Page 111 of Hockey Bois
“Great work tonight!” Benns said. His voice was raised over the ruckus in the locker room, all of them half dressed and loudly celebrating their win. They settled down a little when Benns came to the center of the room. He had a rare beer in hand and a goofy grin. “I can’t emphasize enough how proud I am of the hard work we’ve put in all season, and today’s win was the natural conclusion of that. Great goal from Gail, her first of the season.”
There was a brief pause for cheers. Gail stood and took a bow.
“And great goal from Nicki, who we’re really happy to have back and healthy. Missed that offense when you were out.”
There were more cheers, though these were accompanied by a few salutes as well, a reference to the celly he’d promised Brady a while back. Nick stood and gave a mock curtsy.
“I also should thank Young Greg. His commentary, while not anything you’d expect to hear on NBCSN, went a long way toward helping us relax and have fun. A team that’s having fun can win games, and that’s exactly what we did.”
“It’s all right, bros,” Young Greg said with a dismissive wave. “Y’all don’t have to write me in for MVP or anything.”
“I think,” Benns said after an indulgent laugh, “we should be proud of ourselves for getting this far. We did good work, and we were rewarded with a win. But…”
There were some boos. Mags threw a wad of tape at Benns.
“But,” he said again, ignoring their heckling, “this is just one game. We’ve made it to the finals, but that’s a best-of-three series. I know we’re all excited about the possibility of playing in Toronto—”
“I’m gonna be in Toronto no matter what, boys,” Lexi said. “Booked me a flight up. Vacation or tourney, I don’t care.”
Benns floundered for a moment before he shook his head and moved on. “If we want to get there,as a team,” he emphasized, “then we gotta put two more wins in the books. We’re up against the Mother Puckers—”
This time the boos were louder, and Benns did nothing to stop them. He was too polite to say anything negative about anyone, and certainly not about other teams or players in the league. That he wasn’t trying to settle them down meant that he either a.) shared their dislike of the team, and though he wouldn’t verbalize it himself, would allow them to do it for him, or b.) wanted them riled up for a strong series.
Or both.
Probably both.
Not that Nick could argue with either. He didn’t like the Mother Puckers because they were good but douche-y about it. Case in point: that time the Dube Brothers pissed off Brady for shits and giggles. They’d laid off him since then, but still.
Nickmighthave booed louder than anyone else on the team.
“We’re up against the Mother Puckers. I’m not going to sugar coat it: they’re good. They’re probably booking their flights because they see us, a team that’s never been in the finals, and think it’ll be an easy win. No matter what the outcome of this series is, let’s at least prove them wrong about that. They’re not going to walk all over us, it’s not going to be two and out, and we won’t get blown out in a game. We can go toe-to-toe with those guys. They’re good, but we can be better.”
That earned cheers of “Oh captain, my captain!” and “Fuck yeah!” and the more inarticulate hollers of “Whoo!!!”
They had their heads in the game; they could—theywoulddo this.
“Next person to score in the playoffs,” Brady said loudly over the dying cheers, “I’m buying you a six-pack of your fav beer to share in the locker room.” He paused and squinted at Young Greg. “I’ll get you your favorite pop.”
“First of all, the use of ‘pop’ is offensive to me,” Nick joked. “Second of all, that beer ismine.”
“False. That beer’s gonna bemine!” Donno shouted.
“Bro!” Young Greg whined. “I should at least get an IOU on that beer if I score. I got less than a year to go!”
“Excuse me,” Guy said in his quiet voice, hand raised. His presence carried enough weight that everyone quieted down. Goalies had that power, Nick supposed, or maybe it was just Guy. “If I get a shutout, do I earn the beer as well?”
Brady pointed at him with a wide grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Guy grinned, and Nick felt there would be a real battle on their hands.
He was getting that beer, though.
*
“Young Greg shoots and he scores! The fans go wild! Eat it, Mother Puckers!” Young Greg shouted before GG tackled him against the boards in a hug. Young Greg had been on a goal drought the past few weeks. Honestly, Nick had never considered him scoring, not because he wasn’t capable, it’d just been so long that it seemed unlikely. “I want that beer!”
The other team shot them bewildered looks and pretended that they didn’t care about the goal or the celebration.
