the age of 13, so I might be able to understand a little. Hopefully, I will be able to pick it up.”

~

*In English*

There was maybe an hour before we had to actually be here, and Boucher let me on the ice to get a feel for it, just to make sure my leg was alright. If we won tonight, we’d face either Boston or Philadelphia in the Conference Finals. Hopefully, Philadelphia, but that was mostly so I could get away from all of this bullshit drama. “Come on, Anna! You know we’re only playing with you!”

My self-affliction fades.

At the same time, I kind of wanted it to be over so I could go to Worlds with Finland already, wrap up my KHL affairs, kidnap Parker, and then enjoy the small break. I couldn’t recall being nominated for any NHL thing, which was definitely a plus. Ryan mentioned something involving my name, but I wouldn’t show up anyways. I could care less at this point. I just wanted to be in Omsk again. I just wanted to go home. I needed away. “It’s beyond the point of funny, Gagne.”

“We’re on a last name basis again?”

“Just please shut up and go away.” I ignored him, as I started with my first round of suicides, using my left leg to push; to get stronger. Hoping his silence meant that he left, the scraping against the ice the only thing resonating in the Forum.

Huffing, I continued to not look at Simon Gagne sitting on our bench, watching my sets of drills. He was ridiculously stubborn at times, and this was one point of where I wasn’t able to stand it. “Two career-threatening injuries in a little over a year; you shouldn’t even be skating right now.”

“I really don’t give a fuck. I’m not going to sit out because of a bruise.”

You don’t need to bother.

“It’s more than a goddamn bruise, Trovato. I saw the hit. You probably don’t remember this, but Joe Nieuwendyk played for the Dallas Stars. He’s currently their GM. They were in the playoffs in ’98, against San Jose, and a guy named Marchment made the same exact hit on him, that Erskine did to you. I promise you, Boucher, Y-man, Pavel, myself, and every newscaster up there with us cringed. Especially when your damaged leg collapsed under you. For a moment, I thought you were seriously trying to just get back to the bench. I will forever owe my thanks to the Capitals’ winger, but this is ridiculous, Anna. You need to wait after coming back from a hit like that.”

“Leave it alone. You don’t think I’m taking every precaution? I’m not going to let another hit keep me out of a game. I had to beg Ryan to let me use his spare pair of pants, just so I can wrap my leg and that it has enough padding, just in case. It will fucking heal. It’s not a concussion, it’s just my goddamn leg.”

“Legs are important in hockey.”

“Well, when mine completely stops working and falls off, I’ll quit then.”

He snickered for a moment, before tossing a puck onto the ice. “I can cut it off for you now, if that means keeping you safe.”

“I think, after the thing in Vancouver and this, not much else can hurt like that.” Snatching the puck up, I skated towards the goal, dekeing the non-existent goalie, before knocking it in the top shelf. It was a weak shot, and wouldn’t do anything tonight against Neuvirth.

“Anna, what is wrong with being careful?”

“I am being careful.”

I don’t need to be.

“I’m not going to win this, am I?”

“Probably not.”

“You really need to get out more, Anna. Why are you even single in the first place? Your personality is absolutely amazing.” He laughed sarcastically, obviously in the mood to start teasing again, much to my dismay.

I bit my lip, honestly not in the mood for his bullshit. “Oh, I don’t know, why don’t you ask all the people who won’t date me.”

“Uh huh, I doubt that. Tonight after the game, we’re going to go out, and find you someone.” I don’t want to find someone. I already found someone. Been there, done that, and moved on. It honestly doesn’t even freaking matter at this point. I just don’t care.

“I don’t do one night stands. Besides, I go out with Dana all the time, and nothing ever happens.”

“The ocean is huge, and getting hammered with Tyrell every other night isn’t going to help. There’s got to be a few fish who like you. I’m going to talk to Steven, Vinny, Ryan, and Victor also. I will be damned if I let you skate without people on the ice keeping an eye on you.”

“What the hell ever, dad.”

But once I hold on, I won’t let go ‘til it bleeds.

“Last time I checked, your dad didn’t give a shit about you, unless you came back home Number One.”

“Fuck you.”

Why does he keep pushing? Does he not understand that I just don’t want to deal with it right now, or at all? They blow things like this up into a much bigger proportion than it should be. “Maybe if I can’t get through to you with them, I’ll just hunt down Harper and ask to talk to Semin. You seem to be sweet on him.”

“Leave it the fuck alone.” Sliding onto the ice, against the goal post, I felt my frustration hit its limit. Pulling my hands out of the gloves and throwing them to the side. I pulled my legs close, tucking my head in so he wouldn’t see my embarrassed face. Why can’t I just live a normal life? Away from all this drama, away from hockey, away from everyone.

“If you don’t come back in, one of the Caps might come out and find you. Just focus on tonight, alright? Just pretend it’s another team, and don’t listen to anything they say. Don’t risk anything, just back off.”

~

“Lecavalier’s got Trovato and St. Louis with him. Two goals in the series, Vinny Lecavalier on, with Anna Trovato and Marty St. Louis. In the warm-up, Blair Jones skated on right wing with this group. Here’s a puck deflected by Neuvirth, who made the stop! Trovato’s got the puck. Trovato, fires to the point. Blocked by Jeff Schultz.”

Whoever’s idea it was to keep the game radio on behind us, I felt like punching. It was supposed to help, but it wasn’t. It was several seconds behind the actual game, so we got to hear everything we just did Then listen to Big Bad Boucher criticize us.

“Trovato, Lecavalier, St. Louis next.” These were some short fucking shifts. Fifteen to Twenty-five second shifts went faster than I could think. Maybe a minute total between breaks. Play, be criticized, play, be criticized, so on and so forth. Jumping over the boards, Steven tapped my shoulder as he came off.

Within moments against Washington’s third line, we were back off. “Hedman works that puck to Trovato. Boucher has some flexibility in this combination. Trovato and Lecavalier really have clicked, and they’ve worked well with whoever has been on the right side.”

“Anna Trovato’s such a good passer. That’s the thing that’s a really big thing, and she’s very good at making plays. That’s the key, I think, to a lot of players like Lecavalier. Make sure you’re a good passer. St. Louis has really found that out, and that’s why they are so good when teamed together. All three of them.” The urge to punch both sportscasters was intense, but it kind of distracted me from the game stress. If we just went on, didn’t pay attention to who was on the other side of the ice, in white, we were good.

Wish I was too dead to care, If indeed I cared at all.

Hovering behind Carlson, we watched the puck slide from our control, back to Alex Semin’s possession. High-tailing it back to our end, I rammed my shoulder into the young defensemen’s shoulder blades. The gesture was returned momentarily, as we raced close to the blue line.

Trying to catch up to Semin, Vinny dumped it deep into their zone, forcing my skates to a screeching halt. Pulling back into the other direction, Carlson was not far in front of me. Not even thinking, I knocked my stick into his side, which was followed swiftly by a whistle.

He snapped around to me, one of his hands gripping my collar, yanking me dangerously close to him. “Watch your back, Trovato.” He spat in my face, his own a deep shade of red, before shoving me backwards against the glass. I didn’t bother to fight him back, or even challenge his words, because he wasn’t worth it. Besides, there was always time later to get back at him.

Hearing the penalty against me, for fucking slashing, I traipsed across the ice towards the penalty box. Harper’s words were shouted in portions, before speaking quieter to the person next to her, I could only assume. Rubbing the back of my neck where the fabric rubbed, I rolled my neck to a small pop. “You alright?”

I wish I had a reason, my flaws are open season.

Internally confused, I stopped in my tracks to see Semin skate to a stop in front of me. His hand reached out, gripping my upper arm as he looked at me, back towards Carlson, and then back in my direction. Only shrugging, I pulled away from him and marched my happy ass right into the penalty box. I’d rather be in there the entire game, than watch that man play his pity game.

I could deal with my problems on my own, and I didn’t need him running over every five minutes when I slipped or got whacked really hard. I couldn’t see what my teammate and coach saw. Nothing about him was attractive. Personality, physically, skill-wise, anything. Sitting up to see the man in question skate by, I sighed in frustration. We didn’t have time for this, and I didn’t have time for him.

He really needed to just go away.

Shell forgotten with empty memories, diaries left with cryptic entries.

~

“Lecavalier has Stamkos and Trovato with him. Backstrom opposing Lecavalier, wins the draw. Carlson pressured immediately by Trovato and Lecavalier. Laich takes it. Semin hands it down to Nicklas Backstrom. On the rush, it’s Alzner, who tries, and is wide on Roloson.”

“You know, what a switch-up with Boucher. Flexing his lines mid-game, you can really tell what these guys focus on during practices and such. Really directing their power and force against several lines at once, rotate, and then hit again. The Capitals have got to be getting tired.”

When I can leave the locker room, I’m giving those men a piece of my mind. Why not just air the game the same time we are playing. Was it a requirement to punish us and let us suffer the wrath of our perfectionist coach?

“Stop holding back.” I ignored the small comment, regardless of how true it might have been. The second he retrieved the puck, I snuck in closer, hip checking him into the boards. He turned around, reaching his stick behind me, trying to pull away from my side that kept him against the glass. Shoving my side, he slid behind me, his stick still extending to tangle the puck up and to free it.

Sashaying my hips around his again, I shoved him hard, giving myself enough room to dump the puck and get it out of there. Straightening up, I pushed away from him, keeping an eye on both the winger and the puck. Turning back to him for an instant, I did all but look in his eyes directly, forgoing English entirely as Laich skated past us to the bench. “You need to back off, Semin.”

He offered me his full attention, as the buzzer for the end of the 2nd period went off, replying in the same tongue. I was thankful, for a mere second. I was tired of others overhearing anything and everything. “I don’t have to, Trovato.”

~

Vincent’s shoulder leaned against mine, as we onlooked Harper’s second goal, and the overexcited Capitals. We had to pull it together, otherwise, we’d be making a trip to Washington soon. “What are you thinking about? Worried?”

“There’s lots of things to think about, but nothing to worry about.” I didn’t bother to look at him, as the joyous moment began to die on the ice. Erika was beaming as she was smothered against by her teammates and friends. “Besides, it’s not like don’t have a chance to catch up.”

“Maybe if you’d watch your mouth..”

“Excuse me?”

“Watch your hands, alright? Don’t get slash-happy.”

Looking on the ice at the dispersing group while we slid over the dboards, I took a moment to gaze at a few of them. My eyes met his, but the smile never left his face. After three losses, any goal probably tasted good. A sigh of relief.

~

Rushing to the boards while the Caps went deep, I practically dived onto the bench, dehydrated as fuck. Within seconds, Steven was shaking my shoulder, and the buzzer was shrieking. Sitting up, the light-headed feeling made my head pound as I counted on my fingers, before smiling. “She got a natural.”

No doubt the Capitals weren’t coming down from their adrenaline high at this time in the game. They were downright unstoppable when they got to this point. We had seen it before, and they were prepared to do it again.

~

Hovering along the right side of the ice, the puck dropped with less than thirty seconds remaining on Sturm’s penalty. Skating through Harper and Backstrom, I shoved my side into Hannan, hoping to distract him. I could feel the cool air around my wrists, when my gloves bent a certain way, which served as a distracter from the issues everyone seemed to be having tonight.

I watched Downie wrestle the puck through Harper’s legs, as she shoved him into the boards with a force I hadn’t seen coming. He kicked it out, were Bergeron was waiting with Nick on his tail. I could hear Neuvirth behind me, shuffling in his crease a few feet away. Marc snatched the puck, but diverted into the corner where Schultz and Nick were hammering him. His stick hit the puck, before Schultz lost his footing and fell into him.

Realizing what he was aiming for, Hannan nudged my shoulder, before I turned to face Neuvirth. I ripped at the ice, beginning for the speeding devil to come ever faster, before anticipating the puck and shooting it into the lower corner.

Marc came out of nowhere, gripping my jersey and pulling me into a hug as the Forum erupted into cheers around us, the goal counting against Washington. I kind of smiled at him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and pulling him into the half-hug. Doing the ceremonious fist-bump was exciting enough, but I just didn’t care enough. It felt like I was just watching. It didn’t feel real.

A little over ten minutes later, we were in the same state. My assist meant nothing, but Marty’s goal was bringing us closer to keeping us alive. It was still 4-3 Washington, but one more would put us into overtime. There were 4 minutes left in the game, so it was feasible. Maybe.

~

“Anna, dorogaya, stop skat-..” I skidded to a stop on the ice, ramming my side into Semin, inadvertly into the glass. It was all I could do to skate, mentally begging the painkillers to numb my leg enough to play without limping or favouring a certain side. Taking a half of a second to look at him, I dropped my stick and tossed my gloves behind me. His dark eyes met mine, before he dropped the same.

Swinging towards the side of his head, I hit the helmet, which fell to the ice from protecting its possession. Not even stopping to think, I went at him again, this time knocking him into the glass even harder than the previous time. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, okay? I don’t need you in my life, so see yourself out. What I choose to do is none of your goddamn business!”

A small cut became apparent on his left cheek, but I paid it no mind while gripping his jersey with one hand, the other aiming towards him. It was all in a blind rage, but shouldn’t have been. He snatched my jersey, jerking me towards the ice fast, and hard. The ripping of my fight strap could be heard, as one of my hands that kept a hold of his collar, yanked him down as well.

Unable to move my arm out of the bind it was in, I slid it out of my pads in the other direction. Completely pulling out of the restrictive armour, he was left holding my jersey, my pads falling over the ice. Holding his leg to the ice with my knee, we could hear the small scuffling around us, and one of the linesmen was reaching for my arm to yank me off.

I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it needs to stop. I don’t know what you want from me, but you aren’t getting anything

Pulling out of his reach, I turned my attention back to the man underneath me. Gripping his padding and preparing to go at it again, he kneed me in my stomach. Letting go to curl the area into a ball, he slid out of his own, before doing it again. Something made contact with my face, but within seconds, I could feel the warm liquid running down my face, the coppery taste very repugnant in my mouth.

Wiping it off with my sleeve of the underarmour, I tried shoving him off of me. Him laying on my leg and stomach was not a pleasant feeling at all, and made me want to go at it for hours. The Tylenol was definitely not working, regardless of taking nearly half the damn bottle. Rolling over, another linesman came to help the other, ripping him off of me, quickly separating us. Breathing heavily, my chest was moving up and down rapidly, the sweat dripping down my face.

He was in no better shape, mostly just battered up, the scrape on his cheek would heal in a few days tops. His hands were on his knees, as he tried to steady his breathing. He looked tired and worn out, yet ready to go at the same time.

Wiping my face again, I felt my vision clear up, and the boiling feeling in my body slow down dramatically. He straightened, keeping his eyes with mine, making my stomach feel heavy. Thank god I had blood on me, because I probably would have turned into a blushing madman at that moment. Or, revealed it, at least. One of our athletic trainers met me half way on the ice, before handing me a cold pack. Accepting it quickly, I rested it on the bloody nose I had gotten, before freezing.

I seriously just fucking did that.

I’ll never live down my deceit.

~

You need to come down here.

I ignored the text message’s demands, still furious with both him and myself. No.

Within seconds, he replied. How he found a Russian keyboard on his phone, I will never know, but it was now a short-term goal of mine to find an app for it. Why?

Because I don’t need to.

I want you to come down here.

Wanting to rip my phone in half, I completely disregarded him again, as Boucher finished his quick schpeal, we were left to our own undoings. I hung my pads up, tossing my jersey into the bin in the center of the room, before slumping back into my stall. I had to go to our team doctor, to make sure my nose wasn’t broken, and we cleaned up the blood. It didn’t stop it from getting on me though.

My underarmour stuck to the back of the stall, as I kicked off my skates. I’d take a shower when I got home. I just didn’t have the patience to stay around here any longer. A few moments to myself would help more than anyone could imagine. Snatching my phone, I attacked the keypad with the reply, and then shut it off. I’m not coming down there.

Wrenching everything else off that I could throw in my bag to come with us to Washington tomorrow, I scrambled for the spare red shorts and our Tampa hockey shirts. Setting my pads in the bag, along with my skates into the guards, I zipped it up as an interviewer came up to me.

With reluctance, I sat back down, a sigh escaping. “Miss Trovato, can you tell us exactly what was said on the ice? There’s a rumour of possible suspension in Toronto. Can you tell us anything about the situation between you and Semin?”

Can’t even fucking sit down without being harassed by the subject of that man. “Look, I’ll be frank with you, I don’t want to answer any questions about that man. He grates on my nerves, and I want nothing to do with him. If he can’t leave me alone on the ice, then that’s his problem. If you’re here to talk about the social aspects of the game, you can go interview someone else.”

He completely disregarded what I said, flipping to the next page in his notebook. He held the recorder even closer to my mouth, a little too close for comfort. “The referees had to practically rip the two of you apart. Most players just let it go, but you two didn’t. Can you explain why the fight was forced to become that physical?”

Alex Semin

Breathing in for a moment, I pushed the Tampa Bay locker room door open, to be met with the sight of half-changing players, media, team staff, and Anna, who was turning red from whatever the reporter was saying to her.

“What’s up, Semin? Anything we can do for you?” I moved to my left, to see Steven Stamkos and Simon Gagne standing there, looking at me with Cheshire grins. Gagne was in a suit, since he obviously didn’t play, but Stamkos was freshly showered and dressed into a pair of slacks and dress shirt. It definitely made my capitals shirt and shorts look bad, but I didn’t have time to shower. I was probably lucky I made it out of my gear in one piece.

“Is Anna busy?” Stamkos kept the grin on his face, but rested his forehead on Gagne’s shoulder, before standing back up. His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, as he walked away into the hallway.

Simon looked over my shoulder at Anna, before looking back at me. “She’s all yours.”

Simon Gagne

I could barely hold in the laughter that threatened to escape, as I watched Semin step past me, towards Anna. Marty snuck past through to me, where we watched everything fold out. I leaned my head to the side, so he could hear. “Semin’s got it bad.”

“Anna’s no better.”

Anna Trovato

The reporter kept pressing the questions, which were quite embarrassing, onto me. The fact that this ESPN guy brought the fucking camera to catch all of this, royally pissed me the fuck off. “Is there any romantic relations going on between the two of y-..”

“Excuse me.” I snapped my attention to the right of the reporter, his left, to see Alex standing there. He reached past him, grabbing my hand in his own. Not even giving me a second to pull away, he jerked me up, and out of the room. I followed silently, mostly glad to be rid of that guy. No doubt he’d use whatever of that he caught on camera, to fuel his ‘opinion’, but I could care less.

He intertwined his fingers with mine, which gave me some kind of sick satisfaction, until the butterflies began to attack my stomach. It wasn’t unlike the sick feeling I had recently, but not in the same way, at the same time. I didn’t want to get used to the feeling though.

He continued to lead me through the hall, until he cut through the door into the cool Forum hallway, that lead to other areas, and that they employees took. It was also the route that lead to his locker room, and the way we came in from the outside.

The giddy feeling slipped away, and I pulled my hand out of his. I almost missed the feeling, until I remembered the night’s events, and he turned around. “What the fuck is your problem, Alex? You can’t just barge in there and take me away. Go fuck off, and leave me alone!”

He just kind of stood there awkwardly, watching me speak with my hands. It was something I had picked up from my father. It only came out at times though, but it was still embarrassing. “You said you wouldn’t come down to me, so I came to you.”

I rubbed my forehead, unable to tell if it was him being sweet, or trying to piss me off. It was a constant internal battle because I didn’t want to like him, but everything about him made me want to. “This meeting-after-the-game shit has got to end, alright? No more.”

A deep laugh came from him, the smile softly set on his face.

I took a deep sigh, before continuing. “I feel guilty for what happened, and I’m sorry for it. My frustration got the best of me, and it wasn’t meant to let out on you. You don’t deserve that, no matter what you do to me, and I just wanted to apologize for it.”

“I’m sorry for the blood injury.” The Russian accent was extremely evident, but the English still came out clearly. It was something I always loved, regardless of actually being able to speak the language. “Didn’t mean to get your leg. It was rude and uncalled for.”

“I kind of d-..” I shrugged.

He held his hand up to silent whatever I was getting ready to say. “I never had the intention to hurt you, and I am sorry for it. Just responded without thinking.”

“I kind of deserved it, just so you know.” The smile was back on his face, but I couldn’t bring one to my own. It was such a mental mind-fucking, when it came to how I feel about him. Certain times, I wanted to kill him twenty times over, but others..

“You don’t.” He stepped closer to me, to standing right in front of me. “You should get back to your team, and get some rest.”

I could only nod, before turning away. He leaned out behind me, to grab my hand in a similar fashion as he did earlier. Pulling my hand, I turned to him, closer than I was comfortable with, if I was dishonest with myself. “Alex..”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to my cheek, before stepping back out of my grasp. I felt frozen to the spot for a moment, resisting the urge to put my hand on the area. “Goodnight, Anna.”

Only nodding in response, I turned back to the door, praying to whatever higher force out there, that I wasn’t beet red. Pushing the door, I glanced back, to see him still standing there, waiting for me to go through.

Alexander Semin, forever the gentleman.

~

No POV

“I say we take bets.” Laich stated as he and Ovechkin continued walking down the hall to where they presumed Semin to be. “We bet on same thing.” Ovechkin scoffed back. “That’s true. Hey, what happened to Erika?” Brooksie looked around, realizing their captain was now missing.

Ovie shrugged. Laich finally did the same as they made it to the home locker room. “How much you wanna bet he-” “SHH!” Ovie shut up Brooksie as they rounded a corner, dragging him back into cover.

The two were in sight.

They watched the scene before them, as Semin leaned in and kissed a stunned Anna on the cheek. “Goodnight Anna.” He said to her, turning away toward them. Like the sneaky motherfuckers they were, they scrunched up against the wall and waited for him to walk closer.

The home locker room door shut before they heard his footsteps, signaling that Anna was back in the locker room. With faces that can only be described as the face that spongebob makes when he says ‘you like krabby patties don’t you squidward?’, the two of them stepped out into Semin’s vision.

“Oh fuck... “ Were the first words out of Semin’s mouth as he did a face palm, while the two stood there with that look on their face. “You like Anna don’t you Semin?” Laich chirped.

"Goddammit...” He muttered again, passing his two friends in embarrassment. “Sasha! Sasha! You propose to her?” Ovechkin asked as he and Laich followed behind him, howling with laughter. Semin ignored them and continued on his way.

“Did you at least declare your love? If you didn’t, you gotta get your game up man! Let me at least give you some tips!” Laich insisted. Semin growled back. Upon seeing how annoyed he was at the jabs, the two continued to take them all the way back to the locker room.