Honestly? It’s genius.
Teams get points if they agree on what should happen, and they get points if the player on the ice successfully does what they’re supposed to do.
We are not allowed to watch the other teams, so after Mr. Peterson and Sabrina finish their introductions, I head back to my office. We’re second to last, so I have plenty of time to listen to the crowd as I question all my life’s decisions.
Like, how I could’ve done something so stupid as falling for one of my players.
Fortunately, after avoiding being alone with Beckett for the entire week, I think he’s realized things have changed.
Laughter echoes from the arena, and I assume the intern team is on the ice. Everly boldly decided to be the one to skate since she claimed not to know the names of any hockey skills. She was, apparently, a figure skater at one point, but even so, it has to behilarious. Knowing who they picked from the Yeti roster to be the challengers, there is no doubt in my mind they went out of their way to make her look good.
Rob and J.D. are the team before us, and there’s a surprising amount of clapping.
It was smart of them to bring in a different audience—normal fans wouldn’t be this engaged with basic drill work.
Finally, it’s our turn.
I walk down the tunnel to a roaring crowd; it almost feels like it’s game day. But there's something about it that feels hollow. Just like it has all week.
I step into my bench and sit down at the small table they have set up in front of me.
“Here are your cards, Coach,” Joslyn, a woman from the social media team, says, handing me a stack of cards with various moves and strategies written on them.
I quickly look through them all, sorting them into offense and defense, so at least I won’t have to search through the whole group every time. There’s some strategy here. A large part of the player on the ice being successful is having enough time to move. Which means I can’t take too long.
“Ready, Kane?” Joslyn asks, and I meet his gaze for the first time in a long time.
I swallow heavily when I see a hint of hunger in his eyes.
He looks good, back on the ice in his full uniform. White and Doctor Lowell considered not letting Kane do this final competition due to his injury, but the medical team cleared him this morning, so they decided to let him participate with limited contact. I’d been so happy for him when we met with Doc this morning, but all I could do was tell him that he’ll be starting on the tenth against the Titans. It was exactly how I would act with any other player, but it didn’t feel enough with Kane. Or maybe it was still too much somehow.
“As soon as you place the puck on top of your selection, I’ll blow my whistle, and your teammate can move,” Joslyn says to me.
I nod. I’m ready.
Beckett starts on defense, and even though he’s been off the ice for three weeks, you can tell this is where he feels most comfortable. He skates to the center of the ice as Cruz and O’Connor break away from in front of the other net. It’s a classic two-on-one.
I quickly scan my cards, slamming the puck down on the one that says, “Take away the pass.”
The whistle sounds, and Beckett moves, skating backward, letting Herrera in the net know he’s taking the pass. It’s a textbook play, and both sides perform well, though Cruz lets Beckett force him to shoot from the exact area he wants: the one where Herrera has the best chance to make the save.
Two large green check marks light up the screen, and the crowd goes wild. Two points for us.
Everyone resets, and the team charges, sending three-on-one. It’s a situation that rarely happens at professional levels, but it does happen. Particularly when you have an eager, young defenseman who ends up going too deep, and the forwards get lazy with their backchecking.
I slap down my puck, and Kane springs into motion at the first sound of the whistle, as if he could anticipate exactly how long it would take me to decide. He’s a by-the-book defenseman, and everything he does makes it look like he’s leading a clinic on fundamentals. I almost wish I had made the rest of the team come and take notes.
Another two check marks. Another roar from the crowd.
Eventually, the scenarios become less textbook and more subjective, but still, Kane and I are in sync. Whatever answer I give, that’s what he does. It’s unbelievable.
As the double check marks continue to light up the screen, a TeamBlane chant gets started in the crowd—exactly what we didn’t need. But I force myself to stay focused on men skating against Beckett, never allowing my gaze to watch him too closely. To be anything but a coach sweeping the entirety of the play. Finally, our turn is done, and as Kane heads down the tunnel to change out of his skates, our gazes lock. He dips his head, lifting his gloved hand for a bump as he walks by. I tap my fist to his and say softly, “Good work out there, Kane.”
He keeps walking, calling a simple, “Thanks, Coach, you, too,” over his shoulder as he passes me.
I make my way to the stands, sitting next to Doctor Pearce.
“How did you two do?” I ask.
