Nova:
fine. go win.
Nova:
seriously though. the folder thing is either the most unhinged or most disciplined thing I’ve ever heard.
Me:
Both.
Nova:
LOL…ok go win.
I put the phone down and go make eggs with plain toast.
She’s right about the power play. But I’m not going to tell her that.
The building’s different tonight. I feel it in the tunnel before warmups — that specific frequency, the one that means something has shifted in the city. Four seasons of buildingtoward this. People showing up before it was reasonable. Believing before there was proof.
Now here.
I tape thirty-one on.
Thirteen wraps. Left to right.
Roll my right shoulder.
The ghost is quiet.
Good.
We win 4-2.
I stop thirty-one shots. The ghost doesn’t show up once. Not a whisper. Not a half-inch. Just me and the crease and the wall holding exactly the way it’s supposed to hold.
Aiden gets two. Liam gets one. Brody gets one on a shot that has no business going in and absolutely goes in and he celebrates like he engineered the whole thing from the beginning, which he did not, but I love this guy.
Final buzzer.
Cyclones are going to the Cup Final.
The locker room is loud in a way I’ve never heard it.
I’ve been in loud locker rooms. Playoff wins, series clinchers, the overtime win in Round 1 last year that had Brody crying into Aiden’s shoulder for six solid minutes. I know what loud looks like in here.
This is different.
This is four seasons of something finally arriving.
Liam calls us in before anyone gets too far into the champagne. The room goes quiet the way it always goes quiet for Liam — fast, complete, no exceptions. Even Brody stops mid-celebration, which is saying something.
Five sentences.
He talks about year one. What this city was before we got here. What people believed in before there was proof. He doesn’t dress it up. He just says it.
You gave them the reason. Go finish it.
