Page 8 of Coyotes Ever After

“It’s not broken,” he mutters absently.

I’d keep playing even if it was. I’ve dreamed of this moment my whole career. It’s a lot of pressure, playing in a championship game for the first time with my wife, our kids and the rest of the family watching. I’m thirty-two years old. This is probably my last game ever.

My left knee has been killing me off and on all season. I’ve had every kind of shot you can get this season to alleviate the pain and swelling, even one that uses my own blood. The doctors have told me there’s nothing nonsurgical left?? and that it’s a wonder I can mask the pain as well as I do.

Mila and I had the hard conversation a couple of months ago, and I know she didn’t tell another soul about it, and she never will. Not even Colby, her own husband.

It’s time. The team needs to acquire some younger, sharper players, and veterans like me need to gracefully step aside to make it happen,or get traded.

I’ll never play for another team. I’m a Coyote. Mila held on to me for a couple of extra years out of sheer loyalty. She knew our new coach, Phil Farmer, was putting the pieces in place to get us to the championship.

Win or lose, I’ll never be able to express what it means to me that Mila gave me this moment. This is my home. Not just Denver, but this team. These fans.

After the first period, the game is tied 1–1. Ben scored our goal. His wife and son are here, too, though Joey’s too young to really understand what’s going on. I love that Charlie’s old enough now to get excited about my games.

That comes with pressure, though. I want him to be proud of me. This season has been a battle with my knee issues, and I’ve got teammates who have also fought through a lot to be here.

Sergei’s got a shoulder that needs surgery when the season ends. Colby’s got long COVID, the fatigue making it hard for him to keep up. He pretty much sleeps and plays hockey right now, and he hates not having much energy left for his family.

I glance around the locker room as Coach Farmer lets us all have a few seconds to get a drink and sit down. It already looks different, some old faces replaced by new ones. Dom suffered a career-ending broken leg two years ago. Beck got traded last season.

I want us to win tonight, but I get a lump in my throat as I think about never dressing for another hockey game. It’s such a big part of who I am.

Charlie and my nephew Anderson play youth hockey. When I’m retired, I can be at every one of their games, and I can even help coach. Retiring will be hard, but I’m ready to be there for my family all the time. No more missed birthdays or school events. No more grueling travel schedule.

But also, no more ofthis. Many of my current and former teammates are like brothers to me. Their families are like my family. I’ll miss playing hockey, but more than that, I’ll miss my team.

“We’re not setting the pace out there, boys,” Coach says as he paces in front of his whiteboard. “This is your time. It’s your game, but you have to go out there and take it. Stop letting them dictate the pace.”

One of the training interns passes me ice for my knee. They don’t even ask if I want it anymore. I ice before, during and after games. After a home game in the first round of the playoffs, my knee hurt so much by the end of the game that Ford and Rowan had to help me get in and out of an ice bath.

Colby’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands as Coach talks. I nudge him and he glances up at me.

“You okay?”

He nods. “I just want to put those fuckers away so bad, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Focus, focus, focus,” Coach yells, drawing circles around the word he wrote on the whiteboard, which is, not surprisingly,focus. “Do your job. This is just another game. We play games all the time. Get your asses out there and do your jobs, that’s all I ask.”

Ford looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s also probably playing in his last game, but none of us are talking about it. We’re a bunch of broken-down nervous wrecks, every one of us sporting a scraggy playoff beard.

I put my leg up on the bench and set the ice pack on my knee, closing my eyes. I only get a couple more minutes before we have to head back out.

When we return to our bench, I’m mentally reset. Ready to leave everything out on the ice.

Boston scores thirty-six seconds into the second period. Our fans boo so loudly I can feel it.

When I’m on my next shift, I glance up at the row my family’s in. Everyone’s on their feet. Shelby’s holding Jack and Sierra at the same time, a kid on each hip.

I’m a lucky man. My kids couldn’t have a better mom, and Shelby and I are still very much in love.

I return my focus to the game, my knee throbbing with pain. I set it aside in my mind, thinking only about passing and shooting.

Ford fires a shot at the net and it bounces off of the Boston goalie’s skate. I catch the puck with my stick and shoot it straight into the net.

The crowd goes wild and my teammates surround me. I haven’t scored in back-to-back games since the very beginning of the season. It means everything to come through in a moment like this.

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