Page 34 of My Athlete Neighbor

Kane followed her gaze. Dmitri had graduated to teaching the defense what he claimed was a "traditional Russian good luck dance." Oliver was livestreaming it while calculating potential views. Marcus had filled a fourth whiteboard with statistical equations. And the cookie smell had intensified.

"Okay," Kane admitted. "Maybe we're a little..."

"Follow me." Coach's tone left no room for argument.

She led him to her office, closing the door on the sounds of Dmitri coaching someone through a plié.

"You know what I see out there?" she asked, settling behind her desk.

"A team dealing with playoff pressure?"

"A team that's forgotten how they got here." She fixed him with that penetrating stare that had made her famous in post-game press conferences. "They're so caught up in rituals and superstitions that they've lost sight of their own abilities."

Kane shifted uncomfortably. "The routines help them focus—"

"The routines are becoming crutches." She leaned forward. "You're their captain, Kane. They look to you. And lately, you've been letting them lean on luck instead of leadership."

The words hit home. He thought about how the team's superstitions had grown over the season. How each win added another layer of ritual, another lucky charm, another must-do routine.

"They're good players," Coach continued softly. "You're a good captain. None of that has anything to do with ballet or statistics or..." she sniffed the air, "whatever cookies Liam's stress-baking in my trainer's room."

"Snickerdoodles, I think."

"Not the point." But her lips twitched. "They need their captain to remind them what really matters. Not someone enabling their magical thinking. Think about it." Coach Vicky stood. "While you do, maybe remind Dmitri that triple axels in hockey gear violate several safety protocols."

She left him staring at his reflection in her window, thinking of what he could say that he hadn’t already said a dozen times over.

The scene in the locker room hadn't improved. If anything, the energy had gotten more frantic. But something had shifted in Kane's perspective.

"All right, listen up." His captain voice cut through the chaos. "I know we're all feeling it. The pressure, the expectations, the weight of what we've built this season. And yeah, maybe some of us got a little caught up in superstition along the way."

The room stilled, all eyes on him.

"But look around. Really look. Dmitri, your edge work isn't because of ballet warmups. It's thousands of hours of practice, of pushing yourself to be better. Oliver, your highlight-reel goals come from studying film, from understanding the game, from pure talent. Marcus, your defensive reads aren't statistics. They're instinct built on experience. Liam, your saves aren't about prayers or cookies. They're skill and dedication and heart."

He met each player's gaze, seeing understanding dawn.

"We're here because we earned it. Every win, every point, every moment that got us to this game—that was us. Not luck, not superstition, not rituals. Just a team that believes in each other more than any routine."

"But the ice..." Dmitri started.

"The ice is the same ice we've played on all season. The game is the same game we've trained for our whole lives.And this team?" Kane smiled. "This team is stronger than any superstition."

A moment of silence, then Dmitri straightened. "Is like in ballet. Performance comes from heart, not from lucky shoes or special warmup."

"Exactly." Kane felt something settle in his chest. "Although maybe keep the ballet analogies to a minimum during playoffs."

"Is impossible. Hockey is just aggressive ice dance."

The tension broke as the team laughed. Even Marcus set aside his probability calculations.

"For what it's worth," Oliver said, lowering his phone, "that speech just went viral. #ChillCaptain is trending."

"No phones," Kane and Coach Vicky said simultaneously from different corners of the room.

“But Allison is here with the puck tonight, right?” Jax said.

Kane rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

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