Grant
SIXTY
MAY, TWO SEASONS AGO
AG
Game seven on home ice tonight!
I’m cheering for you!!
Me
I’ll make sure to score a goal for you, baby. I know you’ll be watching, and I’ll wink at the camera during my celly.
AG
Someone is sure of himself.
Me
Nah. Just glad I get to spend the summer with you!
See you when I get home?
AG
Can’t wait.
Hannah
See you tonight!
Me
Can’t believe we finally got you to a game!
Only took all season!
Hannah
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went to a game back in December when Riley was playing.
Me
That was an AHL game, not MY game.
Hannah
Not everything is about you, G.
Me
It would be nice if it was, wouldn’t it?
I’ve played in hundreds of games in my career, but tonight is different.
The energy surrounding the team is subdued, as if we’re grateful to even be here. And I guess we are. We’ve clawed our way back to having a shot at advancing to the Eastern Conference final, and our fate hinges on how the next few hours go.
“Ready to get this party started?” Ethan knocks his knuckles against mine.
“Fuck Atlanta,” I say, finishing the tape job on my stick. “Let’s do the damn thing.”
“Everyone loose?” Maverick calls out. “Feeling good?”
“Time to get the job done.” Connor grabs his helmet and pops to his feet. “It’s an honor to be here with you all, gentlemen.”
“Listen up, boys.” Coach strolls into the locker room.
“It’s game seven. We have the advantage of being on home ice, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to let up on our aggression or take our foot off the gas.
Our opponent has come out hot every single night, and we’ve consistently found ourselves down in the first period.
We need sharper passes tonight and cleaner shots on goal.
I need you to trust each other and know this group of guys has what it takes to go all the way. ”
The locker room murmurs in agreement. I sit up, excited to get the night started. I love the grind of practice, but I love this more; the thrill of the moment and being on center stage when it matters.
“Three minutes until we’re going out there and proving every single person who has ever doubted us wrong. We’re leaving it all out there, okay? Empty tanks, full fucking hearts. A win takes us to the next round. A loss sends us on a four-month vacation. How this plays out is entirely up to you.”
“Hands in,” Maverick yells. “Family on three. One. Two. Three.”
“Family!” we yell in unison.
I jump up and down, buzzing with anticipation and excitement. Ethan talks to Connor in a low voice. Liam bites his jersey and mumbles under his breath. Hudson and Maverick huddle close, a silent conversation passing between them.
It’s the perfect way to head into what could be our last battle together.
No one ever knows how the offseason will go.
There could be contract extensions, but there could also be free agency moves.
Some guys move on and find the next spot where they want to land.
This roster might not ever play together again, and we file out of the locker room with our arms slung around each other.
The ice is smooth when we skate out of the tunnel, and we take our last few shots on goal.
When the buzzer sounds, the hometown crowd roars.
The starting lineup is introduced. I try to calm the last of my nerves during the national anthem, but a camera pans down our line.
Amelia said she’s watching—she’s probably glued to the television in my living room—and it makes me toss a smirk at the camera.
After one more team huddle, the puck drops, and away we go. The game is a bloodbath from the start, both teams racing across the ice at breakneck speed. I swear my blood is humming from how loud the crowd in the arena is cheering on every possession, and I feel alive.
But then the penalties start.
Ethan is called for slashing and gets sent to the penalty box for two minutes. Connor is whistled for boarding soon after, and we miraculously survive both penalty kills without giving up a goal.
With two minutes to go in the first period, I accept a pass from Hudson and kick the puck over to Maverick, watching as our captain attempts a wrist shot that’s less than an inch shy from flying into the net.
“You’ll get the next one, Mav,” I say on our way to the bench to switch lines. “Keep your chin up.”
“Been off all night.” He groans and climbs over the boards. “I need to focus.”
With a minute left in the period, I stand with the rest of the team when Connor lines up for an open shot on net. Atlanta’s goalie is quicker, anticipating the movement of the puck and stopping it with his glove.
“Back to the locker room to refuel,” Coach says when the buzzer sounds. “We’ll see if we can find something that works in the second period.”
We don’t.
Both teams are called for multiple penalties, and nobody scores. Each side’s defense is too damn good, and I’m gassed when I sit on the bench and down half my sports drink.
“Damn. Is this how you feel every night, Huddy?” I pant, hanging my head between my legs. “Like you’re seconds away from collapsing because you’re an old man?”
“Watch your tone, Everett.” He wipes his face with a towel. “I’m schooling you out there.”
It makes me laugh and reinvigorates my depleted energy. Back on the ice, I start playing more aggressively. Less passing, more attempts to score. I get close, my backhand shot bouncing off the goalie’s blocker, and I’m disappointed in myself when we break for the second intermission.
Our rest time passes in a blur. Our equipment manager does a lap around the room, making sure he has all the gloves on the drying rack. Lexi tapes Hudson’s wrist and moves to Connor when he complains about a twinge in his knee.
“Hey.” Riley sits next to me and smiles. “You look great out there tonight.”
“Thanks, Mitchy. I feel like I’m a half second late on every possession, but there’s plenty of time left.”
“You know what to do. Trust your instincts.” His prosthetic leg bumps against my hockey shorts. “I’m proud of you, Grant.”
“And I’m proud of you. Having you in the locker room has been a big help.” I pat his thigh and rest my head on his shoulder. “We’re lucky to have you here.”
“You all know I’m not usually one for words,” Coach starts, and everyone quiets down.
“I want you all to know you’re doing everything right tonight.
Our effort is there. Our defense is there.
We’re taking good shots on goal. Great shots on goal.
I don’t want anyone to get discouraged, okay?
The last forty minutes don’t matter. Forget about them.
We’re going to focus for the next twenty.
” He pauses. “I want each of you to take a second and close your eyes.”
When I was a rookie, I might have giggled my way through his speech. Tonight, I take a deep breath. I sit up straight, clasp my hands together, and close my eyes.
“Reflect on why you’re here.” Coach’s voice takes a soft turn.
“Who are you playing for? What are you playing for? When you have that answer, I want you to grab your equipment and head back to the ice knowing the men behind you have your back. No egos. No glory. You’re all in this together, and no matter what happens out there, it’s been a goddamn honor to stand alongside you all this season. ”
The room goes silent. No joking, no goofing off.
I reflect on what Coach said and think about who I’m playing for: The little kid from Florida who never thought he’d make it on an NHL team.
The teenage boy who kept dreaming. The college club hockey player who was in the right place at the right time and now has everything he’s ever wanted, and then some.
I stand, unlocking a new level of motivation. I lift my chin and march out of the locker room with my head held high, following behind Maverick and Hudson, the two role models I’ve been lucky to play with for so long.
The third period starts, and Liam is on fire. He’s everywhere in front of the net, diving and lunging and dropping into a full split to protect the goal with his lower half. He stops three shots, unblinking as he stares ahead.
With five minutes to go, the Atlanta Yellowjackets call a timeout. I take advantage of the break and hydrate, trying to will my legs to stop aching.
“Ethan,” Coach says. “Come here.”
“What’s up?” Ethan asks, climbing over the bench to where our coaching staff is huddled up.
I can’t hear their conversation over the music and cheers, but when my best friend and I take the ice again, I skate over to him.
“You good?” I ask, and he nods.
“Coach wants me to take the shot.” He fumbles with his stick, his grip going slack. “I don’t know if that’s the right call. I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You could never let us down.”
“I guess if I do, no one would be surprised. I am the team screw up, after all. Most penalty minutes in the league? The dumb guy who can’t take anything seriously?”
“Stop that. You’re smart as hell, E. And none of us care about your penalty minutes. That means you’re passionate about the game.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Coach wouldn’t call the play for you if he didn’t believe in you. And we believe in you too.”
“You do?” Ethan looks up at me.
“Of course we do. You’re our favorite guy, and you’re going to make us proud.” I grin. “Where’s the cocky Easy E I know and love?”
“You’re right.” He taps his jersey with a nod. “I’m a badass motherfucker, and that goal is mine.”
After losing the face-off, I chase after Atlanta’s left winger.
I launch my body in front of the puck at the same moment our opponent attempts a snap shot that hits me in the ribs.
Hudson scoops up the rebound away from the boards, and I follow Maverick and Ethan down the ice.
Maverick accepts a pass from Hudson then glances at me briefly.
“Switch,” he barks out, and I move, shifting to the right while Mav goes left.