I rest my fingers on the table and glance down the length of it. My team. My family.
“I’m not going to make this long,” I say. “But I am going to say this while you’re all sober enough to remember it tomorrow.”
A couple of groans.
Someone mutters, “Debatable.”
“We started this season like shit,” I say simply. “We did. We crawled. We bled. We had nights I wanted to break a stick over every one of your heads.”
“Love you too, Cap,” Tanner calls.
“But you showed up,” I go on, ignoring him. “You gave it your all. You blocked brutal shots, you played through stuff you should’ve sat for. You took hits that rattled your bones and got up anyway.”
I go down the whole line, name every one of them, list the hits, the blocked shots, the stupid jokes on road trips—everything. Finally, my eyes drag to the spot near the grill.
“And Zed,” I say.
He looks up.
“You’re the best insurance policy we’ve ever had,” I tell him. “You let us play like shit sometimes and still walk out with a win. You stood on your fucking head all year. We’re damn lucky you’re on our side.”
Chairs creak, and heads nod. A few guys knock their knuckles on the table. Agreement runs down the line like a low wave. Zed’s mouth twitches upward andhe lifts his glass in our direction, tattooed knuckles flashing.
I give him a nod and let my gaze sweep the table again.
“Off the ice,” I say, “you did more than you had to. The Academy”—I jerk my chin vaguely—“that doesn’t happen if you guys don’t show up for the shoots, for the clinics, for the meet-and-greets with parents. There are kids out there who don’t get a shot at ice time unless someone opens a door for them. No money. No connections. No name. We’re helping build something that says they get to be here anyway.”
I feel Jessica looking at me with a smile. I don’t look back yet.
“Now,” I say, “before this turns into a TED Talk, understand something.” I tap the table twice with my knuckles. “I am proud of you. Of all of us. This,” I nod at the Cup glinting at the end of the table, “is ours. Again.”
I let that hang, then let my mouth curl.
“But don’t get too comfortable,” I add. “Enjoy summer, enjoy the parties, enjoy the hangovers. Thenget your asses back in gear, because we’re doing it again next season.”
That gets a louder roar from my guys.
“For now…” I reach for my glass, lift it, and look down the length of the table. “…for now, eat Zed’s meat,” I say.
The table erupts—groans, laughs, “AYOOO,” and howls.
“Drink my alcohol, and don’t break anything that looks important in the house.”
I sit back down, and Jessica’s hand immediately goes to my thigh, warm and reassuring.
“That was a great speech.,” she says over the noise, her eyes bright.
“Politician’s son, remember?” I say.
She snorts, nudges my leg with her knee. Her hand finds my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth, like she’s smoothing out something no one else can see.
“I love seeing you like this,” she says quietly.
“Like what?”
She hesitates, then murmurs, “Happy.”
“Well, I had the best forty minutes of my day upstairs.” I shrug with a chuckle.
