Chapter 7 - Theo
Theo
Ear-splitting yips and howls met me in the locker room in the moments before our first playoff game. The guys were practically chomping at the bit to get out there and strangely enough, I wasn’t filled with the same dread that had followed me all season.
“You know what I love most about coyotes?” Landon threw his arm around my shoulder like we were old friends. I only flinched a little, the painkillers already doing their job.
“They’re fluffy?”
“They haul ass when they see a surge coming.” He threw his head back and let rip with another howl that shook the locker room.
The guys upped the racket, banging sticks on lockers and stomping until it felt like my pulse had been hijacked. It had been so long, I didn’t think I could get swept up in the pre-game adrenaline anymore. Yet, here I was.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Hunter said, coming over to me at my locker. “But the kid’s growing on me.”
“I know what you mean,” I said with a laugh, and pulled out my gear. “He can be an arrogant ass, but he has the game to back it up.”
Hunter scoffed. “Don’t let him hear you. There’s barely enough room in here as it is, with that big head of his.”
The commotion dipped and I knew before turning around, that it was because of Coach. He’d sauntered to the middle of the room, one leg up on the bench while he waited for our attention.
“Game one, boys.” His eyes moved from face to face, a look of earnest resolution. “This is where everything we’ve worked for, played for, and everything we’ve bled for starts paying off.”
The uproar from before seemed to have soaked into each one of us to become an internal storm.
There were intense nods and pumped fists all round.
The Arizona Coyotes weren’t exactly the “fixture of death”—we were pretty confident we’d sweep the first round—but at the same time, we weren’t taking anything for granted.
“Like I keep telling you,” Coach said, “Doesn’t matter who we play or how deep we are into playoffs. We treat every single game like a final, and we make every second count.” Then his gaze snagged on Grayson, and he gestured with his chin. “Looks like Cap’s busting at the seams to get a word in.”
We all laughed and since Tucker was closest, he did the honors of pulling Grayson into a headlock for a worldclass atomic noogie. He groaned, swatting hopelessly at Tucker’s arms, and when he was finally released, his face was red, hair all messed up.
“Floor’s yours, Cap.”
Grayson nodded, and stood a little straighter.
“First off, I want to say what a shame it is to have to go into the biggest competition of the year with a bunch of five-year-olds.” He waited for another round of raucous laughter to die down before going on.
“Luckily, I’m mature enough, and talented enough…
to do this all on my own. I’m humbled and grateful to get to be the one who will lead The Surge to glory with nothing but my singular contribution. ”
Sniggers all round, and Coach just shook his head. “Please tell me your second of all isn’t more bullshit.”
“Oh, second of all,” Grayson said, as if it only just occurred to him that he started a numbered list. “You guys better make me look good out there.”
When I slipped out for the med bay, the ragging was still going full force.
“You’re late.” Reese was already stationed at the exam table, cold spray and tape at the ready.
I set my gear down at the edge of the table and pulled off my shirt. “Sorry, there were speeches.”
She scoffed. “Speeches. Right. Sounds more like a bar than a locker room.”
Her hands came up to my shoulders and with a subtle touch, she made me turn so my back was facing her. A second later, the room filled with the smell of menthol and the sound of her hands rubbing together to warm up the anti-inflam gel.
I didn’t know what to say, but needed to break the stiff silence. “You’re not gonna make me lie down again?”
“And have you sleep through the first game of playoffs?” She chuckled, hands gently working my shoulder.
I was immediately pulled back to that feeling when that gnawing pain had finally lifted under her magic hands. How I’d simultaneously felt like I’d been run over by a truck and also weightless. Made me a little mad at myself for avoiding her as long as I had.
“Lift your arm slowly,” she said then, her fingers pressed into the top of my shoulder. “Keep your elbow straight. That’s it.”
I raised my arm, gritting my teeth against the familiar sting along the joint. “Feels like someone lit my arm on fire.”
“Hold it,” she said without sympathy. “Now rotate, outward first. Good.”
“Liar.” It wasn’t as smooth or controlled as it should’ve been. But with the gel soaking in to ease the joint, I was confident I’d at least be able to swing a stick tonight.
“Now internal rotation.” Her hand cupped the back of my shoulder, guiding me. “Careful.”
I groaned. “Careful? You think the Coyotes are gonna be careful when they cross-check me into next week?”
She let a faint smile slip. “You have to lead with your left.”
By the end of her short check, she had me move my arm through flexion, extension, rotation, and I could feel every inch she touched. My shoulder hurt, but hadn’t screamed yet, and I considered that a win.
“I’m ready for my close-up,” I said as she rolled out the tape.
She was meticulous. Each strip went on, precise and firm, but not constricting. Her hands lingered just long enough for me to feel the stability settle into the joint. There was something else in her touch too, but I didn’t want to go there. Not just yet, anyway.
“Now let’s see what we’re working with.”
Another quick mobility run-through. I lifted, rotated, flexed. There was still discomfort, but—holy shit—less sting, less warning fire.
“You were right before, when you said you weren’t a doctor.” I pulled my shirt over my head. “You’re a wizard.”
“Wrong again. But you’re welcome.” She gave me a slight shove toward the door. “Now get out of here. I have work to do before the game starts.”
I paused in the doorway. “Tonight’s win is dedicated to you, Gandalf.”
“So now I’m an old guy with a really long stick?”
“No, but you’ve got a little whisker action going on. Just there…” I pointed to her chin.
The closest thing within reach was the pencil tumbler on her desk. It came whizzing straight at me, contents spraying across the floor. But with the pain in my arm subsided, I managed to duck out of the way just in time.
“You missed me,” I called, breaking into a jog to get the rest of my stuff and hit the ice.
We coasted in the game like we knew we would, the forwards moving the puck with barely any contest to write home about.
The Coyotes fell back part way through the first period, conceding two goals, and they never really recovered.
Better than that, was the fact I could actually enjoy it.
Reese’s tape job meant I wasn’t calculating every reach like it was a death trap.
“I save the next one, and drinks are on you,” Hunter said, drifting along the face of his net, waiting for the action to come to him.
“No fair. Coach’s seven-year-old niece could save the shots coming at you tonight.”
“I thought she was four,” he said with a laugh.
“She is,” I replied, catching Tucker’s eye. The heat was on, and he was summoning me. “She’s also five, six… Here comes another.”
The slight scuffle against the boards was over, and Grayson cut into the slot, watching Mason who slid the puck up the wing.
I stayed tight on my man, pushing just enough to keep him honest. The shot went off fast, snapping past the goalie’s glove with that satisfying thwack.
Another goal, and some more swagger from Grayson as he skated back to reset.
The Coyotes tried to respond, but I met their first break with a clean poke along the boards, sliding the puck back to Tucker. Even though my arm felt okay, I was still careful to keep overextending down to a minimum. Only when absolutely necessary.
A scramble in front of the net had me dropping low to shove a winger just enough to redirect his angle. He stumbled off balance, and I swept the puck up, sending it toward Mason who was already streaking down the right wing.
Grayson circled back, eyes on the pass, but was clearly feeling generous, because he passed it back to his partner, who’d swooped in from the right.
Coyotes defense got caught in a blender of mistimings and miscommunication.
One touch, and Mason ripped it in. The net rattled.
Clean. Quick. Efficient. Exactly how we’d practiced it, only now it wasn’t just mechanics. This was the real deal.
There was space to breathe, to take our time with plays instead of just reacting. And we weren’t the only ones having a blast. Coach almost cracked a smile a few times.
By the third, the Coyotes weren’t even trying to mount anything.
I skated the blue line with minimal strain, letting Tucker handle shots that would’ve had me bracing last week.
I passed, checked, pivoted, and felt the difference.
My body was actually cooperating. Not totally free from pain, but behaving enough so I didn’t look like a chump on the ice.
I looked over to the bench just as the final buzzer went, and found Reese staring at me. While the guys piled on each other in celebration of our comfortable win, I gave her a quick salute. She had her reservations about this arrangement, but after tonight, I didn’t see a downside.
Until we got back to the locker room and the painkillers started wearing off.
“How are you still not showered?” Hunter wore his favorite accessory… Holly.
She had her arm hooked through his, and now pulled him closer. “I heard you’re buying tonight.”
“I heard there were strict conditions to that clause,” I replied, and even managed to glare at Hunter so he didn’t pick up on the discomfort I was currently in.