30. Chase
Chase
My wife is a gem. She’s my Gem. And right now, with the prospect of winning the damn Cup closer than it’s ever been, I want to show her my appreciation.
I want to kiss the ever-loving hell out of her too.
But I can’t.
We agreed.
What happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.
And it has. For two weeks, one day.
For fifteen days I’ve trained and trained and trained and she’s taken care of every other aspect of my life. The girls, the house, everything. She’s even filled my car with gas. All I’ve had to think about is me. Hockey.
I get that it’s for her benefit too. I mean, she stands to make the history books. Entering the NHL with a brand new franchise and getting to the Cup final the first year in already has her in the history books.
I’m proud of her. Of what she and Oakley and Blake and Cami have done.
I’m proud of the team too. We’ve pulled together in a way no one expected. The whole league paid for their lack of confidence.
Five games into the last series of the season and we’re up. Three to one. And if we win tonight? On home ice? The Cup is ours.
Boston has put us through the wringer to get here. They might not have won as many games as us, but they haven’t let us walk away with the wins either.
We’ve fought with everything we have to get those games to go our way. And tonight, we stand to win double if we can keep ahead of Boston.
The game and the Cup.
The coaches have been doing their best to keep us grounded. To keep us from, as Oakley says, counting our goals before they’re scored.
Win or lose, we can hold our heads up high. We came into the league determined to prove we belong, and we didn’t just show them. We slapped them in the face with it.
The locker room is buzzing even though no one is really talking. It’s hushed words and pre-game rituals. Equipment prep and lucky sock wearing. It’s Zen music and hard rock and complete silence.
Each of us has a different routine to get our heads in the game. Ways we either repeat over and over every game or try and push aside when we feel they aren’t working.
I’ve never really had a ritual. I prep my gear, lay it out on the floor in front of me, then put each piece on. I guess that’s a kind of ritual.
“All right, guys!” Coach Alcott shouts to get our attention. “The GM wants to have a quick word.”
My gaze darts up. I hadn’t expected to see Gem before the game. She usually waits until after to speak to the team. When she steps into the room she’s dressed in a pair of dark blue slacks and a Rogues jersey. I’d love to see my name on the back of it—my number.
But that’s a pipe dream for later. I’ll slot it alongside our Vegas encounter.
“Let me start with this. Thank you.” Her gaze moves around the room, making eye contact with each man before moving to the next. “If it wasn’t for all of you, we wouldn’t be here. I can stand here and pretend it’s because I brought all of you to Baton Rouge, but we all know that’s just the vehicle that got you to the ice. It’s what you all did when you got on the ice that matters most.”
Her gaze moves around continuously, and the expression on her face is one of genuine affection, appreciation.
“You go out there tonight and hold your heads high because you deserve to. You made this happen. For yourselves, each other, the Rogues’ org, and the fans. You, not this puppet master with her strings. And when we’re done, when the last puck has been sent over the goal line, no matter what the score reads, you come back to this room with those heads just as high.”
Her watch beeps and she lifts her arm, but her eyes are still on the room, not the device on her wrist.
“That’s my cue. And yours. Time to show the world this season is not a fluke. Get out there and give a lesson in game winning hockey!”
The room erupts in hooting and hollering and clapping and stomping feet. And with a smile on her face and a wave of her hand, Gem leaves us to finish our game prep.
I can see her words have resonated with all of us. She’s right. It doesn’t matter who got us here, it’s what we did when we arrived that made us the team we are.
Concentrating on getting dressed, I play a game in my head, roll through the moves I’ll need to make, possible places the puck can come at me, ways to stop it. Always stopping it.
“Okay, this is it!” Coach Alcott calls out. “Last minute. Get your shit together, boys, we’re about to make history.”
He turns to Coach Watts, and they open the door wide, hold it that way ready for us to head out. I see some of the guys do their last second rituals. Mikel Vinter kisses his stick, Cutter Jepson crosses his chest and says a prayer, and Gannon Byrd removes the necklace from around his neck, presses the ring it holds against his lips then his chest before placing it in his locker.
Me? I put on my helmet and lower the mask. I won’t take it off until the end of the game. It’s the final act that puts my head into game mode.
As I walk down the tunnel, I can hear the crowd, feel the vibrations of the cheers and stamping feet. This is it.
Getting to play in the NHL was the dream.
Playing for the Cup? The ultimate fantasy.
Waiting in line, I close my eyes and whisper, “This one’s for you, Mom and Dad.”
Everything is a blur after that. Warm up, player announcements, the first puck drop. It’s as though I enter a trance, like some Tibetan monk; I’m here but not.
We dominate in the first period. Enter the locker room with a score of two zip. When we hit the ice after the break, we seem to get better. Maybe it’s the fact we know the Cup can be ours tonight. Or maybe it’s that we’re just playing better.
Four to nothing entering the third period seems ridiculous for a Cup final but that’s what we are. The crowd is going wild but we’re keeping our heads, not letting any of the hype affect our game.
We’ve played fantastic all season. From the first game to the last one. But tonight? We’re on a different level.
Boston is scrambling. They can’t seem to control the puck or keep it. I’ve barely seen any action. Unlike my counterpart who’s been working non-stop to keep us at bay.
It’s not until the crowd starts screaming numbers that I look at the clock.
Eight seconds.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
I stand upright.
Two.
One.
I can’t even hear the horn, the noise in the arena too deafening. My gaze scans the ice, the seats, the bench, before turning to find the team racing across the ice toward me.
There are words, lots of words, but the ringing in my ears makes it impossible to decipher them. When Bex grabs my mask, shakes my head, I concentrate on his lips. Try to read them. And the second I do it sinks in.
I just played a shut-out game in a Cup final.
A game that wins us the Cup.
I yank my head from Bex’s hold and search for the only person I want to see right now.
It’s pandemonium on the ice. In the stands. Chaos of the best kind.
“They’re keeping everyone near the bench,” Gannon yells in my ear with a tip of his head toward it.
When I look, I can’t find Gem or the girls in the crowd. What I do see is carpet. They’re laying carpet over the ice in sections and shuffling people onto them.
Officials in suits, kids in jerseys, held in place by moms, wait for their dads to come over.
And there they are. The twins are jumping up and down, their mouths working so I know they’re screaming. I still don’t see Gem. Or Candace. Worried, I push through the melee and head for Cass and Stell.
Reaching them, I wrap them up in an arm each and pull them against me. I ignore their congratulations and ask, “Where’s Gem? Candace?”
“Well,” Cass says with a smirk. “Candace decided the last minute of the game was a good time to fill her diaper.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
I turn to check with Stell who shakes her head, but she’s grinning. “It seems her big brother making history isn’t as important as pooping her pants.” She laughs then.
“She’ll never live it down,” Cass adds.
“Gem missed the end of the game?”
“No. I certainly did not.” The woman I’m looking for moves next to me. “I handed that girl off to Deanne.”
“Smart.” I grin. “We did it.”
Nodding, she says, “Yes, you did. Now go join your team so you can get your hands on the Cup.”
“But.” My gaze drills into hers.
“Later. We’ll be right here. Waiting.”
I know she means the girls. But I take it a different way. I take it as a promise from her that she’ll be waiting for me once the presentation of the Cup is over.
“Don’t you have to go up and get the Cup, too?” Cass asks.
“I do. But then I’ll come right back here and wait with our girls.” Her eyes never leave mine as she speaks, and my heart beats double-time in my chest.
“Promise?”
She nods. “Promise.”
“Okay.” A hand claps down on my shoulder.
“Come on. We’ve got a Cup to lift,” Bex says with a tug on my jersey.
Holy fudge sticks.
It’s real. Not a dream.
We won the Cup!
The Rogues won the Cup!