A month ago, we were tied with Colorado. But our winning streak, combined with a couple of unfortunate injuries and losses on their side, has us in a position to clinch.
“If we win eight of the next thirteen, we have ourselves a playoff spot,” Coach continues. “Eight wins. That’s all we need.”
I’ve pushed the thought of making the playoffs out of my mind, not wanting to jinx us. But eight wins… we can do that. I still don’t want to get ahead of myself, but?—
Playoffs start mid-April. Round 1 runs for two weeks. Round 2, another two. Conference Finals in late May. Stanley Cup Finals in… June.
“We won’t get home ice advantage unless we can gain the lead on Dallas. Let’s not count on that,” Coach cuts back in. “We’re good on the road. So, let’s focus on holding our spot. We don’t want to drop to a wildcard and go up against Minnesotain the first round. Edmonton holds the top spot in the Pacific division.”
Of course my old team is number one in their division. It would make victory all the more sweet if we took it from them in the Conference Final. But one step at a time. Coach is right. If we want our best shot at advancing, facing the top team in the Central Division in Round 1 isn’t a good strategy.
“Stay sharp, play smart hockey, keep to the basics. This is what we’ve worked for all season. Now, we finish it,” Coach wraps up.
The team erupts. Sticks banging on ice. Guys shouting.
Helm grabs my shoulder. “You hear that, Cap? We’re going to the fucking playoffs.”
I shake my head. “We’re not there yet.”
“But we will be.” He grins too wide and stretches a hand out in front of him. “The Cup is right there.”
He’s ridiculous, but he’s right. For the first time in five years, the Cup is within reach. It’s everything I’ve wanted since I came to Chicago. Since I was a kid, watching my dad fight year after year for it, and then finally lift it over his head. The Stanley Cup is what every hockey player aspires to, but only a fraction achieve.
“I need every single one of you locked in,” Coach yells over our celebration. “No distractions. No excuses. This is our shot.”
I nod. I can do that. It’s how I play every time I step onto the ice.
In the locker room, the guys are already talking about matchups, about who we’d face in Round 2, about what it would take to make it to the Finals.
I’m pulling off my gear when Kettler drops onto the bench beside me. He’s our veteran defenseman and my D-man partner this season. Been to the Finals twice with other teams, won once. “You ready for this?” he asks.
“Are you ever really ready?”
“Nah, probably not.” He chuckles. “The schedule’s brutal. Back-to-backs. Travel. No days off. It consumes you.”
“Sounds it.”
He tugs off his jersey and ducks out of his shoulder pads. “My wife’s going to be pissed if we have to cancel our anniversary trip to Tahiti.” He shakes his head, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead.
I try to focus on what he’s saying, not the fact that Summer leaves in June. The 16th, to be exact. If we make the Finals, I’ll be in the middle of the most important series of my career right when she’s leaving?—
“You good?”
I blink. “Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”
He unlaces his skates. “Oh, and send me Summer’s number so I can pass it to Lexi. She’s already starting on the WAG jackets.”
Everyone knows about Summer now. She met most of them when she surprised me by coming to that game. Plus, Helm can’t keep his mouth shut. This is the only thing I’m happy for him to blab about. I like that everyone knows we’re together.
Kettler’s skates crash into his cubby. He throws his practice jersey into the bin and slings a towel over his shoulder. “Word of advice? Talk to her before the playoffs start. Make sure she knows what she’s signing up for. The first time with Lexi was… not easy, man.”
I nod, but what am I supposed to say? We don’t even know if we’ll make it to Finals. And even if we knew, what could we do with the information?
She’s focused on her music. And the Cup is what I’ve worked my whole life for.
We’ll figure it out when—if—we get there.
I head for the showers, pushing the thought of June out of my mind. As far as it’ll go, anyway. The countdown is always there.
