Chapter 35
Finley
“Welcome to the final event in The Great Yeti Challenge!” Ken Peterson's voice booms across the arena, from where he stands on a red carpet at center ice. Applause thunders in the space, almost louder than it is at hockey games. But the crowd today isn’t your normal Yeti fans.
It’s an odd assortment including representatives from the nonprofits selected by the various teams as their choice for the partner for next year; new fans who came to us through The Great Yeti Challenge; and a few of the loyal Yeti supporters who want to know everything about the team, from the plays and the trades, to each player’s stats, to what happens behind the scenes.
There are far more women in the room than men, not a ratio the arena sees often.
The teams have been split up since the event started. Which means I don't have to be around Beckett, which is for the best. Because if the last week has taught me anything, it’s that remaining professional is much easier if I’m just not around him.
What we did was stupid and reckless. It was not okay. So it has to mean nothing. What we did. What I felt. Even if the constant weight in my belly, the guilt I’m trying to bury deep, reminds me that it, in fact, meant everything.
The arena goes quiet as Ken reviews the rules of the game and, with a dramatic pause, introduces the Yeti players who will be helping with this challenge.
It’s a pretty simple game. One person from each Challenge pair is the hockey player, and they have to make sound hockey decisions.
They’ll run through drills and standard scenarios from both an offensive and defensive perspective.
Power plays, two-on-one, three-on-one, that sort of thing.
The other person from the Challenge pair is off the ice, sitting on the bench.
Their job is to decide, before the player on the ice can move, what the textbook answer is to the scenario presented by the Yeti players.
Honestly? It’s genius.
Teams get points if they agree on what should happen, and they get points if the player on the ice successfully does what they’re supposed to do.
We are not allowed to watch the other teams, so after Mr. Peterson and Sabrina finish their introductions, I head back to my office. We’re second to last, so I have plenty of time to listen to the crowd as I question all my life’s decisions.
Like, how I could’ve done something so stupid as falling for one of my players.
Fortunately, after avoiding being alone with Beckett for the entire week, I think he’s realized things have changed.
Laughter echoes from the arena, and I assume the intern team is on the ice.
Everly boldly decided to be the one to skate since she claimed not to know the names of any hockey skills.
She was, apparently, a figure skater at one point, but even so, it has to be hilarious.
Knowing who they picked from the Yeti roster to be the challengers, there is no doubt in my mind they went out of their way to make her look good.
Rob and J.D. are the team before us, and there’s a surprising amount of clapping.
It was smart of them to bring in a different audience—normal fans wouldn’t be this engaged with basic drill work.
Finally, it’s our turn.
I walk down the tunnel to a roaring crowd; it almost feels like it’s game day. But there's something about it that feels hollow. Just like it has all week.
I step into my bench and sit down at the small table they have set up in front of me.
“Here are your cards, Coach,” Joslyn, a woman from the social media team, says, handing me a stack of cards with various moves and strategies written on them.
I quickly look through them all, sorting them into offense and defense, so at least I won’t have to search through the whole group every time. There’s some strategy here. A large part of the player on the ice being successful is having enough time to move. Which means I can’t take too long.
“Ready, Kane?” Joslyn asks, and I meet his gaze for the first time in a long time.
I swallow heavily when I see a hint of hunger in his eyes.
He looks good, back on the ice in his full uniform.
White and Doctor Lowell considered not letting Kane do this final competition due to his injury, but the medical team cleared him this morning, so they decided to let him participate with limited contact.
I’d been so happy for him when we met with Doc this morning, but all I could do was tell him that he’ll be starting on the tenth against the Titans.
It was exactly how I would act with any other player, but it didn’t feel enough with Kane. Or maybe it was still too much somehow.
“As soon as you place the puck on top of your selection, I’ll blow my whistle, and your teammate can move,” Joslyn says to me.
I nod. I’m ready.
Beckett starts on defense, and even though he’s been off the ice for three weeks, you can tell this is where he feels most comfortable. He skates to the center of the ice as Cruz and O’Connor break away from in front of the other net. It’s a classic two-on-one.
I quickly scan my cards, slamming the puck down on the one that says, “Take away the pass.”
The whistle sounds, and Beckett moves, skating backward, letting Herrera in the net know he’s taking the pass. It’s a textbook play, and both sides perform well, though Cruz lets Beckett force him to shoot from the exact area he wants: the one where Herrera has the best chance to make the save.
Two large green check marks light up the screen, and the crowd goes wild. Two points for us.
Everyone resets, and the team charges, sending three-on-one. It’s a situation that rarely happens at professional levels, but it does happen. Particularly when you have an eager, young defenseman who ends up going too deep, and the forwards get lazy with their backchecking.
I slap down my puck, and Kane springs into motion at the first sound of the whistle, as if he could anticipate exactly how long it would take me to decide.
He’s a by-the-book defenseman, and everything he does makes it look like he’s leading a clinic on fundamentals.
I almost wish I had made the rest of the team come and take notes.
Another two check marks. Another roar from the crowd.
Eventually, the scenarios become less textbook and more subjective, but still, Kane and I are in sync. Whatever answer I give, that’s what he does. It’s unbelievable.
As the double check marks continue to light up the screen, a TeamBlane chant gets started in the crowd—exactly what we didn’t need.
But I force myself to stay focused on men skating against Beckett, never allowing my gaze to watch him too closely.
To be anything but a coach sweeping the entirety of the play.
Finally, our turn is done, and as Kane heads down the tunnel to change out of his skates, our gazes lock.
He dips his head, lifting his gloved hand for a bump as he walks by.
I tap my fist to his and say softly, “Good work out there, Kane.”
He keeps walking, calling a simple, “Thanks, Coach, you, too,” over his shoulder as he passes me.
I make my way to the stands, sitting next to Doctor Pearce.
“How did you two do?” I ask.
“Nothing like you and Kane,” Lefevre says from the other side of Pearce.
She pushes his shoulder. “That’s because you kept doing unexpected things!”
“You can’t always go by the book, Sutty.”
I startle at the nickname. “Sutty?” I ask.
“Lefevre, here, thinks we’re friends now.”
That is… interesting. That they’re just openly friends. It doesn’t sit entirely right, like a sweater with arms too tight, but I can’t decide why. Shaw has gotten beers with the guys many times, and nothing seemed wrong with it then.
“And you… disagree about being friends?” I ask.
“We have friend-like tendencies. And I was an excellent wingwoman for him the other weekend when we grabbed a couple of beers at the hotel in Boston.”
“Hell yeah, you were.” Lefevre extends his hand for a fist bump. “Rachel wasn’t even a bunny, and I still convinced her to come to my room.”
Sutton begrudgingly bumps her fist against his, and I realize they might actually be friends. Not friends like Kane and me, but just… work friends. It’s an alarmingly boring realization.
“Well, that’s officially too much information for me,” I say, turning my focus to where Larsen is taking the ice. I nod toward him. “You want to talk about doing unexpected things… I can’t believe they didn’t have Li skate. At least then, Larsen’s answers would be confined to what’s on the cards.”
“He’ll probably pull out a marker and write his own answers,” Lefevre jokes.
“Li is clearly the better player of the two,” Sutton says defensively, before letting out a bark of laughter. “But he definitely wouldn’t be performing standing spins at center ice.”
I look back out, and sure enough, Larsen is doing figure skating moves while he waits. The crowd absolutely loves it, and the place explodes in cheers.
As predicted, Larsen is a source of absolute chaos. And that’s not to say that he doesn’t succeed. He earns every single point for stopping or scoring. But he and Li, despite how much time they spend together, are almost never on the same page.
I’m not sure if Sandstrom, the defenseman Larsen is typically paired with, needs a medal or counseling after playing with Larsen all season because he’s able to somehow make Larsen’s madness appear choreographed.
At some point during their turn, Beckett exits the tunnel. We make eye contact before he goes and sits with Rob and J.D. I rub my palm over the catching feeling in my chest.
When Li and Larsen’s turn ends, Sabrina and Ken once again take the center of the ice. “Thank you all so much for being here today,” Sabrina says. “Did you have a good time?”
Everyone cheers, and Sabrina puffs with pride. “Well, now it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Scores have been tallied and combined with those from the previous challenges. Mr. Peterson, would you like to do the honors?”
She hands the microphone to Ken. “The winners of The Great Yeti Challenge are none other than…” He pauses, letting the suspense grow. “Coach Finley Blake and Beckett Kane!”
I stand, waving politely to the crowd as they chant TeamBlane.
“Smile,” Sutton hisses quietly, and I pull my face into a grin, my gaze laser-focused on the opposite side of the arena from Beckett.
“Which means the Denver Yeti are very excited to be partnering with Wishes and Wings next year as our nonprofit partner!”
It takes almost a minute for the stands to settle down, but when they do, Ken adds, “We look forward to giving their team, plus a few special kiddos, a tour of our facilities in two weeks!”
With that, The Great Yeti Challenge is officially over. Beckett and I are simply player and coach once again.
So why do I still feel so guilty for the decisions I made?