Epilogue Zach
Barrett calls the end-of-season meeting two weeks after the parade.
Which was a blur—an open-top bus through downtown, Rodriguez standing on the roof of it because nobody told him not to, confetti so thick I couldn’t see the street.
Mackie was next to me the entire time, recording on her phone and crying so hard the footage is completely unusable.
She posted it anyway. You can’t see anything but you can hear her screaming.
The meeting room looks the same as it did in October but the banner is hanging outside the building now and the whole place feels different in a way I can’t name except to say it feels finished. Or maybe I’m the thing that feels different.
Guys filter in looser and lighter than they’ve looked in months.
Rodriguez is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops because Rodriguez has apparently decided the offseason has a dress code and it’s beach.
Dex is checking his phone every thirty seconds because his and Goldie’s baby is due in August and he somehow thinks he’s going to miss the birth if he’s away from her for more than five minutes.
Roman walks in, sits down, and closes his eyes like he might nap through the whole thing.
Jack comes in after Roman and sits down two seats to my left. Three weeks ago that distance was the full length of a locker room so this feels like progress.
Barrett stands at the front. “I’m not going to keep you long,” he says. “You earned your summer. Go use it.”
He runs through the logistics. Training camp dates in September. Physicals, equipment fittings, the usual. Then he stops and looks around the room.
“Last thing,” he says. “I’m going to say this once and I’m going to say it clearly.” He points at Rodriguez. “I do not want to walk into camp next fall and discover half my roster is going to be out on paternity leave next spring. You understand what I’m telling you?”
Rodriguez grins. Dex goes red. I feel Jack’s eyes land on the side of my face like a laser.
“That means I’m too young to be a grandpa, Almardon,” Jack says without looking away from me.
The room erupts. Rodriguez is doubled over.
Brody is choking. I stare at the whiteboard and contemplate a career in literally any other profession.
But somewhere under the mortification there’s a thing I almost miss: Jack made a joke.
About me. About Mackie. In front of the whole team.
Three weeks ago he couldn’t say my name without his jaw locking.
Barrett catches my eye from the front of the room.
His face is perfectly still but he’s definitely fighting a smile.
He shakes his head once, very small, the way you shake your head when someone you coached through the worst month of his life just got publicly threatened with grandparenthood by the girl’s father in a team meeting and there’s truly nothing left to do but move on.
He waits for it to die down. The media coordinator steps in to run through the Cup rotation schedule for the summer. Rodriguez raises his hand and asks if he’s allowed to eat cereal out of it and Barrett tells him to sit down.
They go around the room confirming travel dates and places and when she gets to me the whole room goes a little quieter.
“Zach, we spoke to the youth center in Wisconsin and you’re confirmed for July 14th. They’re clearing the gym. The kids are losing their minds apparently.”
I nod. The youth center where I learned to play.
Barrett wraps up the rotation and I’m expecting him to dismiss us when he puts both hands on the podium and looks around the room.
“One more thing,” he says. “I wanted to tell you as a group before it goes public.”
I’m holding my breath because this is the moment where he tells us that they’re bringing Luca back for next season and I’ll be playing backup again.
“Luca’s been traded.”
It hits the room like a delayed whistle.
“What? Where?” Rodriguez asks.
Barrett looks at us. “Florida.”
The word hangs there. Florida. The team we just beat in seven games for the Stanley Cup. The team whose building I stood in three weeks ago making forty-seven saves while their crowd wished me dead.
Brody is on his feet. “You’re kidding.”
“Sit down, Carter.”
“Florida? Are you serious? That’s where Martinez is and you’re telling me Luca is going there?”
“Sit down.”
“That’s where they send the rejects, Coach. That’s where the problem children go. That’s the league’s garbage disposal.”
“Brody.” Roman’s voice cuts through it. Calm and flat the way Roman does everything. “Jude Donovan is their assistant coach. He’s going to be the next head coach down there. You know Jude. Jude isn’t running a garbage disposal.”
Brody sits down. He’s still wound tight but the mention of Donovan takes some of the anger out of it. Jude played for the Puckaneers before my time—before most of our time—but the guys who overlap with his era still talk about him like he was something special.
Rodriguez breaks the silence. “So Luca’s going to Florida.
” He’s nodding slowly and I can see the gears turning.
“Palm trees. Flamingos. South Beach. Bienvenidos a Miami.” He starts humming and I can’t tell if he’s trying to defuse the tension or if he’s genuinely excited.
Knowing Rodriguez, both. “How soon can we visit? Jules and I could do a weekend. Z, you and Mackie should come. Brody, you and Elliot—”
“I’m not going to Miami,” Brody says.
“–you can work through that. Dex, Goldie can fly after the baby comes. Roman, Marnie—”
“Rodriguez,” Barrett says.
“Road trip. All of us. We’ll visit Luca. Hit the beach—”
“RODRIGUEZ.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Shut up.”
Barrett dismisses the room. Guys file out slowly. I sit in my chair for a second and stare at the Puckaneers logo on the wall. Luca in a Florida Vice jersey. Luca on the other side of the ice. Luca, who I replaced, playing for the team I just beat.
Rodriguez is waiting for me in the hallway. He bumps my shoulder.
“Weird, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He nods. “Ride or die, Z.”
“Ride or die.”
My phone buzzes.
Mackie
how was the meeting
Me
interesting
Mackie
what does that mean?
Me
It means this is the end of the Seattle Puckaneers… part one