Page 36

tyler

Preparing for the final game against St. Louis was harder than the previous rounds. We were all exhausted. Things were about to get harder. We were on the verge of sweeping the series. If we won this fourth game, it was time. We were on to the Stanley Cup semifinals. I couldn't think about that right now. I needed to focus on the game.

No one could help me relax. Not even Pat and our normal suit up routine. I was on my own in a fit of nerves. I knew that if a certain blonde were to enter the dressing room and trace tiny little circles on my back, then I'd calm down. That was the only circumstance that would help me to simmer down and get game-ready. But that wouldn't happen. Instead, I was fired up and fueled with adrenaline. Nothing worked for energy quite like the nervous emotions. I felt like I could tear through a whole team on my own. If everyone felt like that, we were set.

To my relief, everyone was just as fired up. The passion to win burned in everyone. The result was explosive. Within the first period, we shot the Blues down three to zero. The next two periods added two more goals. By the end of the game, we'd earned a shutout for Elvis and swept the regular season and the post season series. The team had played like clockwork. We hardly turned the puck over. Our line changes were smooth. We completely dominated the game. My relief was short lived. As soon as the finals rolled around, my stress returned. Tampa was next. We were on to the finals. It was nail-biting pressure leading up to the start of the round.

Our first two games were in Chicago, thankfully. I was terrified for the beginning of something I'd never experienced. At least I had Pat, Duncan, and Andrew at my side. The three older men had experienced this over and over again. They didn't mind that I wasn't as experienced as a captain. As long as I led them with confidence and authority, they would listen to me without question. I didn't ask anything else of them.

The night before the first game against Tampa, I felt like I was dying of nerves. I wasn't able to sleep. Without me having to ask, Halle stayed up with me. For hours, she traced tiny patterns into my bare back in the perfect way that always set my mind straight. Occasionally, her fingers were replaced by her lips. Under the cover of darkness, she trailed feathery touches along my shoulder blades. The motion helped me relax, even without sleep.

As soon as light began to filter into the windows next to the bed, I got up. Halle complained as she slid off my chest. Before I had the chance to leave the room, she sat up.

"Don't leave." My heart jumped. Her voice was sleepy, but the emotion behind her words was obvious.

"I keep tossing and turning. You're not getting any sleep."

"I don't care. I don't need to sleep. Please stay." I sighed. I couldn't say no to her, especially when she looked so innocent in the early hours of the morning. I returned to the waiting overturned covers.

Halle smiled sleepily as I settled next to her. I let one arm fall flat so she could curl close to my chest.

"You're going to do amazing tonight. I can feel it."

"Don't jinx me Halls."

"I'm not. I just know you."

"Thank you for believing in me." I placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Always."

She faded away, sleep making her hands loose on my chest. I still held her just as tightly. When my alarm went off an hour later, I was forced to pull away for good. I made myself a smoothie, then walked out of the apartment. As I drove my head was full of thoughts of the game to come. Tonight would set the pace for the next three games. We would walk out victorious or down in the dumps. Either way, I told myself I would be happy that I got this chance to reach the Stanley Cup finals. Some players worked their whole careers trying to get here. Playoffs were a coveted thing.

The grind of nonstop playing and little breaks. The constant nerves about the next game. Trying to beat the same team over and over again. It was a challenge that I wouldn't forget any time soon.

At this early hour in early June, the streets were asleep. School was out. Kids who normally walked to school at this time were still in bed. It was strange to think that I'd been one of those kids once. I'd been carefree and spontaneous. Thoughts of the Stanley Cup were distant dreams. Playoffs were made of the stuff that filled my head with high hopes. That kid that worked so hard on his edges and his puck handling for hours and hours wouldn't have dared to believe he could reach this point. If someone had told him that he'd be here before the age of twenty five, he would've laughed in their faces.

"I'm good, but I'm not that good." He would've said.

"You earned it." That's what I would've told him. "You worked so hard to get there. Life may be dark and dismal and hard as hell right now, but you're going to make it. You're going to do okay, kid."

Maybe he would have laughed in my face. Told me I was dreaming. But that was the point. The only way to get there was by dreaming. Dreams had fueled my every ambition. I would be nowhere without dreams.

I finally reached the practice rink, where our light morning skate would be taking place. I immediately spotted Elvis and his large Jeep Wrangler. He was parked next to Robin's truck, the two conversing animatedly. I pulled in next to the Jeep, but was ignored by the two net minders. I shook my head. Goalie talk, no doubt. I ducked into my trunk to retrieve my bag. When I resurfaced, Elvis was out of the tall car. He grinned at me.

"Morning, sunshine. You look like hell."

"And you look like dog shit, Merz." He shrugged.

"That's just my normal face. You look better most days."

"Most days aren't playoffs." I scowled. Robin came around, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

"The young captain feels the pressure. Welcome to the absolute shit show, Walty." I followed the two of them into the rink. I studied Robin as he walked in front of me. If, and that was a big if, we somehow managed to win this series and the Cup, I wanted to hand the trophy to Robin.

He'd had such a difficult few years. Bouncing from team to team hadn't been easy on him. He'd begun to question his worth as a goalie. When Chicago finally signed him to a multi-year contract, he'd been relieved. His addiction battle had been a big reason why no one had wanted to sign him long term. After he'd gone through rehab and recovered, Chicago had finally given him the opportunity he deserved. His battle here had been harder than anyone else's. I knew that he deserved to raise the Stanley Cup over his head. I had no doubts that the rest of the team would agree with the choice.

We were mostly silent in the locker room. There wasn't the normal goofing around, the jokes, the chirping. We knew this was the real deal. It was time to put the lighthearted banter of the regular season behind us. I felt particularly solemn as I laced my skates up. I checked my phone one last time before heading up to the ice. I smiled down at the notification I'd received.

Halle had attached a selfie of her and her family, taken at the airport. I was pleasantly surprised to see that her whole family had come. She was right, the support behind me was growing. My own family, as strange as it felt to call them that, was coming to the third and fourth games in Florida. I'd sent them tickets a few days prior. Now I could add Halle's siblings and parents to that crowd.

I tossed my phone back into my bag, smiling still. I slipped my hands into my gloves and grabbed a stick from the wall. Dylan joined me, walking at my side up the ramp to the ice. I let my eyes flicker over the teammates and coaches present already. Alex and Kirby were taking shots on Elvis, while Robin got loose on the other end of the rink. I stepped on, collecting a puck.

Before I could bring it down to lay off a low shot on our goalie, I was signaled over by Jeremy. The head coach look as stiff as the rest of us were. I stopped in front of him. While I waited for him to talk, I pulled a glove off and strapped my helmet on.

"You feel good kid?"

"Better than ever, Coach."

"Good. You need to bring your A-game. We all do. The boys slack off today, you get on their asses. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want to see a damn good playoff team out there. You've gotten this far, it's up to you how much farther you want to go."

"We want it bad. We'll play for it."

"Run the new power play line today. Want the penalty killers to see it."

"Will do." He nodded, dismissing me. I dipped my leg and pushed myself away. I took a puck with me again. My legs carried me past Pat, who had just come on the ice. He nodded to me. I returned the gesture.

Within ten minutes, we officially kicked practice into gear. I led the team in warmups before Coach gave us drills to run through. We were particularly honing in on penalty killing, which was defense focused. Coach pointed at his clipboard.

"Walter's running a new power play. Brinsky and Kaner, you two have worked on this. Rest of you, watch it. Penalty killers, this is your practice. Brand new run through that you've never seen before. Tampa has one of the best power plays in the league. They're constantly switching it up. You boys needs to be ready for any kind of attack formation. Show me that you're the best penalty kill in the league right now. Merz, stay sharp." He skated back, letting me start the drill.

I took the puck on the blade of my stick, guiding it down. Alex and Pat started forward, but kept behind me. I saw how Adam and Connor's eyes immediately focused on me. Dominik did better at spreading his sights, but he focused too hard on Pat. I was able to bring the puck straight down the middle of the ice with the defense distracted. When the penalty killers finally realized who was open and where, it was too late. Elvis snapped his glove up just in time to catch the deflection from Alex's stick. Coach's whistle went off shrilly.

"Messy. You see what just happened? Tyler and Pat are going to be there every time. Other teams will too. You focus on one person, you get distracted. Open minds and eyes, boys. Again!" He tapped his stick on the ice. I reset the formation.

We focused on the kill for another half hour. The final thirty minutes were devoted to other defensive plays. Tampa had a strong offense, consisting of a top forward, Nikita Kucherov. Coach was more worried about keeping goals out than getting them in.

Before I went to the dressing room, I was waved over to a circle of staff. I was confused, but went over. The woman I recognized as the head of media began to talk.

"Do you mind if we mic you up tonight?" I internally groaned. I remembered how my teammates had been mic'd up for the other games. The last one had been Brandon Saad, and he'd been rather crazy with it.

"I don't talk much." The woman shrugged.

"Your teammates do. You can say no."

"Nah, I'll do it." She flashed me a smile.

"Awesome. We'll stop by before you get dressed to set the mic up." She turned away. I took the signal to leave.

The team grouped together after getting undressed and showering to eat brunch. After the meal, we would watch film. I knew how long the session would be. If it was the normal time length, we wouldn't be eating a meal first. I followed my teammates from the practice rink to the bus. In a short ride, we were at the United Center. Everything felt real now.

There was still eight hours until game time, but it would pass quickly. An hour for food, two hours for film, then an hour of stretching and yoga put us at four hours left. It wasn't too long.

Outside our locker room in the Madhouse, buffet trays had been set up for us. Adam was the first to dive on the food, plate on hand. We followed his example. I return to the folding table and chairs, my plate absolutely loaded with eggs and ham. I had some carbs, but I was focusing on the protein right now. I needed the energy from everything possible.

Elvis sat next to me, relaxing in his seat. He placed his plate in front of him.

"Good food. Make me happy." I tried not to laugh at his English. He sounded primal.

"Eat up, buddy. Need our tendy to be on his game." Elvis saluted me.

"Yes Cap'n." He spoke around a mouthful of cinnamon bun. I shook my head at his mumbled words.

"Alive, please. Don't want you to choke." He gave me a look.

"Sure thing, Mom." I scoffed.

"Shouldn't have to discipline you like a child."

"Oh shut up you grandmothers." Dylan took a seat across from us. His plate was piled even higher than ours. Ironic, considering the fact that the forward was built like a string bean.

I talked with my teammates casually for the next hour, fueling up before the game. During film, I sat with the goalies in the center. We watched the screen for three straight hours, longer than I'd anticipated. When coach let us go to get dinner and loosen up, we were quick to move. The hours in the film room left us restless and eager to get our blood flowing.

I just wanted to play already. All this waiting around was killing me. Even playing one-touch soccer didn't help alleviate my restless energy. The only thing to get it all out was by jumping on the ice and playing.

Finally, the clock ticked down. It was time for warmups. I'd barely sat through a speech from Coach and the placement of my mic. I walked out of the locker room, falling into place beside Pat.

"I'm mic'd."

"You say that like you've been shot. Good thing you don't talk much, eh?" I shrugged.

"That's what I said. I'm too boring to mic up."

I stood in position for Alex to come flying down and do his handshake with me. I got in his face, getting him hyped.

"Are you ready, Cat?" He bumped his chest against mine, trying to increase his height to match mine.

"Fuck yeah I am!" I cursed silently, remembering the mic. Oh well. They could bleep that out, right?

"Damn right you are!" I grabbed his helmet and shook his head back and forth. Brinksy jumped away, bumping into Dylan. I grinned after him.

"So much for the mic." Pat muttered. I shrugged.

"Kids gotta hear if eventually, right?"

"I've had my share of slip ups on camera. Don't worry. Just don't get near Elvis. He'll go crazy with the cursing if he knows you have a mic."

"Will do." I bumped against Pat, trying to wash my nerves away. My hands were holding my stick loosely. The second we were signaled to go up, I tightened my hold. Pat murmured to me before we went up.

"Before you worry about the game, you look around and you appreciate where we are. The fans, the opportunity. Just take a moment." I nodded. He tapped my shins with his stick.

Behind Adam, I started the walk up. My breathing leveled and the nerves calmed. I was still slightly nervous, but I'd been preparing for this my entire life. Everything I'd been working for had lead me to this point.

The second my skates touched ice, I was at home. I did what Pat had said, looking around the arena. Along the glass, I found Donya and Chaunette with the kids. Lennox waved at me wildly. I bumped up against the glass, grinning at him. I gave him and Zoé a fist bump through the glass. When Andy pouted at me from Chaunette's arms, I gave her one too. The women grinned me, mouthing words of encouragement. I nodded to them before going to cradle a puck down the ice.

Elvis looked stellar in warmup. I did our handshake quickly, tapping his pads with my stick when we'd finished. I ignored the rest of the fans on the glass. I'd taken in the atmosphere of the rink already. I'd appreciated it. Now it was time to settle down and play my game. With Pat, we loosened our muscles in our routine. I rolled my shoulders, trying to relax myself.

Settle down, Tyler. Relax and play your game. You've done this a hundred times before. Treat it like any other game. Go in hard and set the pace. The boys can keep up. Score goals, play defense, and keep your head straight.

I rolled my shoulders again. It was game time.