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"We eat this type of meal all the time." Ryder took a swig of water from his bottle and waved a hand.
"Yeah, but not prepared like this. N's food is fucking awesome," Eli argued, cutting his steak.
"Seconded," Brandon agreed.
"Thirded," Sam London chimed in from his spot on the easy chair. "Wait, is thirded a thing?"
"Dunno," Shaw said through a mouthful of food. "I'm going with yes."
"Jesus," Brandon muttered. "I always feel like I'm babysitting with half of this crew. Chew your food, Castle. That's fucking gross."
Shaw shot him the finger and laughed.
"So what gives? Do you think we're ready, guys?" Fally asked.
"Fuck yes." Eli glanced up from his plate. "We're more than fucking ready for this series. Why? You got something you want to share?"
"Nah." Fally shrugged. "I'm cool. We've watched so much tape and have done so many drills that I know we are prepared. It's the fucking arena curse I'm worried about."
"Oh, here we go. It's not a curse," Ryder scoffed. "Look at you being all superstitious. You're the only guy who doesn't have any pre-game routines, Fal. I never expected you to believe we're cursed."
"Besides, we beat them in their own arena this past season," West reminded Fally.
"Yeah,once," Fally replied. "Okay, curse is probably the wrong word. But you know the word has always been thrown around. Guys, we definitely have trouble winning in that arena. And I'm not going to lie, it bothers me because there's no fucking reason for it."
"Yeah, you're not wrong about that," Ryder agreed. "West, you're always solid in the net during those games. It always seems to be stupid shit. Bad bounces and shitty calls. Or someone getting injured. It’s weird."
"Like a curse," Sam said.
Every set of eyes zeroed in on him.
"What?" he asked. "Youjustsaid it was weird. That's why it's like we're cursed."
Ryder pointed his fork at Sam. "Enough. We need to shake this shit off. We need to go into their arena like we fucking own that building."
"I think it will help that a lot of our fans will be traveling to San Jose for those games," Eli told them. "It's a short flight."
"Yeah, true," Brandon said. "It might help to have it feel like a home atmosphere."
"Honestly, it's going to be more pressure to play at home than in San Jose," West told them. "Let's face it, we want those wins in front of the home crowd. But sometimes, being away from all the crazy hype is a relief." He took a few gulps of water before continuing. "I think it's fair to say after last season, we've all got a lot weighing on our mind about the Western Conference finals."
"Fuck," Eli muttered, scratching his beard. "I don't want to go through that again. Losing by one goal in game seven? Jesus. Thank fuck we aren't playing L.A. again. That would blow."
"We're going to be fine," Shaw told them. "More than fine. We're prepared. We need to go out there and play our goddamn game, guys. We all want the Cup. I get it. But we can't think about that. We need to take it one game at a time and play our game, our way. As for not winning in San Jose's building? The season is finished. This is a new chapter, and we already proved to ourselves we can win there. And we can. We're going to own them, understand?"
"Fucking right," Ryder said, holding up his bottle. "That's what I want to hear. Fuck this stupid so-called curse. We're going to hand them their asses."
The men lifted their water bottles and toasted.
"This would have been a lot more effective with a real drink in our hands," Eli said, smirking.
"And a lot more fun," Sam joked.
"We'll indulge when we get past this round," Ryder said. "For now, easy on the booze."
"Yes, dad," Shaw said, rolling his eyes.
"Nah. Dad will always be Brandon," Eli said with a straight face. "Isn't that right, old man?"
