Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ARTHUR
One Year Later
The best things in life are worth waiting for.
It was just over a year ago that our playoff run was ended by Boston in game seven of the Eastern Conference. It hurt. To come so close to the finals and go home empty-handed. It was a devastating loss for me and my team.
Hockey will break your heart.
But we took that heartbreak and used it as fuel, strengthening our resolve to come back bigger and better this season.
And that’s exactly what we did. The Otters have had a banner year, shattering multiple records and giving the franchise its best season ever.
It’s also been the best year of my life. Elliot and Sam have become more than the family I never knew I needed. They’re the family I never believed I deserved. And somehow, here we are. Living and changing and growing together, choosing each other every single day.
I’m still working with Cal, being bullied on a weekly basis. But faithfully doing my exercises for well over a year has been completely life changing. I have more strength, more flexibility, and most importantly, considerably less pain.
My life is fuller now. Louder. There’s more love and more laughter woven into my days and nights than I ever thought possible.
As much as I’ve loved living next door to Elliot and Sam this past year, we’re ready for the next step. Last week we closed on the house together, buying it from Glen.
The best things in life are worth waiting for.
And now here we are. Game five of the Stanley Cup Final. We’re up three games to one in the series. We don’t need to win tonight.
But dammit, I want to.
My eyes sweep the crowd until they land where I know Elliot is sitting with Sam.
My sister, Britt is there too, having flown in from Vancouver for the game.
She’s methodically working her way through a pack of Twizzlers, which tells me everything I need to know.
If she’s abandoned her health-nut routine, she’s nervous.
Elliot catches my eye. I can see the nerves in her too, the way her shoulders are just a little too tight. Then she lifts her hand and gives me a small wave, mouthing, I love you.
It hits me square in the chest, like it does every time.
I love her. God, more than anything. And no matter what happens tonight, or any night after this, I know one thing for certain. Elliot is my girl.
We’re clinging to a one-goal lead with five minutes left in the third, and Chicago is desperate. They’re throwing everything they have at us. Every shift is pure chaos. Pucks dumped deep, bodies crashing the crease, sticks slashing at rebounds that don’t exist yet.
Then everything goes wrong.
A lost draw in our zone. A quick pass to the point. Traffic in front. The shot comes through heavy and low, deflects off a shin pad, and sneaks past Foster before he can seal the post.
The cheers of the crowd die out as Chicago ties the game.
I grip the edge of the bench and stare at the ice as the puck is retrieved from the net. With just under four minutes left on the clock, we’ve got to get past their defences if we want to end this in regulation play.
Chicago celebrates their goal. It’s clear they think they’ve swung the momentum.
But they’re wrong.
Play resumes and it’s mayhem. Sloppier. Louder. Desperate. Every man on the ice is skating like this might be the last shift of his life. For a few of the older guys on both benches, it very well could be.
Then Chicago escalates things further. Crawford gets hit from behind and goes down hard. Sticks come up. Gloves shove. Bodies collide as both teams pile in, threats and obscenities being thrown around until the refs wedge themselves between them.
The ref’s arm goes up. Two minutes for the illegal hit.
Chicago calls a timeout.
The building is deafening, twenty thousand Otters fans screaming themselves hoarse, but down on our bench it goes eerily quiet. The guys circle in, chests heaving, eyes locked on me.
“This is it,” I say, calm but cutting through the noise. “Two minutes. You don’t get cute. You don’t force it. You trust the system and you trust each other.”
I look at them one by one. “We’ve got the extra man advantage and we’re not going to waste it. They’re desperate. Use it. We didn’t work this hard all season, come this far, to play safe. We came to finish it.” I pause, searching their sweat soaked faces. “The Cup is yours. Bring it home.”
The horn sounds. The power-play unit hops the boards.
Two minutes left.
It feels like an eternity.
Our guys set up in Chicago’s zone, cycling the puck, probing for a crack. Their defence holds, collapsing fast, sticks everywhere. Every lane closes just as it opens. The clock bleeds down. Sixty seconds. Forty.
My jaw locks as overtime looms closer and closer.
Then Noah makes his move. A quick deke provides just enough separation for him to get his shot off. The puck bounces off the goalie’s pads and lands right on Austin’s stick.
He doesn’t hesitate.
He snaps it into the top left hand corner of the net before their goalie can react with eleven seconds left on the clock.
The building explodes as the goal horn blares. Sound like I’ve never heard before, enough to make my ear drums bleed. Austin disappears under a swarm of bodies, green and gold jerseys piling on him in celebration.
My heart swells and pounds in my chest as I watch, wishing I could be out there with them. But it’s not over yet.
Chicago pulls their goalie in a last, desperate gamble. Austin wins the faceoff and sends it deep. We kill the seconds until the final buzzer sounds.
The Ottawa Otters have won their first Stanley Cup.
My players dive over the boards to join their teammates already on the ice.
The fans are on their feet, louder than ever.
Queen’s “We Are the Champions” blares on the loud speakers.
Party cannons shoot green and gold confetti over the ice.
I stand back and just watch it all happen.
I watch these men, who have given me everything in their tanks this past year, celebrate all that hard work and sacrifice.
When I finally join them on the ice, Noah skates over, his hand outstretched. I stare at it a moment, before grabbing it and hauling him into a bear hug.
“Holy shit, Ace! You’re hugging me!” He laughs as I literally lift him off the ground.
“First time for everything,” I shout so he hears me over the crowd.
I work my way through my team, handing out high fives, crushing handshakes, pulling guys into tight hugs. Everyone is shouting. Laughing. Crying. By the time the families are finally allowed onto the ice, my legs feel heavy and the adrenaline starts to ebb. I am exhausted.
Then I see Sam.
He’s sprinting toward me, faster than I’ve seen the kid move before. I get a second wind and open my arms just in time before he slams into me. I scoop him up and hold him tight against my chest, ruffling his hair with my free hand. This brilliant, beautiful kid I somehow get to love like my own.
“Good game, Coach,” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.
“Thanks, son.”
He squeezes me hard, then harder, like he never wants to let go. He does eventually, making his way over to where Ben stands waiting for him.
I lift my head and search the crowd for the one person I need to see.
Elliot is standing there with tears streaking her cheeks and the biggest smile I have ever seen on her face. She barrels straight into me, arms wrapping tight as she buries her face against my chest.
“Hey, Boss,” I say, laughing into her hair. “So you run into people on ice now too?”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her green eyes are shining, full of love and pride and everything that matters. “You’re damn right I do.”
“Menace,” I murmur, brushing my mouth against hers. “I love you.”
I say it soft, almost lost in the noise, but she knows. She always knows. And I will spend every day for the rest of my life making sure she never forgets it.