Page 61 of Hooking the Captain
“Ready for today, Captain?” He grinned.
I chuckled slightly. “Are you?”
While I had twenty other guys to help assist with scoring goals, Baylor was the only one to prevent them in the crease. We would help, of course, but the burden would still fall on his shoulders.
Baylor’s grin faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. “Yeah, I’m ready. But it’s still nerve-wracking.”
I nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment. The journey to the Stanley Cup Finals had been filled with challenges, victories, and defeats. And now, everything boiled down to this one game.
He leaned in and kissed me softly. “No matter what happens out there, I’m glad I have you on the ice.”
I smiled, grateful for the connection we’d found in the last two months. “I feel the same way. We’ve got this.”
We kissed again and then climbed out of his bed and started our game day routine. We dressed in our workout clothes after the breakfast we made together, and I couldn’t help but steal a glance at Baylor as he slipped on a tight T-shirt that hugged his hard chest.
Damn, he was hot.
Once we were ready to go, we headed to morning skate in separate vehicles but walked in together as though we’d arrived coincidentally at the same time.
After a much-needed nap together,Baylor and I arrived at the arena the same as we had for morning skate. Once he was out of his vehicle, we fell into step together.
“You good?” I asked him.
“Yeah, you?”
“As good as I’ll ever be. Good luck tonight.” I wanted to squeeze his hand but refrained.
“You too.” He winked.
In the locker room, everyone was hyped up. Our coach delivered a motivational speech, emphasizing the importance of teamwork and determination. Baylor, as the team’s last line of defense, received nods of encouragement from all of us, and we geared up, ready to step onto the ice and face our opponents from Vegas.
Our home crowd cheered us on as Baylor led us out of the tunnel. The lights dimmed, the National Anthem was sung, and the game began.
I lost the puck drop, and shift after shift, we fought for control, each play vital. Baylor showcased his goaltending prowess, making incredible saves that ignited cheers from our fans, but the game was deadlocked in the third period.
Halfway through the period, my eyes darted between teammates and opponents, assessing the unfolding play as I went into Vegas’ zone. Thinking Nyström had a clear shot on net, I hit the puck to him. Instead, it slid past him and the puck changed possession, letting Vegas have a breakaway. Instinct kicked in, and I raced to intercept the opposing player charging toward Baylor.
The Vegas forward went left and right, creating an opening for himself. I lunged, desperate to block the impending shot, and Baylor shifted with lightning speed, but the puck found a hole, gliding past him and into the net. The disappointment hit me as hard as a physical blow. The collective groan from the crowd echoed the frustration that reverberated through the team.
We weren’t able to tie it up again and, feeling the sadness of defeat, we all headed into the locker room after the final buzzer rang.
The dream of lifting the Stanley Cup had slipped through our fingers, and the reality of the loss hurt.
After we met with the media, Baylor sat in front of his locker, visibly distraught. I walked over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We gave it our all,” I said, trying to find solace in the effort all my teammates had given.
He looked up, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and sadness. “I let the team down,” he muttered, shoulders slumped.
“No, you didn’t,” I insisted. “It’s a team effort, and we win and lose together. We’ll bounce back from this.”
Once we changed into our suits, Baylor and I left the locker room and walked to the garage.
“My place or yours?” I asked him as we stopped at my truck.
Baylor sighed. “Your place. I could use a drink and your place is closer.”
I nodded, and we each got into our own vehicles. As I drove through the quiet streets of Boston, the city’s lights illuminated the summer night, casting a warm glow on the historic buildings. It hurt my heart to see the lack of crowds out celebrating because we hadn’t won. I wished the streets were packed with people as they drank and had a good time. Instead, it was the opposite, and I made it to my building in record time.
Baylor pulled into the guest parking spot for my apartment and I got out of my truck as he slid out of his Range Rover. The mood was somber as we rode up to my floor in the elevator. Once inside, I headed to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. Baylor slumped onto the couch, and I was almost certain he was still replaying the game in his mind.
