My Athlete Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #2)

Chapter Thirteen

K ane stared at his stall in the locker room, taking in the pre-game chaos around him. Playoff anxiety manifested differently in each player, and after months as captain, he could read every tell. This game would decide the AHL championship. It had been a long time coming. A lot of ups and downs, mostly ups once Allison became a part of his life.

Dmitri had progressed from his usual pre-game ballet stretches to what appeared to be a Swan Lake rehearsal—in full hockey gear. He'd already knocked over two water bottles with a particularly enthusiastic pirouette.

"Analytics show seventh attempt at triple axel increases shooting percentage by four point two percent," Marcus called out from his stall, not looking up from his tablet. His usual pre-game calculations had expanded to cover three whiteboards.

"The hashtag ChillPlayoffs is trending," Oliver announced to no one in particular, thumbs flying across his phone screen. "Fan predictions have us at—"

"No phones," Kane and Coach Vicky said simultaneously.

And Liam... Kane sniffed the air. Somehow their goalie had smuggled a portable oven into the trainer's room. The smell of fresh baked cookies wafted through the locker room, accompanied by what sounded like Spanish prayers.

"Interesting pre-game routine you've got going here."

Kane turned to find Coach Vicky watching the scene with raised eyebrows. Her game day blazer was a deep forest green that meant business.

"The team's fine," he said automatically. "Just pre-game jitters."

"Mm." She gestured around the room. "Is that what we're calling this?"

Kane followed her gaze. Dmitri had graduated to teaching the defense what he claimed was a "traditional Russian good luck dance." Oliver was livestreaming it while calculating potential views. Marcus had filled a fourth whiteboard with statistical equations. And the cookie smell had intensified.

"Okay," Kane admitted. "Maybe we're a little..."

"Follow me." Coach's tone left no room for argument.

She led him to her office, closing the door on the sounds of Dmitri coaching someone through a plié.

"You know what I see out there?" she asked, settling behind her desk.

"A team dealing with playoff pressure?"

"A team that's forgotten how they got here." She fixed him with that penetrating stare that had made her famous in post-game press conferences. "They're so caught up in rituals and superstitions that they've lost sight of their own abilities."

Kane shifted uncomfortably. "The routines help them focus—"

"The routines are becoming crutches." She leaned forward. "You're their captain, Kane. They look to you. And lately, you've been letting them lean on luck instead of leadership."

The words hit home. He thought about how the team's superstitions had grown over the season. How each win added another layer of ritual, another lucky charm, another must-do routine.

"They're good players," Coach continued softly. "You're a good captain. None of that has anything to do with ballet or statistics or..." she sniffed the air, "whatever cookies Liam's stress-baking in my trainer's room."

"Snickerdoodles, I think."

"Not the point." But her lips twitched. "They need their captain to remind them what really matters. Not someone enabling their magical thinking. Think about it." Coach Vicky stood. "While you do, maybe remind Dmitri that triple axels in hockey gear violate several safety protocols."

She left him staring at his reflection in her window, thinking of what he could say that he hadn’t already said a dozen times over.

The scene in the locker room hadn't improved. If anything, the energy had gotten more frantic. But something had shifted in Kane's perspective.

"All right, listen up." His captain voice cut through the chaos. "I know we're all feeling it. The pressure, the expectations, the weight of what we've built this season. And yeah, maybe some of us got a little caught up in superstition along the way."

The room stilled, all eyes on him.

"But look around. Really look. Dmitri, your edge work isn't because of ballet warmups. It's thousands of hours of practice, of pushing yourself to be better. Oliver, your highlight-reel goals come from studying film, from understanding the game, from pure talent. Marcus, your defensive reads aren't statistics. They're instinct built on experience. Liam, your saves aren't about prayers or cookies. They're skill and dedication and heart."

He met each player's gaze, seeing understanding dawn.

"We're here because we earned it. Every win, every point, every moment that got us to this game—that was us. Not luck, not superstition, not rituals. Just a team that believes in each other more than any routine."

"But the ice..." Dmitri started.

"The ice is the same ice we've played on all season. The game is the same game we've trained for our whole lives. And this team?" Kane smiled. "This team is stronger than any superstition."

A moment of silence, then Dmitri straightened. "Is like in ballet. Performance comes from heart, not from lucky shoes or special warmup."

"Exactly." Kane felt something settle in his chest. "Although maybe keep the ballet analogies to a minimum during playoffs."

"Is impossible. Hockey is just aggressive ice dance."

The tension broke as the team laughed. Even Marcus set aside his probability calculations.

"For what it's worth," Oliver said, lowering his phone, "that speech just went viral. #ChillCaptain is trending."

"No phones," Kane and Coach Vicky said simultaneously from different corners of the room.

“But Allison is here with the puck tonight, right?” Jax said.

Kane rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

He tried not to notice when everyone sagged a little in relief. But as the team fell into their actual pre-game routines—minus the more elaborate superstitions—Kane felt the atmosphere shift. They were ready. They were going to play their game.

His phone buzzed one last time before he had to turn it off:

Allison: You've got this. All of you.

The first period started rough. Kane missed a perfect setup from Oliver, something he'd normally bury without thinking. The opponents scored first on a broken play.

But then something shifted. Instead of falling into panic, the team rallied. Dmitri's skating found its flow—not ballet-inspired, just pure hockey skill. Oliver stopped checking to see if his phone was recording where he had left it and was focused entirely on the game. Marcus trusted his instincts instead of his calculations. And Liam practically stood on his head in the net, making save after incredible save.

By the second period, they'd found their rhythm. Kane's line cycled the puck with practiced precision, wearing down the opposition. When Dmitri finally scored to tie it up, his celebration was simple—just pure joy, no choreography required.

During the second intermission, Kane caught glimpses of the team's usual supporters in the stands. Mrs. Peterson had produced what appeared to be championship-round lucky scarves for her entire section. The building chat group was probably going crazy. But his eyes found Allison, and everything else faded away.

She gave him a small nod, and he felt the last of his tension release. They didn't need luck. They had this. And he had her.

The third period was hockey distilled to its purest form. No superstitions, no rituals, just skill and heart and trust in each other. Kane led by example, making plays happen through sheer determination and talent. The team followed, each player elevating their game not through luck but through belief in themselves and each other.

With two minutes left, tied 1-1, Kane gathered his line during a TV timeout. "Remember what got us here," was all he said. But he saw how they responded—shoulders straightening, eyes focusing, energy aligning.

No one mentioned the puck.

The final minute felt like poetry in motion. Kane to Oliver to Dmitri, the puck flowing between them like they'd practiced it a thousand times. A perfectly timed pick by Marcus to create space. Kane finding the seam, Oliver's no-look pass, Kane's stick flexing as he one-timed it...

The goal horn sounded like victory and vindication and validation all at once.

As soon as they were back in the locker room and it was safe to use his phone, Kane texted Allison a message he should have made it clearer before now.