Both teams shoot lights out, but neither are able to score. Penalties get handed out left and right, and it’s like everyone in the building knows this might be a race to one. The first team to get the puck in the net is going to be the winner, and as we get ready to start the third, I stand in front of the guys in the locker room to give them their final pep talk.
“You all know I’m not usually one for words,” I say.
“Please, Coach. You’re the most eloquent guy here.” Ethan laughs. “Give us a five minute soliloquy.”
“I’m not doing anything like that. I want you to know you all are doing everything right tonight,” I tell the group. “Our effort is there. Our defense is there. We’re taking good shots on goal.Greatshots on goal. I don’t want anyone to get discouraged, okay? The last forty minutes didn’t matter. Forget about them.The next twenty is where we’re going to focus, and I want each of you to take a second and close your eyes. Reflect on why you’re here. Who are you playing for?Whatare you playing for? When you have that answer, I want you to grab your equipment and head back out to the ice and know 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.” I take a breath. A rare wave of emotion starts to rise inside me, but I do my best to clamp it down as I make eye contact with every guy. “I’ll see you out there.”
The room stays silent, and I watch each player get up, one by one, and file out with their heads held high. Maverick is the last one to stand, and his exhale is shaky.
“Let’s get this done,” he says, and I clasp his shoulder.
“You get a shot, you take the shot,” I tell him. “I know you’ve put your hero complex away, but what a fitting end to the story that would be.”
“Story? Coach, I’m living in a goddamn fairytale.” He smiles. “Job’s not done. And I’m not stopping until it is.”
The third period starts out with the Yellowjackets on a power play, but Liam blocks their three shots on goal. He sacrifices his body, diving for each puck. Dropping into a split and reaching his blocker back, making the save of the year.
I blink and the first fifteen minutes of the period are gone, and during a timeout, I step off to the side with Parker, Mikal, and Riley while the guys grab a drink. “What do you think?” I ask them. “I’m turning over head coaching duties to you all. What play are we running?”
“Grant’s been our highest scorer this season,” Parker says. “But I’d go with Maverick. Captain. Veteran. He has the experience under pressure and can find the empty holy.”
“Same. If we could get him set up with a wrist shot near the crease, he could sink one,” Mikal adds.
“Mitchell?” I ask, and he clears his throat.
“I disagree. I think you go with Richardson,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because it’s unexpected. Because he wants this win. Because Maverick and Grant look gassed, but Ethan looks like he’s just getting warmed up.”
I crane my neck, looking down the bench. Riley’s right. Maverick and Grant have their heads between their legs, trying to catch their breath. Ethan’s on his feet, staring at the ice then checking the tape on his stick.
“Ethan,” I call out, and his gaze snaps to mine. “Come here.”
“What’s up?” he asks, sliding past Richie Davenport in his goalie gear.
“How are you feeling out there?”
“Uh.” He’s eyes bounce to each of the coaches. “Good, I think? Is there something I need to focus on during these last five?”
“Win the face-off, then I want you to try to get open in the slot. Miller,” I call out, and he’s slow to get to his feet. “I want you to try and set up a centering pass from the right wing to Richardson.”
“Shit, yeah. Sounds good.” He grins and bumps Ethan’s knuckles. “Ready for the big leagues, man?”
“Shut up, Cap. I was born ready,” Ethan says, and I glance at Riley.
“Good call, Mitchell,” I say, and he pushes his glasses up his nose with a smile.
The play resumes, but we lose the face-off. The Yellowjackets take it down the ice, their captain launching a stellar snap shot that Grant dives in front of, deflecting the puck to the left wing.
“Who has it?” I ask after a skirmish against the boards. “Fuck. Hayes does.”
Hudson kicks the puck over to Maverick who looks over his shoulder instead of the open ice in front of him. Everyone knows he’s the fastest player out there, but he lifts his chin and barks out an order I can’t hear. Hudson drops back, switching sides with Grant while Ethan trails them down the middle. Just before Maverick reaches the goal, he sets up a drop pass, faking the goalie out and skating past the puck.
By the time the tender realizes his mistake, Ethan’s scooping up the puck and charging forward. Right at the crease he rears back, the puck going in the net and the building erupting in screams.
“Holy shit!” Riley yells. “It fucking worked.”
