Christian Garcia, a struggling international student and seasonal hire at Nova Arena, discovers he's inherited a unique healing gift from his grandmother. Desperate to keep his job, Christian offers his therapeutic touch to Zane Wilder, a hockey sta...
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Game 4 was rough. The Renegades lost, and just like that, the series was tied.
I watched the whole thing after my exam, hunched over my laptop in the library. It was brutal to sit through. Passes were messy, energy was low, and Zane was not the unstoppable version of himself.
Maybe it was because I wasn't there.
I knew how ridiculous that sounded. One person shouldn't make a difference. But I couldn't help it. I wanted to be there for him, and instead, all I could do was sit behind a screen and watch him struggle.
Now it was 2-2 against the Boston Warhounds and the first team to win two more games advances. The pressure had both the fans and Coach Eric on edge
When the team flew back to Toronto, Coach called a meeting first thing the next morning.
"Alright. Eyes on me," he said, clapping his hands once.
The room went silent.
He looked around, meeting each player's gaze. "I'm going to be honest with you. I'm not happy. You're not happy. And frankly, none of us should be."
He started pacing. "We started strong. We had the momentum. We made a statement in Games 1 and 2. And now?" He pointed toward the scoreboard where the 2-2 tie glared back in red like a warning. "Now we're back to square one."
The room was still. No one moved. No one dared to speak.
"Do you even want to win this season? Or are we about to be the punchline again? The Renegades, choking in the first round, fumbling when it matters most?"
A faint chorus of no echoed back.
"I've been here long enough to hear what hecklers say about this team," Coach continued. "First-round exits. Can't finish. Soft when it matters. And for years, they've been right."
He stopped in front of the room, eyes burning. "So you tell me. Are we going to prove them right this year? Or are we going to make them eat their words?"
The silence stretched before Konrad slammed his glove against his knee. "Coach is right. We're not done."
A rumble of agreement followed. Brandon stepped forward. "We're winning this!" he yelled.
The room roared to life. Players shouted over each other and I clapped as hard as I could, trying to add my voice to the storm.
Coach nodded sharply. "That's what I'm talking about. Game 5 is ours. Home ice. Our crowd. Our house. There is absolutely no excuse for us not to win."
Then his gaze shifted to me. "And Chris, how's the visa application going?"
I blinked. Of all people, I hadn't expected to be called out. I was standing in the back with the rest of the support staff, but now every eye was on me.
