Page 4 of Offensive Plays

"Chin up, boys. This isn't over."

"Sure feels like it is," the rookie defenseman says, looking defeated.

My eyes shift around the room. One shot. I had one shot. And I blew it—and worse, they all know it.

"It's not over until it's over. And even then...you fight to the last possible second, you understand?” Coach says. “One game isn't going to change the fact that this was the least likely team to make it to the playoffs at the beginning of the season. Well, look around. You made it. That's a packed barn screaming for their team to win this thing. Keep fighting." He holds a fist out to emphasize.

"We'll review tapes tomorrow," says one of the assistant coaches. "Tonight, just rest up."

Rest? Yeah right.

I can already feel my brain doing re-runs of that stupid play. I look around the locker room and see our goaltender, Ryker Balinger, with his head hanging low between his knees.

He had a rough night, too.

"Rest up," Coach reiterates before walking out.

Our PR manager, Rina Lopez, steps in next. All stilettos and business. "Landry, Balinger, and Ferguson. We need you for interviews."

And this is the worst part. Like rubbing salt in the wounds, the press will ask us how we feel and how we think we can improve. Our answers are always the same. But somehow today, it feels like an even bigger hit to my already bruised ego.

"Five minutes," Rina says before clacking out into the hall and not saying anything else.

We're all quiet again—this group is never quiet—but we’ve been running ragged. We've played eleven games in the last twenty-two days with no break. Normally, with the regular season being over, we'd be enjoying a long-awaited vacation.

But it's our first playoff season and getting this close and potentially losing our chance of making it into the conference finals feels wrong. The only sounds are the swishing of jerseys and the shuffling of tired feet, followed by the zipping of bags.

"I fucked up," I finally say. I can't let this awkward silence go on.

Tired faces look up all around me from what they're doing.

"It's not just on you," Ryker says. "We all had a part to play."

Ryker’s one of the older guys. A veteran on the team. And if Ryker's okay with the loss, then maybe I should be too. But a bag slams onto the floor just as the thought leaves me.

I turn to my left to see Landry huffing as he rips off his equipment, replacing it with an orange heatwave tech shirt.

"What's your problem?" Ryker asks him. His best friend doesn't mince words with the team captain like the rest of us might.

"Nothing," he says, unlacing his skates. But his eyes meet mine in a quick heated glare.

"It was a mistake, Kee,” Ryker says.

"Of course it was," Zane says on the opposite side of the room. "So we need to let it go and move on. Don't we, Cap?"

"Yep, let it go. I'll just," he slams a fist into the wall of his stall. "Let. It. Go." He punches with each word. His chest is heaving, but he takes a few deep breaths and finally calms down.

Hicks says under his breath, "I don't think he's gonna let it go."

We all get undressed in silence, knowing Rina will be waiting with her heel tapping in front of the press room if we're even a second late. Keelan and Ryker both head out the second they're done. And I take just a little longer, trying to delay the inevitable.

Zane is looking down at his phone when he gets up from his place on the bench and brings it over to me, screen first. He doesn't say anything but holds it out for me to see.

It's a clip of me when I hesitated to take the shot. A fan must've taken it from the stands because, from the angle...it's very clear what distracted me. My eyes trace back up to my teammate, who's looking at me with what I think might be pity.

"It's not..." my words trail off before I finish the thought.

He nods toward the hall, and we walk out into it, away from the rest of the team.