The Road to Victory

I woke up the next day to the sound of my alarm clock, buzzing angrily at me. It was eleven AM, and I climbed groggily out of bed. Normally, Claude wouldn't let us sleep this late, but he would make exceptions for the playoffs.

I pulled on a pair of pants, and a shirt, and headed down to the hotel lobby. The team had a meeting in five minutes, and I had to be there.

"Hey Patrice." Called Dennis Seidenberg, waving to me from across the lobby, where he was talking to Zdeno Chara.

"Hey!" I called back, scanning the lobby for Claude.

I spotted him, sitting at a table, and reading the newspaper.

"Hey Claude." I said, sitting down beside him. "I'm here."

"Alright!" Claude looked up, making sure that everyone was in the lobby. "You are not to leave the hotel without permission from me. We want you guys to stick around here, relax, and get some rest for tonight's game. Meet here at three, so we can head to the arena."

I nodded, and glanced at Marchy.

"Pool?" He mouthed at me.

I nodded. If I was going to be stuck in the hotel for four more hours, I would need something to do.

"Let's get nice and ready for the game, OK?" Claude said. "We're gonna come out flying!"

I nodded, and headed back toward the elevator. I needed to get my swimming shorts.

I made it back to my room, and the phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked, picking it up.

"Hey, Patrice? Let's go our for lunch at one, K?" Said Loui from the other end of the line.

"Alright." I agreed. "If we can get Claude to let us out of the damn hotel."

Loui laughed, and promised to convince Claude to let us out for lunch.

As soon as we hung up, I got into my swimming shorts, and headed for the elevator.

Brad was waiting for me in the lobby, and he ran up as soon as he saw me.

"Dude, Van Riemsdyk is a healthy scratch!" He called excitedly.

"What? Really?" I asked him doubtfully.

"Yeah! It's awesome!" He nodded earnestly.

I shook my head, and followed him into the pool area, setting down my towel and water bottle on the table along the side of the pool.

"Why do they think they can get a win without him, when they got their asses kicked WITH him?" Brad laughed, diving into the pool.

I followed him, and we both swam, splashing each other every chance that we got.

"Hey, Patrice?" Brad asked, finally getting out of the pool.

"Yeah, what's up?" I replied, glancing up at him as I took a drink from my water bottle.

"Are we on the same line for tonight?" He asked me, shaking the water out of his short, dark hair.

"Yeah, I think so." I replied. "Why?"

"Who's the other winger?" He looked confused.

"Loui." I replied, thinking back to the lines written on the strategy board at home.

"Oh. That makes sense." He nodded.

I climbed into the hot tub, and let the hot water relax my swollen muscles.

"What the fuck happened to your shoulder?" He asked me, noticing the swelling for the first time.

"Same as always." I replied with a sigh. "Nothing I do seems to help."

"Fuck, man. That's the shits." He replied, shaking his head miserably. "Does it affect your play?"

"I don't know. You should be telling me, not the other way around. It always hurts, but I try not to think about it."

"Have you talked to the doctors?" He asked concernedly.

"Yep." I closed my eyes, letting the water flow over my shoulder. "Says he doesn't know shit about it."

"Wow." Brad swam over, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Holy fuck! You can feel it!"

"I know." I replied. "It's not good. That's for sure."

He ran his hand along my shoulder, pressing in various spots.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked him, laughing.

"Before I became an NHLer, I learned about pressure points." He explained to me. "If this doesn't work, nothing will."

"Alright." I replied. At that point, I was willing to try anything. "When will it be better by?"

"Talk to coach about getting you some time off." He said, ignoring my question.

"What? Time off? I can't just take time off! It's the playoffs for fuck's sake!" I exploded.

"Yeah, I know, but you need to give it time to heal. We don't get a break from now on. The games will be every day until this series is over!" He retorted.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." I told him. "I just don't want to miss the game that we fall apart, and not be able to help. If we lose this, I want to be able to blame myself."

He nodded.

"I know. It's an athlete thing. We all want that, but other guys take breaks, too!" He said, motioning to my shoulder. "That thing is fucking out of control."

"I know. Maybe after this series." I told him.

**********

I groaned as my phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was one PM, and I had gone back to bed for a nap.

"Loui, what do you want?" I said sleepily, answering my teammates call.

"Let's go for lunch." He sounded refreshed, and energized.

"Fuck you, man. I can't believe you sound so good. I've got a monster headache." I told him.

"Come on." He said. "Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes, or I'm leaving."

"Alright, I'm coming." I moaned, before hanging up.

I rolled over again, and grabbed my pants and shirt off of the dresser. After putting them on, I splashed a bit of cold water on my face, and ran down the hall, toward the elevator.

"Hey!" He greeted me in the lobby.

"Hey, man. I feel like shit." I told him.

"Hungry?" He asked.

"Always." I grinned at him.

He nodded, and lead the way out of the hotel.

"So, where are we going?" I asked him.

"There's a sushi bar a couple of blocks away, if you want that. Otherwise, we'll have to find another place. I know absolutely nothing about Toronto." He replied.

I nodded, and let him lead the way to the sushi bar.

Along the way, I noticed that he had a slight limp. It wasn't enough to notice unless you looked hard, but it was there.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?" I asked him, motioning to his leg.

"Fuckin Gunnerson." He replied, shaking his head.

"Game two?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Fuck, man." I said, pulling open the door to the sushi bar.

We found a table, and sat down.

"You ready to play?" He asked, grinning at me.

"I hope so." I sighed, resting my head in my hands.

He smiled, and checked his phone.

"How's the wife?" I asked him.

"Good." He replied. "She's doing fine."

"Awesome." I nodded.

"How about Em?" He asked, mentioning Emily, my girlfriend.

"Fine." I told him. "She's got this thing for reality TV recently, so if I never see another show, I'll be happy."

He laughed, and the waitress came to take our order.

"Hey, I'll have two of the veggie rolls, please." I said.

Loui looked at me and smirked.

"What? I've gotta eat well." I explained.

He laughed, shaking his head.

The waitress took his order, and headed away to take the orders to the kitchen.

"I am so fuckin ready." He said, glancing at a fan in a Toronto jersey, passing by the window.

"That's what we need from you." I told him.

**********

"Alright boys! We're headed to the Air Canada Center. Make sure that everything you need before midnight is with a member of our staff, or at the arena." Claude Julien addressed the team in the hotel lobby. "We'll be walking over. Stick together, and make sure you're there by three thirty."

"But, why do we have to walk?" Joked Brad.

"Because, it gets the blood moving." Said Claude, not picking up on the sarcasm in Brad's voice.

I laughed, and followed Loui out of the hotel.

"Let's go!" Called Denis Seidenberg, to the rest of the boys.

I walked with Loui, leading the pack of players to the famed ACC.

"Hey, who wants to bet on the Montreal Detroit series?" Called Daniel from the back of the pack. "Patrice? You going with your hometown boys?"

"Yeah, sure." I replied. "How much?"

"Fifty bucks." He replied, and I nodded, putting my earbuds in.

Tyga's Molly blasted through the earbuds, drowning out any other noise.

I followed Loui through the crowded streets of Toronto, glancing at various fans in Boston jerseys, lined up on the sidewalk to catch a glimpse of their favourite team.

Ten minutes later, we were walking in a large group, into the VIP entrance at the ACC. I nodded respectfully at the security guards, and signed my name on the player sign in sheet. I walked down the stairs, toward the visitors dressing room. I passed the VIP lounge, and the restaurant on my way to the room.

"Hey Patrice." Zdeno ran past me, pulling out one of my earbuds.

I grinned, walking into the dressing room.

"Hey." I greeted our head equipment manager, who was hanging my equipment in my stall.

"Sup?" He replied, finishing my stall and moving to the stall next to it.

"Not much. Getting a little nervous." I replied, as he began to hang Loui's equipment in the stall to my right.

He nodded, and I began to unpack my personal bag that I had brought from the hotel.

The first thing on my list, was to run to the table in the middle of the room, and claim some of the goods. There was water, gatorade, gum, tape, wax, food, and a variety of different protein powders to add to your water. I grabbed eight bottles of water, and brought them back to my stall. I lined them all up on the right side of my stall, before heading back to the table. I sorted through the gum, and picked out four packs of trident spearmint gum that I secured in my stall. I was heading back to the table, when Brad Marchand threw a soccer ball at me.

"Hey, Patrice! Sewer ball in the hallway!" He called, running out of the room.

"Sure, I'll be there in a second!" I called to him.

I picked out six bottles of gatorade, which joined the water on the right side of my stall, and a two rolls of tape. One was white, and one was sock tape. The last thing I took from the table, was four pucks of wax, each a different color. I took a pink one, a green one, a white one, and a blue one.

The rest of my loot was tossed un-ceremoniously into my stall, and I ran outside to join my team in the days first game of sewer ball. Sewer ball was a game, where all of the players got in a circle, and bounced a ball back and forth. No hands, anything else was fine. The ball couldn't touch the ground, or the person who directed it there was out of the game. You got two touches, and on the third, you were kicked out of the game.

"Hey Patrice. Need anything?" Asked one of our assistant equipment managers, walking into the room as I ran out.

"Can you get me three or four energy smoothies?" I asked him.

He nodded, and I thanked him before running out to join my team.

**********

I finished taping and waxing three sticks in my stall, and set them by the door to the dressing room. I was almost ready for the game.

"Hey, Adam!" I called to Adam McQuaid across the room.

"Sup?" He shouted back.

"Can I borrow a puck?" I asked.

He nodded, and tossed me a puck. I began to rub the puck on the blade of my first stick, letting the rubber come off and leave marks all along the blade of the stick. It was over top of the wax, but it didn't matter. It was to prevent the goalie from seeing the puck when I had it on my stick.

"Thanks, bud!" I called, tossing him the puck again.

He grinned, and put it back in his stall.

Zdeno Chara walked through the room, looking through various player's stalls.

"Someone took my mouthguard." He protested, and I chuckled.

Life on the Bruins never got boring.

**********

"Alright, boys. We did great, but let's not get full of ourselves." Claude called, following me into the dressing room, and closing the doors. "We have another game here, tomorrow, to finish the series. You boys rest up, and come out strong tomorrow, we don't have to play these guys the next night. We get break."

I nodded, and took a drink from one of my water bottles.

"Let's get changed, and meet on the bus in an hour. You'll go to the hotel. No leaving the hotel until tomorrow." He called, walking over to converse with our equipment staff.

"Hot tub?" Brad mouthed to me, and I nodded.

It had kind of become out tradition, and I didn't want to take a valuable chance to talk from Brad.

"Hey Bergy!" Called Adam. "Who the fuck appointed you the first star?"

I had scored two of our four goals, and drawn a couple of penalties too. I could see the impressed look on the bench from my coaches and teammates, when I scored the second time. I wasn't supposed to be scoring, because I had been declared injured to the team, but here I was.

"Great job, Bergy!" Called Dan, and I smiled.

"Thanks, bud!" I shouted back over the sound of our un-official victory song.

I felt great, as I headed into the hallway for a quick talk with my agent.

**********

"Nice job out there." Brad said, as we climbed into the hot tub back at the hotel.

"Thanks." I grinned. "Felt good. Just went with it."

He nodded. We were both out of breath, and fatigued from the game against Toronto, but we had put our team in a good situation for game four.

The four two win had increased the confidence in our locker room, after being uncertain on the status of injured winger Jarome Iginla.

"You playing tomorrow?" Brad asked me quietly.

"Yeah." I nodded. "I'm good to go."

He smiled.

"That's our Bergy. Always a trooper."

I closed my eyes, and lay back, letting the hot water run through my hair.

"You playing?" I asked, more for re-assurance.

"No." He replied.

"What?" I opened my eyes. "Why? What happened?"

"I'm a healthy scratch. Claude didn't like my play." He told me.

"What? You were awesome!" I protested.

"Not according to the coaches." Brad sighed.

I shook my head.

"Bad luck, man. You'll be back in Boston." I told him.

He nodded, and splashed water over his face.

I knew he was experiencing a kind of disappointment that he couldn't shake. I glanced at him, and felt sorry for him, but at that moment, I had to prepare for the game the next day.