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Game two doesn't go as planned.
The team looks frustrated, and the Grizzlies dictate play. March taunts and pesters Luke, provoking him to take silly penalties, which Boston takes advantage of.
The refs certainly don't help matters, either. They let blatant calls go, burying their whistles in their pockets. By the end of the game, tempers are boiling over, resulting in chippy play, cheap shots, and zero control by the officials.
Bammer takes a run at March and gets ejected from the game. He earns a five-minute major penalty and, if I had to guess, a suspension might be forthcoming if the league decides to take a second look at the play.
The good news is the series is tied one-one, and we've stolen home-ice advantage from Boston. The next two games are in our rink, and the entire city will explode when the Northmen hit the ice.
By the time the team charter touches down in Toronto, Holly, Luke, Ryan, and I just want to go home and sleep. We're exhausted, and with only one day between games, we need all the recuperation time we can muster.
The playoff grind is just one of the reasons why winning the Stanley Cup is so damn hard. A team needs sixteen wins to hoist the Cup. It means winning four best-of-seven series played across North America in a limited time frame. Teams get to know each other very well, playing night in and night out. Rivalries always bloom—or boil over.
It's brutal and beautiful at the same time.
Our Uber drops us off in front of our condo building, and we drag ourselves inside. Luke is already steering Holly towards the elevator when Darby, the building doorman, comes out from his office.
"Ms. Avery. Ms. Sparks," he huffs a little out of breath. Darby is at least sixty-five years old and should probably be retired. He has a completely bald, round head and a white goatee. He looks like the lovechild of Mr. Clean and the guy on Uncle Ben's rice boxes.
He always wears a semi-casual suit over his short, chubby frame, and a smile. But tonight his eyes are worried, and a frown unfolds over his features.
"Darby," I smile as Ryan slides a hand around my waist. "Is everything okay?"
"Good game, gentleman. We'll put Boston on the ropes now that you boys are home." Darby nods at Luke and Ryan before turning back to me. "There was an incident while you were away."
"What kind of incident?" Holly asks worriedly.
"We're not sure how it happened, but someone tried to break into your apartment."
"What?" Ryan growls.
"Last night, the tenants underneath you heard several large bangs and called security. When they got up there, your door was almost completely kicked in, and the lock smashed."
I shoot Holly a concerned look. No one has ever broken into our building. It has excellent security. We have a twenty-four-hour guard on site, and Darby watches the door during the day. Every owner or tenant has an electric key fob to access the building. A person can't get through the door or use the elevators without the fob.
"Was anything taken?" I ask.
"No," Darby shakes his head confidently. "It doesn't look like the intruder succeeded in getting into your unit. After making all that noise, they probably got spooked and ran off. We had the door and lock replaced this morning."
Darby hands Holly and me a new set of keys.
"Was the guy caught on camera?" Ryan demands. "Were the police called?"
Over the next forty-five minutes, Darby relays every piece of information he has to Ryan and Luke after they interrogate him to the nth degree. Somehow the assailant went undetected by the building's security cameras, but more are being installed this week where the previous blind spots were located. The police were called, but there wasn't much they could do other than file a report and ask if there were witnesses.
The condo association also reviewed the inventory of all the building key fobs. One registered fob was missing and has since been deactivated. The police believe whoever broke in used the missing fob to gain entry.
The second we walk into our apartment, Luke and Ryan start posturing and talking out of their asses like they're private investigators.
"You're staying with me," Luke says to Holly.
"You're not staying alone," Ryan says at the same time. "You know who I think this was, right?"
Holly and I share a look. My first instinct says Randy was responsible for this too.
"We don't know that for sure," I say hesitantly. Ryan and Luke both make a sound of disbelief.
