“Which one is he?”

“He’s the guy with the red helmet,” said Dellenbaugh, nodding at a player stretching next to the boards. “Congressman from Chicago. He can’t skate for shit, but he can hit and he plays dirty. More to the point, he used to have a thing for Jessica.”

“A thing?”

“They went out to dinner. That’s all I know. Just keep an eye out. He’s the vengeful type.”

Dewey skated along next to Dellenbaugh for a few minutes, working hard just to keep up. Even relaxing, Dellenbaugh moved with a speed that, at least to Dewey, was stunning, barely pushing his legs, yet flying along.

Dellenbaugh gathered everyone at center ice. He and DiNovi picked teams. Even though Dewey was clearly one of the worst players on the ice, Dellenbaugh picked him first. Each team had ten players, enough for two lines and a goalie. Hastings, chief justice of the Supreme Court, was one of the goalies; the other was a staffer from the White House Communications Office named Gus Edwards, who had played at Williams. When a young White House intern named Pitchess finally showed up, he was handed a striped jacket and told to referee.

The game started with Pitchess dropping the puck at mid ice. Dewey started at defense, next to Dellenbaugh, who was passed the puck by the center. Dellenbaugh flipped it to Dewey, who skated up the right side of the rink, then passed it back to Dellenbaugh, who proceeded to weave in and out of three players on his way to the opposing net, where he deposited the puck between Edwards’s pads—five hole—for the first goal of the game. Technically, Dewey got an assist on it. Dellenbaugh skated back to defense as Pitchess retrieved the puck from the net. The other team booed rather loudly as Dellenbaugh skated by their bench.

“Puck hog!” hooted one player on the opposing team.

“Republicans never pass the puck!” barked another, to the howls of his teammates.

Dellenbaugh took his place on the blue line, next to Dewey.

“Nice shot,” said Dewey.

“Thanks, kid. Good assist.”

“Yeah, right,” said Dewey.

The next face-off was won by the other team. DiNovi, who was playing center, took the puck and dumped it into the zone behind Dewey and Dellenbaugh. Dellenbaugh gave chase as the other team’s right wing came after him. In the corner, Dellenbaugh grabbed the puck and banged it along the back boards to Dewey. Just as Dewey was about to get the puck, he felt a sharp pain at his ankles—a stick from behind, slashing at his skate. He went flying over and tumbled to the ice, sticking his left arm out as he collided with the boards so that his head wouldn’t hit. Turning and looking up, he saw the back of a red helmet, the only red helmet on the ice: DeGray, the player Dellenbaugh had warned him about. He took the puck and centered it to DiNovi, who stuck it past Hastings to even the score.

Dellenbaugh skated over and helped Dewey up.

“You okay, kid?”

“Fine,” said Dewey.

The teams changed lines, tied at one apiece. On the bench, Dewey glanced over to the other bench, catching the eye of DeGray, who was smiling and talking with someone.

“You want me to clean his clock for you?” asked Dellenbaugh, smiling.

Dewey laughed.

“No, not a big deal.”

Dewey had liked Rob Allaire, Dellenbaugh’s predecessor, a lot. Initially, Dewey wasn’t sure how he felt about Dellenbaugh. Now, as he saw the president in his element, as a human being, as a teammate, even as a friend, Dewey was starting to like him. Dewey wasn’t very good at relating to people or forming friendships. Dellenbaugh was a genius at it. He made him forget the fact that he was president; if anything, he made Dewey feel like they were two kids playing pond hockey back in Castine; Dellenbaugh had a big shit-eating grin on his face as he not-so-subtly encouraged Dewey to take revenge on DeGray.

It was different from how he’d felt about Allaire. With Allaire, Dewey felt nothing but respect and admiration, even awe. When Allaire had awarded Dewey the Presidential Medal of Freedom, it was one of the proudest moments of his life. But with Dellenbaugh, it was something different that made Dewey like him. He was closer in age to Dewey, and his working-class roots were ones they had in common.

The ref blew the whistle, and Dewey climbed over the boards for another shift, this time starting in the opposing team’s zone. Dewey was on the blue line, at the point, and the center won the face-off and shoveled it back to him. Dewey stepped forward with the puck, went left, then took a slap shot—which sailed with decent speed into the jumble of players in front of the net. Despite the no-checking rule, as he fired the shot, Dewey got leveled from behind. From the ground, he watched as his shot somehow found its way into the back of the net, the goalie having been screened. Looking up, he saw Dellenbaugh pushing DeGray back against the boards and saying something to him. Dewey hadn’t seen who’d hit him, but obviously Dellenbaugh had.

As he skated back to mid ice, the red-helmeted DeGray skated up to Dewey.

“Hey, sorry about that.”

Dewey ignored him.

The game went back and forth, becoming progressively sloppier as the hour went on, with the exception of the play of Dellenbaugh and DiNovi. Though they were clearly taking it easy, they stood out; both had awesome speed and stick-handling ability. Once Dellenbaugh had racked up a hat trick—three goals—he stopped taking shots, instead passing it whenever he had a clean shot.

Dewey played respectably, racking up two more assists.

With only a few minutes left, Dewey found himself with the puck at mid ice. He passed it to a wing, who brought it into the opponent’s zone and took a shot, which went wide. Behind the net, Dewey saw the red helmet of DeGray as he made his break out from behind the net, skating up the ice.

Dewey began his run at the congressman from his own blue line. He tracked DeGray as his red helmet weaved through several players. Had DeGray passed the puck, Dewey would have aborted his run, but DeGray held on, gathering speed and momentum. By center ice, DeGray was at full speed. So was Dewey.

A good hockey player, like Dellenbaugh, can skate with the puck without looking down, stick-handling blind and thereby avoiding hard checks that seemingly come out of nowhere. But most players needed to occasionally glance down at the puck to make sure it is still on their stick. DeGray was mediocre at best.

Unfortunately for the Democratic congressman from Chicago, Dewey chose to make a temporary exception to the no-checking rule. As DeGray crossed mid ice, lurching left past his own centerman, Dewey was skating at full speed. Dewey was as locked into DeGray as a torpedo is locked into the hull of a battleship. DeGray looked up at the last second as Dewey crossed mid ice, lowered his shoulder, and struck him squarely in the numbers. DeGray was pummeled. He went flying off his skates, backward, dropping his stick and landing with a loud groan on the ice. His red helmet went flying off his head, spinning toward the boards.

Play stopped as DiNovi grabbed Dewey to keep him away from DeGray, who lay facedown on the ice. When DiNovi attempted to push against Dewey, Dewey stood his ground. Dellenbaugh broke them up.

“I got him, Tony,” said Dellenbaugh.

Dellenbaugh skated with Dewey toward the door. Dewey glanced over his shoulder as a few players helped DeGray to his skates.

“I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side,” said the president, laughing. “I was going to politely level him into the boards. That was brutal.”

Dewey said nothing as he stepped off the ice.

Hastings filed in behind Dewey and the president as they stepped off the ice.

In the locker room, Dewey, Dellenbaugh, and Hastings were the first to sit down.

Hastings pulled his goalie mask off. His face was bright red and his brown hair was matted in sweat.