Child's Play

Henrik Zetterberg, the 21-year-old rookie from Sweden, had just played the best game of his rookie year so far. He had 2 goals, 3 assists, and had made several good defensive plays to keep the puck from going into his own net.

He had an extra spring in his step as he zigzagged back to his locker to change into the jeans, t-shirt, and sweatshirt he’d taken with him when he realized his suit was torn. He was basking in the praise of the teammates as he walked past them and, boy, did it feel good.

“Great game today, scamp,” his captain and mentor, Steve, whisper-shouted to him, a wide grin on his face.

Hank beamed at the kind words from his captain and pulled the sweatshirt over his head.

“Felt amazing to have a good game for once.”

Steve chuckled and pinched his cheek.

“When you start playing more years, Z, you’ll be having a lot of good games. Just focus on the amazing game you had tonight,” he told his rookie, ruffling his hand through Hank’s long hair before turning away and starting his journey from the room.

Hank quickly slipped on his tennis-shoes and bounced on his feet. He had so much energy and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He supposed his energy and excitement were from the game tonight.

Brightly smiling, Hank raced up behind Steve like he’d done 1000 times before at the house he shared with the legendary captain and jumped onto his back, legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

While the other teammates in the locker room stared, Steve only laughed and brought his hands to the undersides of Hank’s knees. Hank was the most hyper person on the team, so he was used to this because he lived with it all the time. He couldn’t say he minded it that much. Rookies were like little children and Steve had every intention of keeping it that way for Hank.

“Well hi there, Hank. Do you need a ride,” he asked teasingly, the affection in his voice definatly showing.

Hank giggled and nuzzled his face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I doooooo Captain.”

Laughing even harder—and possibly puncturing a lung or two—Steve carried the energetic rookie to the bus and dumped him down in the seat next to his.

“You’re not that heavy, kid,” he remarked, ruffling up Hank’s hair.

Hank giggled and curled up into his captain, content with just watching their teammates board the bus. There was so much love here; Hank didn’t think he’d ever want to leave.

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Gus was bouncing around the hotel room he shared with his mentor and fellow Swede, Niklas Kronwall. It wasn’t usual for Gus to have a shit-ton of energy in the morning, which was mostly why Niklas always dragged him away from the coffee pot whenever he got too close to it.

“Oh, Gussie, little bunny rabbit. You’re going to hurt yourself one of these days,” Niklas commented with an affectionate grin.

Gus gave an eye roll and returned to his energy jumping.

“If I do, you’ll just have to care for me, won’t you?” He looked and sounded so much like Niklas’s 2-year-old son, Douglass, that Niklas melted on the spot.

“I always do take care of you, kiddo. Just let me get dressed and then we’ll get breakfast. I know you’re hungry.”

Chuckling at the squeal that escaped from Gus’s lips, Niklas shook his head and focused on getting dressed.

Since he was going to practice and not going to a game, Niklas clothed himself in jeans, a plain t-shirt and a buttoned-up sweater.

By the time he’d finished dressing himself, Gus was standing on the hotel bed, blue eyes shining and a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear on his face.

He jumped off the bed onto Niklas’s back, who instinctively grabbed Gus’s legs and adjusted him better on his back. It was a daily ritual between these two, one that Niklas truly loved and hoped would never end.

“Alright, you’re hungry aren’t you kiddo?”

Gus squealed and nodded again, burrowing his face in Niklas’s shoulder.

“Yes, I’m hungry. Want pancakes.”

Niklas lowered his head and brushed his lips across the tiny fingers clutching his shirt, causing another adorable noise of delight to depart from Gus’s mouth.

“Alright, come on scamp. Let’s get some food in that little tummy of yours.”

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Pavel was laughing hard enough to have tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his rookie, Dylan, racing around the house like a 2-year-old. All rookies had bucket loads of energy and excitement, as seeing they were so young, but Dylan was one of the most hyper ones.

It didn’t matter if it was on the plane, in their hotels they stayed at, at the rink, or in the home Dylan shared with Pavel, this kid could bounce off the walls with energy and STILL have plenty for the next day.

“Dy, you need calm down. You hurt self.”

Dylan halted in the middle of racing his fourth round through the kitchen and glanced over his mentor, eyes twinkling and a smile wide enough to split his jaw etched on his face.

“I’m not gonna hurt myself, Pasha. I always have this much energy.”

Lips quirking into a fond smile (mostly because it was true), Pasha checked his watch and nodded.

“Well, come along then. It’s time for practice.”

Pavel turned his back on Dylan and got down on his knees, snickering as he imaged the confused look on his rookie’s face.

“Come on, kid. I’ll give you a ride to the car. Just this once.”

Dylan’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and he scrambled over to Pavel, arms wrapping carefully around his neck.

Pavel slowly rose from his kneeling position and bounced Dylan up into a more comfortable place on his back, his thin fingers wrapping themselves around Dylan’s knee, beaming at the delighted squeals exiting Dylan’s mouth.

“You’re such a little child, don’t you know that,” he questioned when they reached the car and he’d (gently) dumped Dylan into the passenger’s seat.

Dylan giggled and buckled himself in.

“Yeah, I know. But, I’m a rookie. I’m supposed to be an energizer bunny.”