Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)
Against All Odds: Chapter 30

The hotel we’re hopefully spending our last night in before becoming champions is kind of a dump.

It’s fine, I guess. No pool, slow WiFi, and the food tastes worse than Holt’s dining hall, but it’s clean and the television works.

I’m lying on my bed, flipping through cable channels, when Hunter walks out of the bathroom. Coach assigned rooms randomly on the flight, and we reassigned them on the ride from the airport to here. Hart is bunking with Sampson next door, and Morgan and I are sharing.

“We gotta go,” Hunter tells me, pulling on a sweatshirt.

I glance at my phone, realizing he’s right when I check the time. No texts from Rylan, which is disappointing. She and her mom took a later flight than the team did, so they might not have landed yet.

I stand, stretch, and follow Hunter into the hallway. Other guys are filtering out of their rooms, and I knock fists with several of them. Lots of forced smiles get tossed around too.

We’re all nervous.

Tomorrow is a big day. Up there with all the major life events, especially for the seniors on the team. We all know it’s our last chance. The rest of the guys are simply assuming it is, that the way we got here won’t be replicated.

It’s as far as we could possibly come. The peak at the top of the mountain.

If we lose, we all know it’ll be a long, painful fall down.

As many of us as possible squeeze into the elevator, then Sampson hits the button for the lobby. We’re eating dinner at the hotel, which I have low expectations for after lunch. But you can’t beat convenience, and I think the hotel is giving the university a discount since we’re such a large group staying here. Based on the size of Holt’s athletic budget, I’m guessing the cost couldn’t be beat either.

Coach Keller is standing with Coach Zimmerman by the small seating area right next to the front desk. A few other guys from the team are already down here, waiting with them.

I glance at Coach Keller first. He meets my gaze, giving me a small nod.

I can’t enjoy his recent approval of me. The way it feels like I’ve finally found my place on the team. I feel guilty as shit, knowing I’m secretly sleeping with his daughter. Even if she is my girlfriend now.

So far, I haven’t told anyone that.

I would trust Hunter and Conor to keep it to themselves, but they’re both totally focused on the game tomorrow. And I don’t trust any of the other guys on the team to keep that I’m hooking up with our coach’s daughter to themselves.

I’m not planning to tell my parents I have a girlfriend now, even though it’d be very easy to do. They’re here, in Cleveland, since we’re facing Fabor tomorrow.

My dad called me three days ago, letting me know they’d booked plane tickets and were coming to the game. Staying somewhere way nicer than this, I’m sure.

Once everyone’s downstairs, we head into the restaurant attached to the lobby.

Dinner is mostly silent, which is rare for what’s usually a rambunctious group. There’s the occasional joke or tease, but the majority is filled by the clank of metal utensils against china.

Anxious energy hums through the air, electric and tangible. Willis’s knee is bouncing so much it’s a miracle the whole tabletop doesn’t get knocked over. Hopefully he’ll have better control of his limbs in goal tomorrow. Otherwise, we’re screwed.

The tension around the table reaches a fever pitch when the meal ends.

Coach Keller stands and clears his throat.

Silence falls. The only other people in here are an elderly couple, and they haven’t made a sound since we arrived.

“I’m no Kurt Russell,” he starts.

“Holy shit. Did Coach seriously just make a pop culture reference?” Hunter whispers to me.

“Miracle came out over a decade ago. Doesn’t count,” Sampson says from this spot across the table.

“I don’t believe in luck or happenstance or fate,” Coach continues. “I believe in hard work and drive and determination. You get what you earn. You boys…you’re unlike any team I’ve ever coached. Not only because you’re the first team to reach this point. For the past three years, I’ve watched Hart work harder than any one player should to keep this team afloat. The rest of you rose to the challenge this season. That’s not to say other teams I’ve coached haven’t tried to. Truth is, Division III sports are a crapshoot. We’re the teams no one cares about unless they compete against us. This season, you made people care. People think they love to root for the underdog. The truth is, they only love to do so if the underdog wins. And that is exactly what we’re going to do tomorrow, boys. We’re going to win. Because we’re the better team. Because you’ve earned it. Because we’re prepared and we’re ready. I’m proud of you all, no matter what. Play a game tomorrow that you’re proud of too.”

Coach Keller looks around the table with a stoic expression.

“I’m headed to bed. Any of you choose other ways to spend the evening hours, and I’ll have some words for you in the morning. I imagine Hart will as well.”

He leaves the restaurant, Coach Zimmerman following right behind him.

There’s not much to say after that.

We’re at a hotel near an airport in Middle of Nowhere, Ohio. There’s nothing to do except go to bed, and I know that’s what the whole team is going to do. No one wants to be skating sluggish tomorrow.

Once we’re back in the room, I change into sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. Brush my teeth, then flop on the bed to channel surf again.

Hunter has a short conversation with his dad, then reads in the armchair for about an hour.

When he goes to bed, I turn off the TV. Scroll on my phone for about twenty minutes, until I’m sure he’s asleep.

Then, I text her.