But he can’t feel too bad for them. He grins to himself at the thought of the trophy somewhere in the back halls of the Capital One Arena, ready tonight just in case of a Comets victory, having to be packed away once more and flown all the way to Nevada.
Just as it should be.
But the cup isn’t the only thing that needs to get to Nevada. The Dragons work quickly through their post-game routine, Nick and Marco offering some meaningless soundbites about pushing through the last hurdle before hurrying to change andget back to the hotel. They all have overnight flights, and they need to get a move on.
It’s going to be alongday.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
[Video Description: A montage of pictures showing various members of the Nevada Dragons on-ice, interspersed with graphics showing the final scores of each round of playoffs, set to dramatic music. When the montage ends, a picture fades in with Nick Tiernan on one side and Alexander Ovechkin on the other, glaring at each other. In the center is the logo for the 2023 Stanley Cup Final, and the words “ONLY ONE WILL SUCCEED”. That fades out, and then a new graphic fills the screen: a fire-breathing red and silver dragon. Across it, text reads “AND THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS”.]
@NevadaDragons: Tune in for the final showdown, June 13th 6:30 PST
—Twitter, June 12th, 2023
At last, the time has come.
There’s something strangely Zen about knowing that, win or lose, Nick’s hockey season will be over in just a few short hours.
The rink is chaos. Nick and Marco aren’t the only ones with family in for the occasion—there’s a whole section packed out with loved ones here to support the team. Tony’s daughter will be disappointed to be losing Sticks+Stones from the manager’s box, but Matt insists they’ll be exactly where they’re supposed to be tonight.
“Better get used to it for next season, eh,” Connor remarks—then goes wide-eyed in horror as alarm flashes across Nick’s face.
God, it’s a good thing the site is going live tonight regardless. If Nick has to keep it a secret much longer, he’s going to give himself an ulcer.
He wonders how the other guys are feeling, knowing that the world will change for them by the end of the evening. Sunny is probably like him—too focused on the game ahead to give a shit about much else. Nick’s glad for that, in a way; if he wasn’t playing tonight, he’d be worrying himself sick about the potential mistake he’s making. It’s humbling, knowing that those guys have put such trust in him.
When he gets the chance, he corners Connor privately. “Any regrets about tonight?” he asks, and they both know he’s not talking about hockey.
“None whatsoever,” Connor replies without hesitation. “You?”
“Ask me after the game,” Nick jokes. They both grin. “Thank you, though. For doing this with me. For… for everything.” It feelsright, having Connor here, the way it felt so wrong to have him missing from every other milestone of his career.
“Thankyou,” Connor fires back. “For forgiving me. I… I don’t think I could’ve done anything I’ve done in the last year without that. I’m ready for this, whatever happens.”
Nick can only hope the other guys are feeling as confident about their decisions.
He survives another round of hugs and kisses and well-wishes, and then the whole Dragons roster is parting ways with their supporters, ready to get themselves in the zone for the game.
Things get serious very quickly. Everyone runs through their pre-game routine with a terrifying amount of determination. They go over their strategies one last time; Tony gives them all a stern reminder that there will be enough chances for power plays without baiting penalties, and when his eyes linger pointedly on Nick, the captain just smirks and offers a salute.
He doesn’t need to bait anything, here. The game will get aggressive all by itself.
The pre-game hours are a blur for Nick, just like every other game day but with that extra little spark to them. A bunch of guys play soccer in the loading dock hallway; Noodle bounces two balls in completely different rhythms with each hand; Picard juggles oranges until Motormouth steals one and starts peeling it; Marco does his weird little fancy-feet warm-up routine.
The same as any regular pre-game. And yet, so different.
Nick’s pre-game routine is simpler. He lunges up and down the long hallway, re-tapes his stick, and then he just kind of hovers from player to player, checking that everybody is as they should be. His circuit is as deep-set as the other guys’ traditions, to the point where Noodle fist-bumps him as he passes without even breaking his stride with the bouncy balls.
One of the last stops on his tour of the team is Picard, who sits in his stall with a white-knuckled grip on his goalie mask, chewing his lip ragged. “Hey,” Nick murmurs, dropping downbeside him. “You’re gonna do great, okay? Patrick Roy eat your fucking heart out.” That earns a weak smile. Nick nudges him gently. “Trust me, man. You’re starting tonight because you’re goddamn magic. So have a little faith.”
Picard swallows tightly, running his fingers over the wire of his cage. “I… I don’t want to let anyone down,” he croaks, and Nick’s heart breaks, remembering his own rookie cup season. The pressure put on him as captain was ridiculous, and he can imagine the pressure put on a goalie is about the same.
“Nobody is going to feel let down, no matter what happens out there tonight,” he promises. “Unless you literally sit and fire that puck into your own net for fun, you will not let us down. It’s a team effort, remember? Just do your thing. You with me?”
There’s a beat, and then the kid gives a determined nod. “I’m with you.”
“Hell yeah.” Nick bumps his fist, then ruffles his hair and leaves him to finish getting ready. At last, the only people left to talk to are Marco and Hugsy. His boys, his As from the start, his lifeline in this whirlwind. They welcome him into a three-way hug, their heads pressed close together.
