Page 162 of Slew Foot
Which meant Boston’s season was over.
In the locker room, Connor had stripped down to his base layers, his shoulder in a sling. He looked shell-shocked too, like the news hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Still, he stood there, swaying a little on his feet, using his free hand to tap the shoulders of guys as they passed by him, murmuring a word here or there.
Rafe set his helmet on the shelf, then sank into his stall. They’d been so close.
“Fuck!” Crawford roared. He spiked his helmet on the ground and Rafe winced when it bounced into Tanner’s knee.
But Tanner just kicked it away and sank into his stall too, his expression miserable.
“Well,” Gavin said from the corner of the room as everyone fell silent. “That wasn’t what we wanted.”
Someone—Anker maybe—let out a choked laugh, but most of the guys continued to stare down at their laps or their skates. At this point, some of them were half-dressed, others still in full gear, minus their helmets and gloves.
“You know, I never thought we’d make it to the playoffs this year, guys,” Gavin said. He leaned against the wall, his suit jacket off, his shirt a little rumpled and his tie half-undone.
There was a startled laugh and a couple of guys let out weird, confused sounds.
“No, I mean it,” Gavin said, straightening as he walked closer to the semi-circle of players. “I know how heartbreaking it is for you. I’m heartbroken too. You gotso fucking close. But making it to the playoffs was never my expectation this season. This season was about building. About building a team with the right pieces, building a team who knew how to pull together. Andwe did that.”
He looked around the room. “We’ve got the right pieces now, guys. We’ve got a chance at this next season. So if you need a few days to deal with the loss, you take that. You beat yourself up for a few days and wonder what you could have done differently.”
“Like if I hadn’t made out with someone and got the whole team sick?” Tanner asked, looking woeful.
Gavin winced, but he was smiling. “Well, that certainly didn’thelpanything.”
“Ugh.” Tanner leaned his head back against his stall.
“And neither did me going after the guy who hit Connor tonight,” Jesse said hollowly.
“No, it didn’t,” Gavin said calmly. “But I’m not here to assign blame. And that goes for every single one of you. We’ll talk during your exit interviews, discuss the strengths and weaknesses from this season. We’ll talk about strategies for nextseason and what kind of training you need to focus on this summer. But then youlet that shit go.”
His voice had sharpened by the end and several guys straightened.
“You do not carry it with you in the off-season. You do not bring it into training camp next fall. You let it go, you move forward, and then you take everything you learned and you funnel it into being better. Training harder. Being more focused. More disciplined. You keep the group chats going this summer, you get back a few days earlier to start the new season and hang out as a team. You do whatever it takes to lean on one another and grow from this. No excuses. No blame.”
He looked around again. “You focus onfriendship. On building the connections between you. On relying on one another. When we sit down to talk, I don’t want to hear about how you failed. How you could have done better. I want to hear about how you learned. How yougrew.”
Mickey nodded and Rafe saw several guys around the room do the same.
“Gavin’s right,” Connor said, clearing his throat. “I’ve been here more times than I wanna admit. I’ve sat here and beat myself up for that missed shot, that missed opportunity. And you wanna know what that got me?”
“Nothin’,” he continued, glancing around the room. “But when I think back to the seasons where the Harriers won, they weren’t the teams who had the splashiest names on the roster.”
Privately, Rafe thought that was kinda underselling the O’Shea family legacy but he was pretty sure he understood where Connor was going with this.
“It was never that we had the best record that season,” Connor said. “We had some long shots to get in. But those seasons, we had rosters where every single fuckin’ guy bought in. Where every last one of the guys would fight for the other. And I’m not talkin’ about gettin’ sent to the penalty box. I’m talking about the fight in their heart.”
Connor tapped his chest and looked around the room slowly, meeting every guy’s gaze before he moved on. “I’m not asking you to be the best player in the league. I’m askin’ you to be the best player you can be. The guy who leaves this arena leaves this fuckin’ city knowing we’re gonna make thempayfor it next season. We’re gonna make New York fanscrywhen we mop the ice with them.”
A cheer went up and Rafe smiled, wondering what people walking by the visitors’ locker room would think of Boston cheering after such a devastating loss.
But it didn’t matter. Not if everyone bought in to what Gavin and Connor were saying.
“I want you so dialed in this off-season,” Connor continued. “That your trainer asks what got into you. When you walk into HCI next fall, I want you to already be plannin’ how you’re gonna celebrate. I want you to be aHarrier!”
He shouted the last part and guys surged to their feet, hugging and slapping one another on the backs.
“Shit, Captain Growly,” Jesse said with a little laugh, looping an arm around Connor’s waist. “We’ve gotta get you stoned more often.”
