Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
Brandon
For the first time in ages, the locker room is silent of chatter before a game. No one, and I mean no one is making any noise outside of what’s associated with getting our gear ready.
There’s the sound of sticks being taped, and that tape subsequently ripped. There’s the sound of laces being drawn and gear getting snapped into place. But other than that… nothing.
Looking around, I half expect to see the visitors’ locker room empty. But it’s filled with all twenty-four of us quietly getting prepared to play with our game faces on.
Outside of the room, I can hear the thrum of Buffalo fans making their way to their seats in the Blizzards’ stadium. It already sounds like a party out there. It’s as if they’re already celebrating winning the Stanley Cup. The concept of being denied has never crossed any of their minds.
“Do you hear that?” Coach Chris says as he walks into the locker room from the coach’s office. He looks quite sharp in his dark blue suit paired with a light blue, yellow, and white tie to match our uniforms.
We all look up at him from our stalls.
“That’s the sound of a fanbase that’s gotten comfortable. They think the Stanley Cup staying here is a foregone conclusion. It isn’t. They’re underestimating us.” He pauses and looks around the room. His eyes land on our captain. “Danton, are the people of Buffalo wrong to underestimate us?”
“Damn right they are,” Danton says. He rises from his seat to reach Coach in the middle of the room and bumps his fist.
“Roysy,” Coach says, “when I took over this team, did you think we were going to be here?”
“Hell, yeah, I did!” Roysy yells out. “As soon as you bumped me down to the third line, where I belong, I knew you’d take us to the promised land.”
“The third line isn’t where you belong,” O’Shea says.
“Yes, it is,” the rest of the team say in unison as Coach Chris walks to Roysy and bumps his fist.
“Ivanov!” Coach says, making his way around the room. “All season, you’ve averaged letting in less than three goals a game. Are you surprised we’re here?”
“Not at all,” Ivanov says, grinning from ear to ear as he puts his jersey on over all of his extra gear. He points at Danton, Clemmers, and the rest of our defense. “This team’s d-core makes my job easy.”
Coach bumps his fist, then makes his way to me. “And what about you, Brandon? Are you surprised we’re here right now?”
“Honestly,” I say as a laugh rumbles through my chest, “yes. I am literally quite shocked that I am still here. I thought you all would have sent me back to UDub before my first week was over.”
“Mr. Humble over here,” Ryan says as he slings one arm around me then uses his free hand to ruffle my hair, rubbing his knuckles into my scalp as if I’m some sort of a good luck charm. “You’re literally one of the main reasons why we’re here.”
“I doubt that,” I say as he lets me go. Sure, I’ve scored some goals, but this team is full of talent. I’m not naive enough to believe that I, a late-season rookie, was enough to carry them here. “You all would have made it here without me.”
“The fuck we would!” Danton exclaims, laughing.
He rises again and looks around at everyone.
“Listen, I’ve been captain of this team for a long time.
I’ve seen players come and go. I’ve seen people give up on the Mules.
But not anymore. There’s a lot of talent in this room.
More than most people realize. Did we get here because of one player?
Or course not. We got here because finally, after all these years, we are a complete team.
All of our offensive lines, and defensive pairings, work.
We complement each other. Our goal is well-tended and we can play with confidence knowing not much is going to slip into our net.
This is our time. We’re the Mules. And when these Stanley Cup Finals are over, there isn’t going to be a soul in the hockey world who’ll be able to say they didn’t see us coming. ”
“All in on one!” Ryan says as he makes his way to the center of the locker room. I follow him, right on his heel. “Three… two… one!”
“Go, Mules!” We all cheer in unison.
Ryan
“What’s up, Kennedy?” I say to Connor as we crouch face-to-face over the dot.
“Christianson,” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Don’t act shy now. You and I have been facing off against each other for years.” Which is true. It’s wild to think about. He, Gavin, Ander, and I were all drafted the same year. Though all three of them drew far more attention and fanfare than I did.
Connor, the star, the generational player. Gavin, the tough guy, the work horse. Ander, the heart, the brick wall. And me. The surprise that no one ever saw coming.
Except for maybe Brandon. He always knew. I look over my shoulder at him now. We lock eyes. He grins at me. He certainly knows what’s coming now.
I’ll admit, Connor is a better player than me. He always has been. But one thing I do better than most, including him, is win draws at the dot.
“What do you say?” I ask. “Friends when this is all over.”
“Definitely,” he says, as friendly as ever. Typical Connor. Always the good golden boy.
By contrast, over his shoulder I see Gavin waiting in the wings. Large and imposing. Friendship is the last thing on his mind.
“Be ready!” I yell to Brandon.
“Shall we get this started, gentlemen?” the ref asks, holding the puck between us like a bone between two dogs, ready to go at it.
“Since when are we gentlemen?” I ask.
“Since right now,” the ref says. He looks back and forth between the both of us. “No dirty stuff here.”
I nod my chin towards Connor. “Tell that to his boyfriend when you toss him into his throne.”
Connor’s eyebrow rises. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, Ryan.”
“Not in the least,” I say as I stare right at him. “Now let’s fucking go!”
I drop my gaze and look at the ice. All I see is the dot, mine and Connor’s skates, and then our sticks’ blades as the puck drops between them. Swift, I chip it out, knowing full well it went right where I intended. To Brandon waiting on my right wing.
“Head on swivel!” I hear Danton yell behind me.
There’s no question what he means here or who it’s aimed at. Gavin is headed right towards Brandon. He attempts to pass the puck.
Slam!
“Welcome to the league, kid!” Gavin says, as the puck escapes Brandon’s stick. I’m able to intercept it. And I quickly chip it over to O’Shea before Gavin gets a chance to knock me on my ass as well.
“You alive?” I yell over my shoulder to Brandon as I skate off to give O’Shea support in the Blizzards’ offensive zone.
“I’m good,” Brandon wheezes out, trying to catch his breath.
“Then hurry up and get back with us!” I say as O’Shea passes the puck back to me.
Already this game is off to the races. I need to slow it down so my team can settle.
Instead of taking a shot, I pass the puck to Danton, who then walks it along the blue line behind us to Clemmers on the right side.
Brandon enters the zone behind him and skates to the right circle while Clemmers passes the puck back to me.
There are two things everyone watching this game is sitting on the edge of their seat for.
The first already happened when Gavin trucked Brandon, welcoming him to the league.
The second, which is about to happen, is the first time Brandon takes a shot on his brother in an NHL game.
It doesn’t even matter if it goes in. The Bouchard brothers going head-to-head is one of the biggest Stanley Cup Finals stories to happen in ages.
He’s right where I want him. Lined up and ready to take the perfect one-timer. When I pass him the puck, he already has his stick back. He swings and slaps the blade down. It collides with the puck and lifts it, sending the puck flying at breakneck speed towards Ander.
Ander gets his stick on it, but just barely, and deflects the puck over the net where Gavin is close by, ready to get it to Connor.
Connor grabs it, and with his speed, he’s way ahead of the rest of us as we chase after him.
Somehow, it’s Gavin who catches up with him first. Even if any of us is able to catch Connor, Gavin is there to make sure none of us can touch him.
Connor fakes right on Ivanov, then shoots left.
The puck lands right in Ivanov’s glove, bringing play to a stop.
Brandon
“Good first shift, boys!” Coach Chris yells across the ice at us. “Line two! Be ready to switch out as soon as this face off is over.”
The implication of that hinges on Ryan winning this next face off. A task I know he can achieve.
The ref drops the puck and I sprint back to the bench as soon as I see Danton take possession of it after Ryan slipped it out behind him through his legs.
He moves it to the neutral zone while the rest of us make our line change.
He and Clemmers likely won’t get their break until the next stoppage of play.
I make it to our bench first and I’m over the boards in one direction as Gauthier shoots over them onto the ice. Ryan and O’Shea aren’t far behind me and soon all three of us are together sipping water and catching our breaths.
“You alright?” Ryan asks me between sips of water.
I grin at him. “I’m good.”
“That was quite the hit you took,” Coach says behind me. “You’re gonna have a hell of a battle wound to show for it.”
“I’ll be sure to get pictures,” I say.
“We’ll hang one in our living room,” Ryan says.
Coach laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “Keep it up, kid. You’re gonna go far.”
I nod my head and swallow, and everything slows down. I’ve made it. I’m here and finally, I believe I’m going to stay.