It’s the nicest thing I can think of to say about Tenley. Tate is always bragging about what a great aunt she is, and how she is always up for babysitting. Pattison chuckles. “Careful, Nash. Babies are contagious.”
"Shut up," I snap without even thinking about it because a baby, with Tenley, is a horrific thought. But it shouldn't be to a loving husband. Oops. Just about every set of eyes in the locker room is on me.
Crew laughs. “Guys, he’s still in the honeymoon phase and that doesn’t involve diaper changes. Cut the dude some slack.”
Everyone laughs. I plaster on a smile and then shoot my brother a grateful glance when everyone moves on to another topic. He leans in as we both stand to pull our jerseys over our equipment, our backs to the cameras. “Chill, bro. Just concentrate on the game.”
“Yeah. I will.”
And it’s a miracle but I do. We hit the ice to a sea of enthusiastic Winterhawks fans. When the Winterhawks score first the roar almost pops my eardrums. But I don’t let it steal my confidence. We're the defending champions for a reason. I steal a glance at the stands on a TV time-out. There's a very specific section of each stadium reserved for friends and family of visiting teams and I have memorized where it is in every arena. My dad, especially when we first started in the league, would often show up at games unannounced. He didn't want to put pressure on us by letting us know he was there, but inevitably at some point during each game the camera would pan to him and the jig was up.
Tonight is no different and as I spot him and my mom in the stands, the camera also finds him and there's a mix of cheers and boos. Dad started his career with the Winterhawks and led them to a Cup, but he also allowed himself to be traded to San Diego and won them two Cups, so some fans hold a grudge about that. Also, the fact that Crew and I had an offer from Seattle when we were in our recent contract negotiations and opted to stay with the Quake annoys them too. Dad smiles confidently and waves, ignoring the fans who choose to boo.
I block them out as well as we head back onto the ice. Tate manages a turnover and shoots the puck to Crew. He's on my left and we both haul ass up the ice. But then I ease up, cut across the ice, and am in just the right spot as Crew lifts his stick like he's going to haul off and lay a killer slap shot on the goalie, but instead, he moves forward without the puck. Before the defensemen covering him can realize Crew has left the puck behind I skate right up to it and take a shot. The goalie is also following Crew, confused, and turns his head just as my shot sails over his left shoulder and hits the twine behind him. Goal!
Crew and Tate, and Noah and Norris pile on me in a group hug. I skate by the bench tapping gloves with everyone and then skate back to center to take the face-off. “Back to bagel boys. Time to grab the lead,” Crew announces as we all take our positions.
Because we're tied now it's essentially the same as having no score, which is what Crew is reminding them. The goal was an equalizer, we still need to take the lead. They announce my goal over the loudspeaker as I bend forward and wait for the ref to drop the puck. I catch a glimpse of one of the giant monitors and notice they're showing a close-up of Tenley jumping up and down as I score. She's smiling, and there's no denying she's gorgeous. As she turns to high-five Tate's girlfriend I catch the number on her jersey. She always wears a Quake jersey with Tate's number and the name Tater Tot, which is her nickname for her brother. But not today. Today she's in one of our away jerseys, which is black with gold letters and silver stitching, as she celebrates with Mallory. I see a 7 and the last four letters of the name on her jersey—wood.
Crew is number 67 and I’m number 77 and so I can’t be sure but if I had to bet money, I would say Tenley Garrison is wearing my jersey. The world is upside down. And for a very fleeting millisecond, so are my emotions. I like the idea of her in my jersey.
No. No way. I do not. That's just some hormonal caveman thing I can't help. But I definitely do not have to give in to it. Fuck that. Nope. Not happening. The ref drops the puck and I refocus with a snap, but it's too late. The Winterhawks get control and now we're chasing them down the ice. Damn her.
It’s a battle but we win the game 3-1 thanks to my goal, a shorty from Tate, and an empty net from Pattison. The mood in the locker room after the game is upbeat but cautious. There’s a reason they call the Cup the hardest trophy in sports to win—because we have to win three more times before we advance to the next round. Each series is a best of seven. This win is crucial but it’s just one of many we need. If we get cocky now, we’re fucked and everyone knows it. So Tate plays some tunes and we make some jokes and then they give out the locker room player of the game. It’s a symbolic thing that we do with each win. Lots of teams have different items they pass around for the same ritual. Ours, being a Los Angeles team, is one of those cheesy fake Oscar statues from a tourist shop on Hollywood Boulevard. Someone Krazy-Glued a plastic hockey stick and a helmet to it.
Usually, the player who won it last decides who gets the honor with the current win, but because it's playoffs and we're 're-setting' so to speak like it's a new season, Coach Braddock picks the winner. Only he looks at both me and Crew and smiles and winks before he holds it up in the center of the room. "We got someone else to announce the winner tonight, guys. Someone who observed the whole game with a keen, skilled eye. Someone who…" He pauses and smiles. "Someone who will not be observing the next game but will be playing along with you. Landon Casco."
Landon walks into the room in a suit. He’s grinning. He looks fucking great. A little pale but great. The guys all blink and then, as the words sink in, they start to jump up and cheer and holler like we did just win the Cup. Players start rushing in to hug him. Landon groans and detangles himself from them. “You stinkers need showers. This is an expensive suit. Back up.”
We all laugh. He looks like he might get choked up, which has me fighting a lump in my throat. I can't imagine being as sick as he was and being on the brink of losing my career and my life. I'm so relieved he's back. "This one goes to one of our very reliable captains who started us on this win. Nash!"
I stand up and take the trophy from him, then hug him, ignoring his protests. “Couldn’t have done it without each and every one of you. Now let’s do it again. With Casco!”
They roar.
In this moment, and the post-game interviews, and the shower, and the moments where we’re getting dressed again, life is perfect. I feel great. Exhausted but great. Gabby pops her head into the locker room as I’m shrugging into my suit jacket. Crew is already in the friends and family room. Pattison is the only player not fully clothed at this point but he’s got pants on. I don’t think Gabby gives a rat’s ass though. She’s very professional and our dicks do not scare her. Or impress her. Although I think mine did for a minute.
“Hey!” She walks over. “I’ve been waiting on that x-ray.”
“Shit. Right.” I sigh. “I haven’t had the chance to get it done. But the leg feels good. No aching or pain tonight.”
“Nash, you know one night without pain is more likely adrenaline than problem solved,” she says. She’s right but I just don’t want to ruin this perfect night by finding out I have a muscle tear or bone chip or whatever.
“Okay. I’ll go. As soon as we get back to L.A.”
She smiles, satisfied, and pats the top of my head like I’m a golden retriever puppy who did something right. “Good boy.”
She turns and heads toward the door but stops. “If it gets worse, let me know asap.”
When she’s gone I shove my feet into my shoes and start for the door myself. Pattison calls out, “Westwood! You injured already?”
“Nah. Nothing to worry about. Gabby is just being extra diligent.”
Pattison snorts at that. “She’s also being extra cool. You up and get married and don’t even tell her, and she still wants to keep you healthy and not push you under the team bus. Girl is a bigger person than me.”
“You want to push me under the team bus?” I kid and he laughs. “Gabs and I were always casual.”
Gabrielle hasn't even mentioned my marriage, come to think of it. Should I have brought it up to her? As Pattison says, she doesn't seem irked. Oh well. I'll mention it after I get the x-ray. I leave the locker room and head down the hall to the small, cramped friends and family room. It's the visiting team's space so it’s not nearly as spacious and nicely furnished as our home rink’s area, but no one cares. Everyone in there is just happy to see us, and happy we won.
