The hours leading up to puck drop always seemed to move in two different directions at once. Everything felt rushed, yet somehow there was enough waiting to make a person restless.
When game time finally arrived, the building felt louder than it had the night before. LA's crowd still had the confidence of a fanbase that had watched their team beat us the night before.
We wanted the response they had no interest in seeing.
The first period flew by in a blur of line changes, collisions, and near misses. Every shift felt sharper than it had twenty-four hours earlier. We skated harder. Managed the puck better. Generated chances.
For long stretches, it felt like we were right there. One rebound. One deflection. One lucky bounce. The goal never came.
Midway through the second period, I tried to force a pass through traffic that should never have been there in the first place.
The puck hit a skate and immediately went the other way. For half a second, my stomach dropped. The rush developed fast. Too fast.
Our goalie bailed us out with a save that drew a roar from the bench, but I spent the rest of the shift annoyed with myself anyway. Not because the chance had happened. Mistakes were part of hockey.
Because I knew better.
Later, Tannen beat the goalie clean and caught nothing but iron. The sound of the puck striking the post echoed through the arena before bouncing harmlessly away. A few shifts after that, Briggs fought through two defenders at the top of the crease and somehow still couldn't buy a goal.
The opportunities were there all night.
The finish wasn't.
By the third period, every possession seemed to carry a little more weight. You could feel it on both benches. One goal felt like it might decide everything.
When LA finally broke through, the building erupted.
We pushed back immediately.
The final minutes became a scramble of blocked shots, loose pucks, and desperate chances. We threw everything we had at them.
It wasn't enough. The horn sounded before we found the equalizer.
Nobody said much during the walk back to the locker room.
Gear hit the floor.
Velcro tore loose.
Pads disappeared into equipment bags.
The room wasn't angry. Anger usually came after a game where you hadn't shown up. This one felt different. This one felt like a game we should have found a way to win.
Coach Reynolds kept his remarks short. "We clean up the details and move on."
Nobody argued. That was the job. Watch the film. Fix what needed fixing. Get ready for the next one.
I sat at my stall after the coaches left and replayed my turnover anyway.
Across the room, Tannen stared at the floor in front of him.
A few stalls away, Briggs was already talking one of the younger guys through a play from the second period.
Nobody was looking for someone to blame.
Two losses after the holiday break would give reporters plenty to talk about. The thought barely crossed my mind before one of the media staff appeared in the doorway.
"Thane. Tannen. You're up first."
