All in on You

Chapter Twenty-Six

For an event that was built up so much—both within and around the Saints organization—the Gala fell off everyone's minds quickly, practically the next day. The Saints social media coordinator posted some photos to the team's official accounts but other than that, you could hear a pin drop in the Maille Arena where the Gala is concerned.

The message made sense: We had our fun, now it's time to get back to business.

With only five weeks left in the regular season, playoffs are on the forefront of everyone's minds. It wouldn't be official until a few weeks, but the Saints were pretty much a lock to make the postseason. I mean, there's always the possibility that the Saints could lose every remaining game and a team that's chasing their spot in the standings could win all of theirs, but let's not go there. They'll make the playoffs. What is less certain is whether they will clinch home ice advantage, and how they'd play come playoff time.

Whenever I had the chance, I'd research the Saints most recent post-season runs. And by recent, I mean the ones since Angelo joined the team. The team has made the playoffs every season since he's been in the league and before that... well, let's just say that no one on those winning teams is on the current roster, and I may have had braces when those games were played. It's been a hot minute.

Damn, whoever is writing the Saints playoff story sure has a wicked sense of humor. They've lost so early in the playoffs each year and in the worst ways. Is there even a good way to lose? Probably not, but some ways are objectively worse. Like having a lead in a best-of-seven series of three games to one, only to lose four games in a row and be eliminated.

This team has the reputation of choking in the playoffs and I have to admit, it's earned. Sure, bad luck may be part of it, but playoff series are seven games for a reason; to minimize the influence of flukes on who advances. The team who wins the series should be the team who played better overall, regardless of puck luck.

Researching the past playoffs and planning for the future playoffs, on top of editing my thesis, has kept me busy.

But that's not entirely why I stopped thinking about the Gala. The evening had wrapped up rather uneventfully. I rejoined Scar in the ballroom, midway through a conversation with some of the other girlfriends about ideas for custom apparel for the playoffs. Around us, the auction was occurring not so silently, and the atmosphere had chilled out. After an hour, most of the attendees began making their rounds of goodbyes, until it was mostly just the current players and Saints personnel in attendance.

"You okay?" Angelo had asked.

As much as I was pissed at myself for not being able to act completely natural, I was touched that Angelo knew me well enough to know that something was off. I didn't tell him about The Mac Thing then, and I still haven't.

Turns out that trying to not think about the Gala doesn't stop me from thinking about The Mac Thing.

Let's review, shall we?

Mac was out of line because of the Saints rules; otherwise, his behaviour had been fine, right? Polite, not aggressive. I'd be one hell of a hypocrite if I faulted him for going against the rule book, so he gets a pass there. But if everything was fine, why hadn't I told Angelo? I guess it comes down to team chemistry. I can't see Angelo taking this well, and the last thing the Saints need is for the star player to have beef with a teammate. If I felt Mac had truly done wrong, I'd escalate it. Maybe even tell Faulkner or Callahan. For now, though, this can live rent free in my mind and my mind only.

"What's on your mind?"

I glance up at Elise, who's taking a small sip of her beer. I don't blame her for savouring it because it's so overpriced at the Maille Arena.