Page 79 of Role Model

“They might surprise you.”

Gen huffed. “When has this team ever surprised me?”

The mood in the locker room was heavy. The Centaurs were fresh off the harrowing, and disappointing, road trip where they’d lost two out of their three games, and now they were about to face the top team in the East, the New York Admirals.

It felt like they’d already lost.

Coach Wiebe came in and tried to pump them up. He was, Troy had decided, a good coach. He didn’t have a lot of experience, but he had a good sense for what each of his players needed at any time. And he was nice, which some people might see as a flaw in a hockey coach. Troy might have felt that way too, not long ago, but he liked Coach Wiebe a lot, and wanted to win for him.

Easier said than done.

After Coach left, the mood lightened a bit. There was no confidence in the room, though. In Toronto, the Guardians’ locker room had always been loud and often aggressive before games. There’d always been an assumption among the players that they were going to win. That anything less was unacceptable. Here in Ottawa, the locker room energy felt more like an acceptance that they probably wouldn’t win, but maybe they wouldn’t embarrass themselves completely.

It was fucking annoying.

“Everyone listen.”

Troy’s head shot up and he was surprised to see Ilya standing in the middle of the room. He was team captain, but he wasn’t one for speeches.

“The New York Admirals are not a better team than us.” There was some scattered scoffing and laughter. Ilya cut it off. “They are not. They have Scott Hunter, we have me. They have Tommy Andersson—a good goalie. Young, talented, yes. We have Wyatt Hayes—a great goalie.” He grinned at Wyatt. “Old, talented.”

There were some enthusiastic whoops and claps around the room.

“Experienced,” Wyatt corrected him jovially.

“They have Carter Vaughan, Hunter’s right-hand man and one of the best forwards in the league. We have Zane Boodram and Troy Barrett.” Ilya stretched his arms out. “I have two hands. Who is on Scott’s left? Does anyone even know his name?”

It looked like Luca Haas wanted to supply the name of New York’s top-line left wing forward, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“New York has Matti Jalo, but we have Evan Dykstra and Nick Chouinard.” More cheering. Sticks were being drummed against the floor with each name that Ilya listed. “We’ve got Boyle, Holmberg, LaPointe and Young.”

He proceeded to name every player in the room, sometimes adding something that was specifically impressive about them. “I am fucking tired of losing,” Ilya said. “Enough. We are going to win this game tonight, and we are going to keep winning. We are going to fill every seat in this fucking arena. We are going to surprise everyone and we are going to the playoffs this year. Not next year. Not in the future. This fucking year.”

Everyone roared their agreement. Troy was astonished. This was exactly the energy he was looking for.

“We went through something together,” Ilya said, more soberly. “It was fucking scary. But we are alive. We are all alive and I don’t plan on wasting another second of it. Let’s fucking go.”

“Fucking right, Roz!” Dykstra yelled, over the deafening noise of cheering and banging sticks.

“Hell yes,” Bood agreed. “Let’s fuck up some Admirals!”

Troy bent for the puck drop to start the game. He was back to regularly playing right wing on the top line, and he was going to make sure he fucking stayed there.

He was facing the starting left wing player for New York, and he did, in fact, know who he was, but Ilya had inspired him.

“Hi. I’m Troy. What’s your name?”

The man—Cale Wagner—narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Nice name. Pretty.”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is that we even have to play against your shitty team?”

“Gonna be more embarrassing when you lose.”

The puck dropped, and the game started with Wagner trying to knock Troy down. Troy was too fast, though, and was already charging toward the Admirals’ zone, because Ilya had won the face-off.

There were no goals on the first shift, or even the second, but the Centaurs’ third line came through and deflected the puck past Tommy Andersson less than two minutes into the game.

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