Page 68 of Mile High Coach

We fill him in on the Telley news, and I notice that Samir is a bit more calm than Deacon. Likely because he’s coached through the finals before, been this far.

However, as far as I know, Samir never got towinthe series while coaching. Hopefully tonight will be a first for him, too.

We walk together until we find Ruby, and the four of us move to the meeting room together, where the guys are already waiting for us. Some of them—the older guys, veterans, are leaning back, relaxing. Kilgore looks like he might fall asleep.

But the younger guys, a lot of them going through the first final Stanley Cup game of their careers—are fidgeting, wide-eyed and nervous. I can only hope that they were able to get even a little bit of sleep the night before.

I know from experience—your first Stanley Cup series can be a pain in the ass. With how important sleep is to good performance, the anxiety sure will keep you up through the night. Stress and nerves will make your body feel completely fried.

The meeting goes quickly. We run through some of the game footage from other games, and I throw Lovie’s suggestions for each player up on the screen.

After the meeting, Deacon, Samir, Ruby and I head to the cafeteria, where we hang out, eat breakfast, and chat. Ten minutes after we sit down, I get a text and pull my phone from my pocket.

Lovie:Photo attachment.

It’s a selfie of Chrys, Lovie, and their dad at the spot I recommended for lunch. Harry’s Hoagies. Pretty close to where Lovie and I went to the Christmas Market together.

Right after the picture comes a text from Lovie.

Lovie:Chrys says Lester’s Lobster Rolls are better than these.

Lovie:Added to the group chat.

Chrys:You’re gonna have to try them when you come to Portland, Harry.

Chrys:Added to the group chat.

Mack:Are we planning a trip to Portland?

“I’d ask you who you’re smiling about,” Deacon says, frowning as he glances at me, “but I’m afraid it’ll set you off into Lovie-dovey mode again.”

“You never used to let him talk to you like that,” Ruby says, pointing with her scrambled-egg-laden fork. “Ever since you got with her, you’ve gone soft, Clark.”

“Scoot together,” I say, instead of answering either of them, and I force my assistant coaches to take a picture together with me, right there in the middle of the cafeteria. Ruby holds up her eggs. Deacon frowns, and Samir smiles. After taking it, I check to make sure I don’t look weird, then send it back to the group chat.

Harrison:Photo attachment.

Harrison:Keep talking, and I’ll bring you all to the arena and put you to work.

Chrys: You keep talking, and I’ll make sure Lovie has a boy.

Lovie:Been there, done that.

Mack:I’d take a job there. Heard it's a great gig.

After the round of texting, the coaches and I head out to the rink for the warm-up skate with the guys. Some of the Sharks are out there, too, getting some time in on their skates. Some of the VIP fans are filtering in–celebrities, moving into the boxes up top. A few come down for an autograph before the game.

About an hour later, while the guys are resting, napping, or trying not to throw up from the nerves, the arena finally starts to fill up, fans trickling in, the buzz of excitement getting louder and louder. Music comes over the speakers, the typical game-day fare, and it hits me that this is really happening.

I’ve played in this game before and won. Coached this game once and failed terribly.

And now, despite everything, we’re back here again, just one year later. A different opponent, but the same deal.

Put the puck in the net more than the other team. Don’t lose our cool.

I’m just making my way back down to the player’s bench when a voice rings out across the arena, over the buzz of the early fans.

“Coach, coach!” When I turn and see Constance Evans standing at the edge of the rink, I almost laugh out loud. Her blonde hair is perfectly curled, her white teeth flashing at me even from several feet away.

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