Chapter 41 Championship Eve
CALEB
I got up.
Eli was already awake when I walked into the kitchen, which should have been suspicious but was not, because finals changed everyone’s sleep schedules into something vaguely unrecognizable. He was standing in front of the stove in sweatpants, flipping pancakes with the concentration of a man performing surgery.
You are cooking, I said.
I am reheating, he corrected. There is a difference.
That is not reassuring.
It is actually very reassuring, he said. I am improving them.
Improving what.
Pancakes.
I looked into the pan. There were already too many.
Where did all these come from, I said.
Chloe’s mom dropped them off, he said. Apparently she “miscalculated.”
Chloe’s mother does not miscalculate, I said.
That is what I thought too, Eli said. Then I opened the fridge.
I opened the fridge. It was full of pancakes stacked in containers like someone had prepared for a small emergency that involved carbohydrates.
I closed the fridge.
We are being supplied for a siege, I said.
Eli nodded. Championship nutrition protocol.
I texted Mia.
You are feeding an army.
Her reply came fast.
Only the winning side.
I stared at the message longer than I needed to.
Eli handed me a plate. I took one bite and immediately understood that whatever Chloe’s mother had “miscalculated” had somehow included flavor, timing, and emotional support.
Good, I said.
Eli looked relieved. I passed the test.
You did not make these, I said.
Still counts, he said.
The apartment felt different in the way places feel different on days that are not ordinary days. Nothing was louder, nothing was brighter, but everything was sharper at the edges. Even silence had structure.
I sat down at the table and tried not to think about the fact that by the end of the day, one season would stop existing.
My phone buzzed.
Walter: I will be there early. Your mother is already arguing with me about traffic patterns. She is correct. Do not tell her I said that.
I smiled.
Mia came into Eli’s apartment at nine with her clipboard already in her hand like she had never stopped holding it. Hair tied up. Eyes doing that thing where they were not just looking but measuring everything at once.
She stopped when she saw the pancakes.
This is excessive, she said.
Eli pointed at the fridge. It escalated.
She looked inside.
Oh, she said. That is actually worse than I expected.
I took a plate and stood beside her at the counter.
Same time, she said.
Same time, I said.
She looked at me then, properly, like she was checking something she could not write down in her log.
You are calm, she said.
I am not calm, I said. I am just not scattered.
That is new.
I learned it from you, I said.
That is a lie, she said immediately.
It is not, I said. You just do not notice when you teach things.
She did not respond to that. She just handed me a fork.
Eat.
I ate.
By eleven the arena parking lot was already filling and the air outside smelled like cold metal and anticipation. People always said arenas smelled like ice, but that was only part of it. On days like this they smelled like memory.
We walked in together.
The hallway was already half full of players, staff, trainers, people pretending not to be nervous and failing in different ways. Coach stood at the end of it, arms folded, watching everything without saying anything.
He saw me and gave one nod.
Not more.
That was enough.
Locker room was quiet in the specific way it only gets before finals. No one trying to be funny. No unnecessary sound. Tape. Gear. Breathing.
Caleb sat at his stall lacing his skates. Focused. Not tight. Not loose. Just exactly where he needed to be.
Eli bumped my shoulder on the way past.
This is it, he said.
I know, I said.
You do not look like you are about to panic, he said.
I am not about to panic.
That is concerning, he said. You usually panic a little.
I am saving it for later, I said.
He nodded like that made sense.
Mia came in last before warmups, clipboard already open. She moved through the room without disrupting anything, which was her actual talent. Not being invisible. Being present without adding noise.
She stopped in front of Caleb.
Same as always, she said.
Same as always, he said.
She looked at me once.
Same time tomorrow, she said.
If there is a tomorrow, I said.
There is always a tomorrow, she said. It just depends what version of it you earn.
That should have sounded dramatic. It did not. It sounded like instruction.
Warmups hit the ice like release.
The first puck drop felt too quiet for something that mattered this much.
Then it stopped feeling quiet.
The game became itself fast. Physical. Controlled chaos. Everything tightened. Every pass had weight. Every hit had meaning.
First period ended zero zero.
Coach said nothing. Just wiped the whiteboard clean and wrote one word.
Finish.
Second period broke open in a way nobody controlled. We scored first. They answered. Then we answered again.
Eli scored off a rebound that looked accidental until you understood he had been standing in that exact place for two shifts waiting for something to become possible.
2–1.
Third period was not hockey anymore. It was endurance.
Minutes stretched.
Shifts became longer than they should have been.
The ice got heavier.
At eight minutes they tied it.
The arena changed sound.
I felt it in my hands more than I heard it in my ears.
Mia was still on the bench. Still tracking. Still not reacting in a way that would help anyone except maybe me.
She looked up once.
Not worried.
Just watching.
At thirteen minutes Caleb carried the puck through neutral ice like he had decided something. Not aggressive. Decisive. The kind of movement that does not ask permission.
Shot from the slot.
Goal.
Everything went loud.
I did not breathe for a second longer than I realized.
Final minutes were pure containment. No mistakes. No openings. Just discipline holding shape.
When the buzzer went it did not feel like celebration immediately.
It felt like absence.
Like something had stopped pressing on the world.
Then it became noise.
We had won.
People moved without coordination. Arms. Helmets. Shouting.
I found Mia in the tunnel because I always find her without thinking about it anymore.
She was not writing.
Just standing.
Final, I said.
She nodded once.
Final, she said.
Caleb came through and I did not even think before I reached for him and he did not hesitate either.
Eli shouted something I did not fully hear.
Coach walked past and said good work without stopping.
My phone buzzed.
Walter: I am at my seat. Your mother is crying and pretending she is not. Do not embarrass us.
I laughed.
Mia looked at the message when I showed her.
She nodded slowly.
Good, she said. That means she is alive in the moment.
I looked at her.