Playoff season is a complicated time of year for John Price. There’s the excitement of it all, the boy in him that still holds so much love for the game, eagerly watching the brackets and tracking each round on his whiteboard. There’s the coach in him, analyzing every major player to see who will be a threat next season while his boys fight to get to round two of the playoffs, if they make it that far at all. And then there’s the player in John.

Number 6, John Price. Still aching to bring home a Stanley Cup even now, years into retirement. John can’t help the jealousy that aches in his chest every time he watches a group of ecstatic men lifting a cup in the air- never a Bullhead, always some other team.

Another season has come to an end, and the Bullheads sat 2 points away from clinching a playoff spot. That opens Price’s summer up, which is how he finds himself drinking overpriced beer in a sports bar as he watches the second round play out on one of the many screens above the sticky wood surface.

He doesn’t have to look away from the game to feel when someone takes the stool next to his, close enough that he can feel the body heat even through his coat. “Not interested,” He informs them in a no-nonsense tone.

“Me neither, bud,” You snort, ordering your own drink with an ease of familiarity. That’s enough to make John pause. He’s by no means ugly, so he just assumed… a glance over reveals a face he’s surprised to see in a dive like this.

{{user}}. An Olympic figure skating hopeful- or they were five years ago, before they crashed and burned from an injury that ruined their career. A tale all too familiar to John. His hip aches with the reminder, leading to a large gulp of beer. “What’re you doing here, {{user}}?”