There is nothing like a rge pte of the greasiest food imaginable after a long, tough workout.

  Sometimes the body just craves calories no matter how non-nutritious they are at the time. The local rink where I was skating ps really was not equipped for a strenuous workout, but with what little time I had who could bme me for wanting to sneak in some sprints? Those kids got out of the way just fine.

  I giggled dipping another fry in ketchup and taking a swig of the giant soda I bought with it. This was all going to my hips, but I honestly could not give any fucks in the moment.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” a gruff voice behind me shook me out of the moment of savory bliss.

  “Oh, hello. Do I know you?” I responded coyly pying along to whatever game he wanted.

  “My face is on the billboard outside.”

  “Is it? Huh. I never noticed.”

  “Funny,” he deadpanned grabbing a few fries off my pte. “Idaho tax is still mandatory for celebrities.”

  “What brings you do this little podunk rink?”

  “Same as you. Offseason.”

  “Whatcha workin’ on today?” It was so easy to stay coy around him and tease out whatever I wanted. I bet I could even get a second workout in joining him. And then possibly a third after.

  Wait, where did that thought come from? I was here to do some ps, go home and maybe turn on a show before the usual post workout nap. Why am I thinking about going home with him?

  “Today is skate as many ps as you can in 65 minutes. Need to beat st week’s.”

  “Oh that’s a tough one, make sure you’re loose before.”

  “Oh yeah, got any pointers?”

  “Lots. You know I’m the expert at stretching, Brock.”

  What are am I even thinking with that line? I should just pack up and leave right now and entomb myself in my embarrassment rather than be allowed to spend time in the sun for my crimes.

  “You’ll have to show me then. I think there’s some open space outside the rink where you can stretch my hammies.”

  It should be illegal to shoot up as fast as I did at the invitation. Something about that man’s legs just made mine move on autopilot. I grab one of his hands and quickly fold my pte up to throw it away with the other. As I’m pulling him towards where he mentioned its time to py one st card.

  “There’s space, yeah, but I think you could use much more help than just a hamstring stretch.”

  “You think?”

  “I didn’t wear the skating dress that has better range of motion today for nothing,” I said biting my lip, just hoping Brock picked up on me leading him towards the family bathroom.

  “It looks so good on you babe.”

  The hunger in his eyes was apparent as we made our way towards the bathroom. Weeks of us dancing around these feelings, coordinating workouts so we would “run into” each other and flirty texts in between seemed to be cresting. I pulled him in quickly hoping no one saw us, but also craving that bit of exhibitionist attention on the inside.

  Quickly, I wrapped my hands around his neck standing on my tiptoes to kiss his lips just so briefly. Even with the loose sweatpants he was wearing I knew that I wouldn’t need much more to rile this dumb boy up. I had him right where I wanted him.

  “Alright, so where first?” I whispered letting my hot breath hit his freshly shaven chin. Savoring each moment before I pounced. God, I wanted him bad and I could feel it all the way in my core. Just because training camp wasn’t for six more weeks did not mean that I had any time to waste. He was mine, and I was going to devour him even if it meant commandeering a public restroom at a rink in god knows where.

  But, instead of answering his mouth just opened.

  “What was that?” I said trying to hear over the beeping noise that was permeating the bathroom. “What did you say?”

  Quickly, my thoughts turned to panic. He doesn’t want me. This was all for show. Just to embarrass me. I looked up as the beeping got louder and louder and louder consuming everything before…

  Thank god Jenna rolled over some time during the night.

  She did not need whatever was going on in my pants st night to rub off on her, literally. God, what was I thinking?

  Sleep for me is a very utilitarian proposal. Close eyes. Let body functions take over. Achieve rest. Wake up with arm. Go to practice. Take care of body after. Lie in bed. Close eyes. Repeat.

  Six hours. That’s all I ask for each night. It’s not a lot, but it keeps me even keeled. Stupid Brock Lazenby had to go mess that up.

  That had to be why I had that dream.

  I had never been more grateful that my arm went off exactly at 5:15 am, waking me from that stupor. Lucid dreaming was something that I’ve experienced time and again, but this felt like my entire body had been transported to another realm. A realm where my gender stuff didn’t matter because I was a girl and being a girl meant that Brock was mine.

  The next twenty minutes were spent purging those thoughts from the deep recesses of my mind as I took a shower without even turning the lights on. That was a bad habit of mine on game days. No need to look at yourself, you can prep in a locker room. Just six steps, turn the dial, step in the water and then grab the towel where it always is. I had a routine and it was perfect.

  Now, I had two unwanted roommates - one of whom was thankfully temporary - and more chaos to fill an entire graphic novel series.

  I grabbed my pre-packed bags and was out the door by 5:37 am, leaving just 23 minutes to get to the rink and board the bus before we shlepped off to Eureka. Thankfully the arena was only a 16 minute drive. Enough time to stop in for coffee and a bagel to have some food for the beginning of the bus trip.

  I didn’t trust myself to fall asleep on the drive. Not that it would be comfortable, but I’m paranoid about talking in my sleep. What if a repeat of what happened earlier were to occur? I didn’t even think I liked boys. Or men. Or whatever. What the fuck was happening?

  Plugging my phone into the car I started my sprawling “pregame mix” that was less of a ritual and more like 200+ songs that get me in the mood of wanting to fucking murder whoever gets in my way and fuck shit up for my teammates. I’d throw it on shuffle on game days whenever I had time before skates and before someone took over the locker room music while we got dressed. On game days I was like a statue, you couldn’t get through to me. I had already been considered the team’s loner, but throw in the pressure to perform and you’d find me alone listening to music just concentrating.

  Goalies are weirdos. That’s the adage in hockey. But when you’re subjecting yourself to the abuse that is literally hurled at us at frightening speeds from some of the world’s most toned athletes? You would have to be a psychotic nut job to sign up for this.

  Twenty three minutes. That’s about five and a half songs. Unless one of the longer tracks pops up. Five an a half songs to snap out of whatever took hold in my mind st night and start the long, arduous process of clearing my mind so that I can stop as many pucks as humanly possible and get my team two points to help their standing retive to other teams in pursuit of postseason games in the ultimate dream of winning enough of them to lift a trophy over every other team who fell off on the journey there. When you spell it out, it sounds so trivial doesn’t it? But we get paid to py a kid’s game, and I sure as fucking hell ain’t a kid anymore so I’m going to treat it with the respect it deserves.

  Each song ticks and my mind still won’t fully give up trying to process what went on st night. Change doesn’t sit well with me, especially when we are in a precarious position as a team. I blink and I’ve arrived already ordering my bagel and coffee. It’s the same every time, and thankfully this pce serves a few members of the team. I just have to walk in and they prep my stuff. The cashier already has it queued up by the time I reach the counter.

  Nourishment in hand it’s time to get to the arena parking lot. Then board the bus. Then sit on said bus for six hours. Then disembark at the arena and have an optional skate. I will get on the ice to take a few pucks with the scratches. It’s been a minute since I started, I don’t want to get rusty. Then after we’ll go to the hotel. Then we’ll check in. Then we’ll have a team meeting in the visitor’s locker room. Then we’ll get dressed. Then the music will start. Then the banter. Then the energy will rise. We will rib each other. We will focus on anything trivial to avoid discussing what is about to come. We have a game pn. We are ready.

  Then I lead everyone on to the ice.

  Thirty eight saves.

  That’s how many I make tonight. The other team had thirty nine shots on goal. That means I saved ninety-seven point four percent of shots my way. Twenty of those thirty-nine shots came in the third period. Score effects.

  We went into that period up 2-1, and I knew that second number was not going to change. Nothing, I mean nothing, was getting past me tonight after I let up a power py goal in the second period. It was a bush league goal too. Tipped in front, then hit someone’s skate and was behind me. Couldn’t have scripted a better “there is no way the goalie can possibly contort their body to stop this” goal. Unless you’re Lundqvist on Vanek. But humans still are trying to replicate that one without success.

  So I expected that final period against Eureka to be a blood bath where we’re pinned in our own zone. Thankfully after the first few minutes of the game my mind went into the zone. It was like it existed to do one thing and one thing only: stop pucks. It’s why I was drafted and its why coach was not at all reluctant to put me back between the pipes. When I’m in this flow state nothing is getting past me. I am an honest to god brick wall, and these demolition men can’t break me down.

  I could see our D tiring and Eureka buoyed by the home crowd to push for that equalizer. We’re close in the division standings and with more or less 20 games to go, every point matters. It’s much harder to py catch up when the teams above you are pulling the dder out as you try to reach it, so we needed this win. Frankly, I was in for a shelling.

  Five minutes into the period and my fears were quickly realized, they were flying. Cross ice passes were getting through, and our D could not disrupt any nes they were creating. This one was going to be on me boys. And it was. Twenty shots, twenty saves. I counted them in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. All the way up to 20 when they got a quick fire three off in the final 15 seconds with an extra attacker. I didn’t even try to fling the puck myself into the empty net, just get it out of the zone so they can reset and I can catch a breath.

  When that final whistle sounded I could hear the whoops on the bench as my five teammates colpsed into me to give me a postgame pat on the head.

  “Fuckin’, right Marksy. That’s what I want to see out of ya,” coach said as he smacked my ass with his clipboard as I walked past him in the tunnel back to the locker room. Normally such showcases of masculinity freaked me out, but tonight? Tonight, I wanted to roar I was so amped up. That was my win, and all 20 guys dressed fucking knew it.

  Postgame jubition was quieted down by a team staffer bringing a stack of pizzas so high that it covered their face while they walked, and we scarfed down dinner. There wasn’t much time to celebrate this victory. We had to fuel up, pack up then get everything back on the bus as soon as possible. Then it was back to the hotel by midnight, ideally, so we could get some rest for tomorrow. We’d drive back around Six AM tomorrow. Get home by one. Have a few hours to rest before the home game, where Brock would make his debut. Our team would be at full strength even if we were not all on the same page. The Mariners were ready for the final push.

  Life in the UHL meant that no matter what you did you had a roommate on the road. I pulled Cude on this overnight, and while he was showering off tonight’s victory I shot Jenna quick text to check in.

  “Hope you didn’t have to deal with mister confident too much,” I wrote, anticipating a pithy reply quickly.

  One minute turned into five and finally Cude stepped out of the shower, and signaled it was my turn. Still no response. Odd, Jenna is usually quicker than me off the draw to respond. It’s te, maybe for once in her life she was being smart and going to bed before the sun came up.

  Back-to-back’s fucking suck.

  Even with a nice shower in the hotel room, and a full on thirty minute post shower stretch, I was beyond sore when I woke up. And then I had to trudge to a coach bus, sit on it for just over six hours and then drive back to my apartment before resting for a few more hours before trudging back to the arena to get warmed up for another game. Yes we get paid to do this, but also yes it can really grind you into the finest powder that ever existed. If the w of conservation of matter wasn’t real, I think some hockey pyers would just disappear into the ether after a back-to-back.

  I wanted nothing more to do than go to sleep, but that would have been possibly the worst idea in the history of sports medicine. Nope, I got my sleep, I had to power through and just stay loose and in the zone for a few hours and then it would be game time.

  “Jenna! I’m home!” God it was weird addressing someone when I came through the door. But what followed was the usual eerie silence. Normally, I’d be thrilled to come back to an empty apartment. I could put on something mindless and just kill the time before my game, but now I had someone I had to take care of.

  Yet, what greeted me was that all too familiar creeping feeling of absolutely nothing.

  “Jenna?”

  I walked over to my spare room and saw a defted air mattress and no other sign of Brock even being here. At least he cleaned up nice.

  Still, it was odd that Jenna still hadn’t checked in. Though, she did have a job lined up the day she arrived and probably was at Markus’ right now working a shift. It was easy to forget how within 24 hours she basically enmeshed herself within my world completely, as if she left college when I did and had been here the whole time. That would have probably been nice and spared me some anxiety that pgued me during my first month this year.

  After checking the spare room, I went down to the couch and put on a show. I needed to zone out for two hours and scroll on my phone anyway. Ambient noise in the background was what going to get me out of my head before game prep.

  Next thing I noticed it was two hours ter and I realized I needed to freshen up as I was going to have to leave for the arena in like 20 or so minutes. I walked into my room and noticed something on my bed. Laying ft across the sheets was a bck long sleeved skater dress with a note on top with my name and a big heart next to it. God dammit Jenna.

  “For a girls night, soon I hope? Xoxo Jenna”

  That girl. Seriously? Now. When I was gone to leave something like this, when a teammate was staying in my apartment? I had to hope she was careful. I prayed to whatever was up there she was. How could she be so reckless? And days after all but saying she knew not to out me. To think I believed her? What a moron.

  As a panic attack started to build in my chest I heard a car lock outside my apartment. My blinds were down but not fully pulled so you could make out people coming and going, but thankfully not see in. Two figures were walking up towards the path that lead to mine. Usually, in a building like this I wouldn’t care as there’s a number of apartments. But being on the ground floor things like this catch my attention. It was a rather tall man holding a shorter girl’s hands, walking right for where to turn on my doorstep.

  She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She did?

  Jenna and Brock were holding hands walking back to my pce. Forty-eight hours and this girl already reattached herself to me at the hip and is now dating or hooking up or doing something with my new teammate. The pair sauntered slowly towards the door as if they didn’t want the moment to end. A sick, twisted part of me thought that they were doing that just so they could rub it in knowing that somehow I was watching. They were talking and she seemed to be giggling at whatever he was saying. My stomach started twisting into knots as the pair stopped, turned and kissed each other. Then Jenna started moving towards the door while Brock held on to her hand as she slowly loosened it out of his grasp. Brock then walked back to his car and was clearly going to the arena, earlier than I pnned to. I guess he wanted to make a good impression for coach.

  I stood there frozen as the door opened and Jenna walked into my room.

  “Oh hey, roomie. How was the game?”

  Snapping out of whatever haze was overtaking my psyche I carefully considered how to respond in this situation and if I should confront her.

  “Good. We won.’

  “Nice!” Jenna came over and quickly wrapped me in a hug, not sensing my discomfort or world colpsing news happening in real time outside my window. “Oh! You saw the dress!” She was practically squealing with delight at these words.

  “Don’t worry Jamie, I found it in my suitcase this morning and forgot that I bought it for you st year for after your little tournament. I waited until Brock was gone before writing the note. I didn’t know when you’d get back, so I figured it would be a cute surprise!”

  “Wait.” There was so much to take in from that statement. “You bought this for me? Last…year?”

  “Duh, of course. You were pying for a title! I don’t know what that means, but I knew it mattered.”

  “So you bought me a dress?”

  “To celebrate after!”

  “And you kept it?”

  “Of course?”

  “Even though I was across the country.”

  “It wasn’t like I was never going to see you again. You just signed an NHL contract.”

  “Sometimes I think you have no idea what that means.”

  “Absolutely don’t. Doesn’t matter though.”

  So the dress was a present for st year. But I abandoned her in chasing an NHL dream and it almost broke us apart. Now, after wedging herself back into my life she made sure to keep it and still wants to use it as a way for us to bond even if being my true self is one of the most perilous things I can be doing right now. Yet, all of this is happening as she seems to have hooked up with my brand new teammate, a superstar in his own right and the subject of some tent desires I have absolute no intention of addressing in the near term even if they will be beyond awkward. Good god this woman was exhausting. I’m not even sure if I should be mad in this moment. I’m not sure how I should even feel. I’m not sure I should have feelings!

  At that moment a phone arm started ringing. It was one of the fifty million I keep at specific times to use on the off chance I’m not 18 steps ahead of a logistical part of my every day life.

  “Shit. Fuck.”

  Jenna just looked at me, wondering what I was on about. Of course she had absolutely no idea.

  “Sorry. No, this is lovely. Unexpected, but great. We’ll talk about it ter. I need to get to the arena. I have a fucking game to py.”