Tipping back in the chair, Sid craned his neck to look up at him. He inhaled through his nose and caught the warm-metal scent of Geno’s post-heat bleed. “I can help you with that, too,” he murmured.

It hits him like a goddamn bus right after his and Crosby’s power play goal puts Canada up 5-0. Not the heat itself—that’s little more than a prickle under his skin—but the knowledge that one’s coming. Here. In Prague.