All in on You

Chapter Thirty-Five

So, this is quite possibly one of the coolest things I've ever been fortunate enough to be a part of. I'm a member of the city's most exclusive and coveted club: the Toronto Saints Hockey Club, that is. Every time I feel like this team is the pinnacle of excitement, they do something to up the frenzy. The Saints home games? An awesome environment. The Gala? Toronto's very own Met. And yet those pale in comparison to the Maille Arena on the afternoon that the team is departing for Florida, where they'll play their first playoff game tomorrow evening. Saturday night, prime time.

The guys are hollering as they get their equipment ready, darting from room to room. A few are doing some stretches on the floor with foam rollers to stay limber. There's even a group that's neither sore nor tardy in getting their stuff together kicking a ball around. No matter what they're up to, the commonality is that everyone's buzzing. Well, almost everyone.

Next to me, Angelo is meticulously taping his stick. His Saints cap is on backwards and his tongue is poking out of the corner of his mouth. I'd bet big money that he doesn't realize he's doing it, and that makes it all the more enduring.

"This is so exciting," I say. Nervous energy bounces around in my limbs. Something big is about to happen with this group. This is a cheesy sentiment, but I can feel it. "It's also nerve wracking as hell."

"You might be more nervous than some of the players," Angelo says as he wraps another neat row of black hockey tape around his blade.

"Well, obviously. Everyone knows that the ones watching are more nervous. When you're in the action, adrenaline replaces nerves, and you also have a greater sense of control over the outcome."

Angelo shakes his head, smirking. "I can't argue with you on anything psychology related."

"Yeah, I wouldn't bet against me," I laugh.

From behind, two hands clamp down onto my shoulders. Keith. No one else on the team would do that. He's one of a kind.

"Harlow, if you twist yourself into thirds I think I can fit you in my hockey bag," he says.

"Sorry, I doubt I'll get through customs that way," I laugh.

Really, I want to cry. I want to be there with the guys on the road, but it's never been part of my role to travel with them. Adam and I have spoken about how that could change for the playoffs, but it'll depend on how the team is doing. I couldn't make it for this first trip anyways—they'll be in Florida from today until early next week for the first two games of the series—because I have a compulsory seminar to attend at school on Monday.

But seriously, haven't they ever heard of Zoom?

"I'll miss you guys, but you got this."

I feel like I'm saying that for the tenth time today. About an hour ago, I was speaking to the team in spurts about the importance of embracing the moment because this is what they've worked so hard for. They really do have this, but only if they believe they do. Reminding them is why I'm here today.

The soccer ball bounces over to us, and Keith gives it an impressive pass back to the group who are waving their hands in the air like kids. Keith runs, joining the keep-up circle, gesturing for Angelo to follow.

He stays put next to me.

"We'll miss you," he says, lightly touching the toe of my sneaker. "I'll miss you."

"You know what will make me miss you less? If you guys come back a winner of at least one of these games."

"We'll come back winning both," Angelo says.

I sure hope so. Opening the series two-to-nothing on the road would do wonders for The Narrative.

"Harlow!" someone calls from a few feet away. That voice belongs to one of my favourite players on the team.