"Denver's fast," I say. The room goes quiet immediately. "Hudson's been running their transition all season— he reads the neutral zone early, and he's going to want to push the pace from the drop." I look at Silas. "You're on him all night. Don't let him get comfortable at center. Make him work for every inch."
Silas nods once. Still tapping his stick.
"Evan on the left wing telegraphs," I continue. "Watch his shoulders before he cuts. He'll tell you where he's going every single time if you're paying attention." I find Owen. "That's yours."
Owen's jaw tightens. Good.
"Andrew, on the right, is physical. He's going to come after you early to set a tone." I look at Beckett. "Let him. And then make him regret it. Their two-man — Tanner specifically — is soft on the backcheck. You'll see the lane open by the second shift. When it opens, go. Don't wait."
Beckett holds my gaze. "Got it."
"Luke plays the left side like he owns it because nobody's challenged him on it yet this season." I look at Caleb. "Tonight somebody does."
Caleb looks up from the floor. Nods.
"Miles has a five-hole tendency under pressure. He knows it and he compensates left." I find Isaac across the room. "Their shooters are going to go to his strong side first. Expect it."
Isaac's slow breathing doesn't change. He blinks once.
I look around the room one final time.
"We control the pace. We make them play our game. We don't give Hudson transition, we don't give Evan space, and we don't give this city anything to cheer about after the first period." A beat. "We don't lose in Denver. We don't lose anywhere."
The room responds.
Coach Crick steps back in, clipboard under his arm, something different in his expression.
"One more thing before we go out there," he says. He looks around the room, making sure he has everyone. "Got word this afternoon that Cody Ravenshaw woke up. He's alive. He's well. Doctors say he's going to make a full recovery."
The room erupts.
Genuine. Loud. The release of people who have been carrying something heavy and just had it lifted without warning. Guys are on their feet, helmets raised, someone in the back whooping loud enough to echo off the concrete walls. First years who nevereven played a game with Cody are clapping because the veterans are clapping, and the energy is real and completely unbearable.
Coach lets it run for a moment, grinning. Then he raises a hand.
"Let's win this one for him, boys."
The room roars.
I don't move.
I stand still. I look at the floor, and I am very careful not to look at Beckett, because if I look at Beckett right now, something on my face is going to do something I can't take back in a room full of people.
Cody Ravenshaw woke up.
He's alive.
He's well.
He's going to make a full recovery.
The confirmation moves through me, and I think about everything I built on the assumption that he wouldn't wake up. Every calculation. Every contingency. Every careful architectureof what comes next. All of it was built on a foundation that just got pulled out from under me.
My mind was focused on other things, but now this reminder in my face…it’s disappointing to say the least.
I feel Beckett's eyes on the side of my face, but I don't look at him.
"Let's go," Coach says, clapping once.
