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FORTY-FOUR

Clay

MAY

It turns out that Seattle gave us all they had in game three. They fall apart during game four, and we seal the deal on the series in game five.

I celebrate by drinking a single beer.

Then it’s on to round two in Dallas. We lose the first game. Badly. I don’t sleep a wink afterwards. An angry call from the owner doesn’t help.

And I keep thinking about what Jethro said. Your whole life is set up to win the Cup. So go do that .

I switch things up for the next game, changing my defense pairings and putting Hale in the net. We win the second game. And the third one, too.

Most days start early and end late. My life is happening at warp speed. There’s always a decision to be made. Always an issue to solve. Another meeting with the coaching staff. Another risk assessment with the trainers. We’re monitoring Pierre’s disposition and Wheeler’s knee and a hundred other factors that could all make a difference.

I barely sit down, and when night falls, I either fall into a dead sleep, or I stare at the ceiling, thinking through our plays.

Hale told me to stop thinking about him. And somehow, I do it. It helps that he barely makes eye contact lately and I’m too exhausted to think of anything other than hockey.

But whatever we’re doing, it works. When I put Hale in front of the net against Dallas again, he lets in a single goal all night long, and we end up taking the series in six games.

Suddenly, we’re headed for the conference championship against Edmonton. We’ve leveled up. This is the furthest I’ve gotten in my coaching career.

This is it. My big moment.

And I celebrate by having a giant migraine on the first night.

“You okay?” Liana asks me before we head out to the ice.

“You okay?” Murph asks me behind the bench.

“You okay?” the trainer asks me, probably because I’m squinting.

“I’M FINE,” I snarl at all of them. Because I have to be fine. I have my clipboard clutched under one arm with the starting lineup clamped to it.

Edmonton is an older team than Dallas, and Hale has played with a few of their starters before. So I put him in the net to kick off the series. He starts off strong, stopping everything during the first period.

But familiarity works both ways, and Edmonton is determined to pick apart our game. When they find the right keys to unlock our defense, Hale starts getting shelled. I end up putting Volkov in for the third period, because we need a change of dynamics.

From the other end of the bench, Jethro’s jaw looks as tight as mine as we manage to push the game into overtime.

My headache tightens its grip, and I throw up during the break.

If this is the kind of fun Demski wants me to have, I might need to look up the definition of the word.