20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Lennon
Ithink I might throw up. I can’t stop pacing. Can’t stop rolling every single play from the book over in my mind, analyzing them for potential faults.
But I don’t find any. That should reassure me. Instead, it terrifies me.
I curse internally. Why the fuck haven’t any of the other coaches I have spoken to in the last few months prepared me for this moment?
It's probably because no one expected the team that lost its head coach, spent the better part of the season being written off as contenders for the wooden spoon, and clawed its way back from the brink would be standing one game away from the Stanley Cup. Yet, here we fucking are. From the moment reality came crashing back in after my heat, I haven’t had a single moment to think.
Everything has moved at a relentless pace, each hour bleeding into the next until I can barely remember which way is up.
Blake kept the team for me, coming away with a win against the Crusaders, sending us straight into the finals. The biggest game of the season. The biggest game in franchise history. Of my career. Okay, now I’m just making it worse.
I haven’t had a chance to think about anything apart from the game.
The Ars Mortis pack has been the last thing on my mind, even though they have been right beside me every single step of the way. Not once have they asked me for anything. Instead, they’ve spent every waking moment making sure I have everything I need.
Holden had almost exhausted himself preparing his body and mind for the game.
After being checked out for half of the season leading up to this, he has come back stronger than ever.
Every morning, I find him in the gym before sunrise.
Every night he’s the last one to leave the rink.
He’s determined to give every piece of himself out on that ice tonight.
Dominic has spent long hours in the equipment room, triple-checking the gear, ensuring everything is up to standard, and each player has their preferences double checked in the event anything were to go wrong during the game.
If a skate lace snaps, Dominic already has another one threaded and waiting.
If a stick breaks, which they almost always do, there’s a replacement in his hands before the player even reaches the bench. Nothing escapes him. Nothing ever has.
And, Sasha, he’s been right by my side, almost acting as an assistant.
Coffee runs? He comes back with trays full for all the coaching staff.
He’s been on catering’s cases, ensuring that each of us are getting enough protein and fibre during the day.
He’s been an encouraging support during press conferences, where the media has done its best to not only unsettle the players, reminding them of our terrible start to the season, but also trying to undermine me.
Thank fuck Veronica decided to come back in for this week only as a probono PR manager while our new guy stumbles to keep up with the pressure the position has him under.
It has been a lot, but we are finally here.
Sasha isn’t ready to fully come back yet. He can take all the time he needs. His mental health is more important than any cup. When he’s ready. We’ll know it, because he’s not one to hold back when it comes to the game. They won’t know what hit them when he does.
I look up at the buzzer, noting the seconds left in the second period.
We are in a tie with the Vikings who are playing damn fucking good tonight, and I don’t miss how nervous Sasha is.
They’ve been playing well all season. It’s no surprise that they would verse us in the finals, I was just hoping they’d fumble and fall back. But, that didn’t happen.
The buzzer goes off, ending the second period. We have eighteen minutes of intermission. Eighteen minutes before one of these two teams writes its name in history.
The locker room door shuts behind me. I come to stand at the front of the room for the last time tonight.
I take a moment to look around. To look at each of my players.
To each of the men that have welcomed me back with open arms. That in the early days of my arrival, defended me against the press as they tried to minimize me and my position.
“We have twenty minutes left on the clock. But I don’t want any of you to focus on that. Not the scoreboard. Not the fans. Not on the outside noise. This is like any other game of the season. We play like we have done from that first game we played together.”
The boys are already nodding in agreement. I can see their excitement and determination written so plainly on their faces.
“We go out there and we show the world who the fuck the Vadena Cardinals are.”
The entire team hollers, echoing their agreement.
“We go out there and leave everything out on the ice. We win this fucking game and bring the cup home where it belongs.”
This time, the roar is louder. Every single person joins in. Once they have all calmed down, I pull over my whiteboard that’s been a game day essential for me.
“Now, here is what I want you to do…”
It feels like time moves in slow motion as Holden pulls back his hockey stick, taking a shot with only five seconds left on the clock after we go into overtime.
The entire arena holds its breath, watching the puck slice through the air.
One second.
Two.
I clutch my chest, watching as the Vikings goalie reaches out to the right, his glove lifting a fraction after the puck slides through the gap he’d left open before smacking against the back of the net.
The goal buzzer goes off a second before the game buzzer does.
For the briefest heartbeat, there’s silence.
The entire arena erupts.
Cardinals fans bellow out in celebration of the game winning shot Holden just took. Every single player on the bench launches over the boards, the coaching staff isn’t far behind.
Hands grip my shoulders, turning me toward them, whoever has hold of me, shaking me out of my shock. Dominic's face is lit with elation, an expression I have never seen written on those handsome features.
“You did it, Lennon. You fucking did it, baby!”
A tear slides down my face. For the first time, I cry not from sadness or anger.
I cry from happiness. Because against all odds, we fucking did it.
I led my team, the team the Welsh family grew from the ground up, into victory.
I wrote my name, my true name, in the history books alongside some of the greats.
We fucking did it.
“This can’t be real,” I shake my head, my voice breaking with crackles of emotion.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says before pulling me into his chest. And fuck him for making me cry even harder.
The hug is short lived as he pulls back, taking my hand and leading me over to the boards. “Come on, we need to find Holden.”
He helps me over the boards, and we race across the ice to where Holden is currently being dogpiled by Burk and Carver. The three men are laughing as they celebrate.
Eventually they break away from each other, both Carver and Burk shout as they see me.
Before Dominic can stop them, both men barrel into me, lifting me into their arms and onto their shoulders.
Dominic and Mason lift Holden, who was appointed Captain for the season, onto their shoulders.
Then it's the Stanley Cup's turn. The NHL CEO places it into Holden’s hands.
We look at each other, our faces split by smiles, before he lifts the cup into the air.
The silver catches every arena light, glittering above us as thirty thousand people erupt around us.
Champions.
We are Stanley Cup champions!
My Team.