The new normal becomes weekends at best and long stretches of calls and videos at worst.
It’s not easy, but with Thatcher by my side, it works.
And then somehow, it’s my last game in the NAPH. I’m incredibly grateful to know that before the game even begins. I want to savor every moment.
I haven’t told anyone it’s my last game. Not officially. But it’s been decided for a while now. Every time I picked up a drill bit to help Thatcher with something. Every time Jamie texted me from the bar with a photo of crooked stools or new drink ideas. Every time I stepped onto the ice and knew I didn’t need to win anymore, just to finish well.
And then a few weeks ago I took another hit to the boards and my knee protested. And kept protesting. I moved down to third line instead of second, just to cut the play time. I’ve rehabbed it back, but a frank discussion with the experts in sports medicine told me where I stand.
I let myself wallow in that news for about twenty-four hours—not that I didn’t know it was coming—but then I set up a series of calls with my finance guys and started putting the business side of The Five Hole together in earnest.
I’ve taken Dom as far as I can. As a player he’s solid; as a man trying to find his way in this crazy sport, there isn’t much else I can offer. He’s made it through two seasons now and the rest is on him.
We surpassed every expectation set for the team, so I can’t say I’m disappointed. That would fly in the face of everything this team has worked for. Not that I’m expecting a loss either, but I know the reality. Even if the Knights continue on in the playoffs, I won’t take the ice again.
That’s a choice. I wanted to know when that day had arrived. And I do.
As I look around warmups, I know no one is disappointed with the season. We’re a team that went far and is looking forward. Not to the past.
I like to think I’m part of that in some way.
It’s a road game, and the arena’s packed. Dom is bouncing like he’s had three coffees and a Red Bull, chirping everyone who breathes.
“Something’s in the air tonight, old man!” he yells at me. “You gonna go out in style or limp to the locker room?”
“Depends,” I deadpan. “You planning on blowing your coverage again?”
He grins. “You’re gonna miss me.”
I roll my eyes. “When is that?”
He checks my shoulder, skating close. “I know you have a plan for this game, Monroe.” It’s the first serious thing he’s ever really said to me all season that wasn’t about him. “Got that hot man back home.”
I narrow my eyes. Dom made no qualms about flirting with Thatch the last time he was here for a game with Jamie.
“Myman,” I emphasize. Dom just grins and I give him a handshake on the way out.
I will miss him. But not enough to stay.
“Monroe!” Coach is standing by Jerry and hails me over, so I skate that way.
“You’re first line tonight, Monroe,” Coach clips. I look to him then to Jerry.
“What?”
“You earned it, Monroe,” Coach says, then Jerry claps me on the back.
I take my place when the anthem is sung. Going out the way I came in feels right. And when the camera pans to me, I give the fans the best smirk I can. They roar and I feel it to my core.
I skate my ass off. All I can say is that everything gets left on the ice. I give it all I have. This is my last game, and if they’re giving me time on the first line, I’m going to make Philly feel every second of it.
We lose in overtime, but it doesn’t feel like a loss. I block two shots, get the assist on one goal, and clear the crease in the final minute like I’m a rookie again. The crowd’s loud, the team’s louder, and Dom yells my name like I just saved his life.
“Monroe! I’m gonna name my dog after you!”
“Then train it better than you listen,” I mutter, grinning.
I wonder what the commentators think when that buzzer sounds and I can’t help but flex my arms and yell like I hoisted the damn cup itself.
