“Alright I’m going to move your leg up and bend your knee like this, tell me how it feels by nodding your head yes or no.”
I did what I was told but the dull pain was not going away.
“Okay, thanks. Now I’m going to move it this way, then that way. Same thing, nod yes I can do this, or no it hurts too much.”
She did not make it to both sides before I sharply inhaled to signal that there was some pain.
“Finally Marks, I’m going to bend your knee 90 degrees and put my hand on the bottom of your foot. I want you to push against my hand as hard as you can before it starts to hurt.”
I did what I was told. I probably pushed harder than I should. It hurt like a fucking bitch.
“So, what are we looking at Cra.”
Oh, great. Coach Mac was in the corner watching this. We’re in the second intermission of our first pyoff game against Seattle. We were up 4-1, with just 20 minutes to close out a resounding first win and set our pyoff campaign off on a great foot.
Then with about three minutes to go in the second, I covered the puck and a pile on happened on top of me. Something came down on my knee, and I yelped.
I basically told Cra to fuck off when she came on the ice to check on me, but she’s a professional and knew I was bullshitting her. She let me stay on but said I needed to be checked in the intermission. Coach immediately shifted us into a more defensive position, even up three goals in a pyoff game. He wanted to protect me before I could be seen by our trainers.
“I am not a doctor so I cannot say. But, based on what limited tests I’ve done? I would caution sending this guy back out for the third period. I know its the pyoffs and everyone quote unquote pys through it, but there’s not going to be many more games going forward for him if there’s a meniscus tear. We need to get some scans at the hospital, and that can’t be done until tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks Cra. Marksy, I know you’d py in that crease with a stump of a leg actively bleeding, but we’re going to py it safe. You’re out the rest of the night. I’ll tell whatever the fuck his name is he needs to come in for the third.”
“Coach?” I asked with more than a hint of dejection in my voice.
“Yeah, kid?”
“Tell that asshole that if he blows the three goal lead I gave him, he will wake up with a severed horse head in his bed. And unlike The Godfather, I will be there waiting to watch him scream and see it through.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from ya. Now. This is going to suck, but listen to your fucking trainer on this and don’t get all bullheaded on me. You as well as anyone knows this group can survive a road bump if you have to sit and protect that knee.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We dragged our asses literally over the line screaming and cwing to get here and coach was telling me to rex and that if I was not going to py the next game it would be okay? In the pyoffs? When nothing is given and everything is earned? This was the same man who told me earlier in the season that I should consider seeing a neurologist for not making what he called the easiest god damn save in the entire fucking universe during a scrimmage.
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t have anything in me to argue.
“Good. I know you want to win more than anyone in that locker room. And believe it or not despite how calm I am, I’m a fucking wreck seeing you on the god damn training table. But I’m just thankful its the pyoffs so we can afford to send our staff out on the road because Cra here is going to make sure this isn’t the end of your pyoffs. Unless your knee is falling off. And in that case, we’ve got a hell of a lot more problems and this org is going to make sure you’re not missing a fucking beat going forward.”
Great, just fucking great. Even coach is concerned this is a severe knee injury. I’m going to miss a year aren’t I? Just when I was coming to terms that I may need to start medically transitioning before I lead myself to believe I was ready to retire. There is no way I could retire because of injury. My stupid spiteful pride would will myself back on to the ice just to prove that I could overcome the injury. Hormones be damned, no one counts out Rhea Marks.
Okay, calm down buddy. We don’t even know what this injury is, just that it hurts right now and needs to be iced.
“Marks, you’re going to stay here and ice 15 on 15 off until the game is over. Then you will do the same in your hotel room when you get back, and then you will meet me early at the hospital tomorrow hopefully with some swelling subsiding so we can get scans and figure out where to go from here.”
“Thanks Cra, keep an eye on this one.”
“You got it coach.”
“Alright, time to go tell the team we’ve got some more bullshit to overcome.”
“Coach?”
“Yeah, Marksy?”
“Do not let Seattle get more than two shots on that asshole this third period. I don’t want them to have a chance to tie it.”
“You fuckin’ got it kid. Wasn’t pnning on them getting any.”
Coach quickly filed out and went to the locker room, while I id back on the training table waiting for the door to click shut. I wanted to be alone, hopefully Cra would realize that and give me some space to process whatever the fuck just happened to me. Couldn’t even make it 60 minutes through my first professional pyoff game before fucking my entire career. I couldn’t think of anything that could be more me in that moment.
“Here,” Cra said as she put an ice bag on my knee and started wrapping it so it would stay in pce, and have some compression on my joint. “You know you didn’t have to risk one of your most vital limbs as a goaltender just so you could sit in a room and have a conversation with me, you could have just texted at any time.”
“Cra, seriously?”
“Of course not. Had to get one in. But seriously, Rhea? I’ve been here this whole year. I don’t love learning about my new favorite member of the queer gang from the sidelines.”
“You’re right, but lets been honest.”
“What? We don’t know each other? Who’s fault is that.”
“Not that. I was kind of self-denying hardcore as much as I could this year.”
“Yeah that’s for sure.”
“And look, maybe I was ashamed to come be like ‘hey we should have a conversation’ after I knew that you were basically up to date on everything.”
“Mhm”
“So, I’m sorry okay? Can we not do this when my season is hanging by a fucking thread?”
“Your season is not hanging by a thread. Well it may be. Because I’m not a doctor. But I don’t think you have anything more than a sprain.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean like that’s not a good thing. But its not like you’re missing a month. You’re day to day at worst. I think.”
“That…that doesn’t reassure me.”
“Look, we’re all taking this one series at a time, right?”
“Yes.”
“So. If we win today.”
“Big if given who’s in net.”
“Like I said, if we win today. You could in theory miss game 2 just to rest up and our season has no way of ending before game 3. That would allow you two whole days of rest before testing the knee again.”
“But it would also mean testing the knee in a win or go home game.”
“Well that’s the pyoffs for you, babe.”
“I know.”
“Look, I know what its like to be a collegiate athlete. I was all conference D1 volleyball out here.”
“Wait, really?”
“You really know nothing about me, huh? We need to change that.”
“I’m sorry Cra.”
She waved me off for that. “Regardless, the second I got invited to an Olympic camp the second I realized just how big the gap was between the best of the best, and just the best of the incredible. This is your first pro pyoffs. Use this as a wakeup call. Everyone likes to say nothing is given, but now you know it.”
“Okay, so what are we looking for.”
“Tomorrow? No tears. Tonight? Praying our defense is as stout as it has been since the deadline.”
“I mean, Brock and Scott may py the whole period.”
“They may have to. Our backup is legitimately terrible.”
“You’re telling me, I basically willed myself to py almost every game post deadline.”
“I’m a little worried you did not spend enough time with me to discuss how that kind of ramp up may affect things, but things were going well and I know you were too busy chasing someone else.”
“Oh my god Cra.”
“Am I wrong?”
The blush I had on my face could be seen from space. “No. You’re not,” I spat out begrudgingly.
“Exactly. How are you two doing by the way.”
I paused. How much could I tell her that she didn’t already hear? I mean she’s in the group chat where I’ve kept people updated so we could all keep our stories straight. She knows what’s happened.
Sighing, I knew the only thing I could say. “He’s really incredible.”
“On and off the ice, huh?”
“You don’t even know.”
“So tell me!”
“I mean, I just feel so safe around him. Like for the first time in my life I belong in hockey because he’s there. Its incredible.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Especially with well everything.”
“Exactly, like. I feel I can go home each day and just know I have someone by my side in some capacity. Which is selfish because I literally have you, Riley, Jenna, Sam and her friend Lia to rely on!”
“Yeah, but we’re a bunch of lesbians and you’re the literal only straight woman in our group.”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
“I don’t know, babe. But its hirious.”
“So, not that I’m jealous or anything, but how’s his body?”
“Oh, Cra.”
“Say more.”
“I don’t need to, you know.”
“Yeah, but like. I want to hear it from someone who wants to eat it up. Not someone who goes, its amazing but confirms I’m not bi.”
“If I could melt into him permanently, I would.”
“That good, huh?”
“I’ve been having dreams about him since he came.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Thank goodness that everyone else on this team is super oblivious.”
“Seriously. This could be a real, thing if it ever got out.”
“And that’s why its never getting out.”
“And that’s why its never getting out.”
“And that’s why you’re fixing my fucking knee.”
“One step at a time babe. You’re going to walk out of here, though. I can say that.”
Walking out of the arena…proved much more difficult than I imagined on the training table.
Maybe it was because I had been sitting and icing for the third period and I got a little stiff, or maybe because my season was fucking over because I had the gall to not let in a second goal when people were piling up around me.
It probably was just some residual stiffness, but I was grumpy. And I just wanted to get back to the hotel.
We gave up a second goal within the first five minutes of the third period, and a third before the first ten minutes were up. But the st ten minutes we shifted into a defensive shell and managed to hold on. Our backup only had to make a few saves, none that impressive. An empty net goal with about 90 seconds left in the game sealed it for us. We turtled, but that’s what you have to do sometimes to win, and we left game one in Seattle up 1-0 in a three game series.
Noticing that I was liming more than usual, Brock came up behind me and offered his kind shoulder for me to lean on going back to the bus. He started his pyoffs off with two assists and was only on the ice for one of the two third period goals against. We would need more of that going forward, especially if I was going to be potentially hobbled.
He helped me on to the bus and sat me down in the first row so I could extend my ice wrapped knee. He then went to the back and took his spot next to Scott, his defensive partner. I wished he had stayed, but I understand why he hadn’t. He rode next to Scott on the way in, and you do not fuck with superstitions. They likely would be bussing together all postseason.
Cra came and sat down next to me, offering her hand to mine as we hit some bumps on the way back to the hotel. It was nice. No one else noticed, I hope. Well if they did they could surmise I’m having an inappropriate retionship with a team staffer. Something that has never happened in any hockey story ever.
Back at the hotel Brock helped me limp back to the hotel room, and he unwrapped my ice pack, and helped me into the shower. Naturally he stayed with me and we just held each other for a few moments, before he helped me get back on to the bed with a new ice bag from the hotel ice machine. He stand down on the bed next to me and let me y my head on his shoulder. I needed to find out what he used for hair gel, because it just smelled so clean and so fucking manly. I wanted to kiss him, but my knee was twinging.
“So, how bad is it?” He said, hoping to break some of the tension.
“We just don’t know. I get scans tomorrow.”
“Alright.”
“You don’t need to beat around the bush, this fucking sucks.”
“I mean, it could just be tweaked.”
“I wouldn’t be getting scans if it was just tweaked.”
“Its the pyoffs Rhea, we have to be safe. Plus, this is your career.”
“We both know that’s not going to be long anyway.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Its fine, this is stressful.”
“Yeah. And like, I really wanted to celebrate you having another multipoint game.”
“Its more than just me that won this game Rhea.”
“I know, but you’re the only one fucking my brains out and I think that is super special.”
“You’re such a fucking sappy dork you know that?”
I turned to him and smiled and kissed his lips gently. “I know,” I whispered. “But more importantly I’m your sappy dork.”
“Oh my god you’re incorrigible.”
We y there with 15 minute timers so I could take the ice off and then re-apply it. Unfortunately Brock was the sensible one and eventually said he should sleep in his bed so that he didn’t hit my knee overnight or have us end up sleeping in any weird positions. Not that it would matter, I think. I genuinely knew I would be pying again this postseason, but I just hoped it would be this series.
After the game coach told me I’m sitting in the press box for game 2. New York had put both Tucker and his new backup in the NHL on the UHL roster just after the deadline to ensure both could be recalled in case of injury. That other backup was already en route to Seattle to dress tomorrow night, since there wasn’t an off day. If things were not serious, Game 3 would be in consideration and this third backup would probably back me up the rest of the pyoffs with just how terrible our guy had been pying. Seriously, he was going to lose us this postseason if I could not get my knee to behave for the rest of this series.
The next morning, we got a silent breakfast with the team, while everyone congregated in the hotel ballroom for a morning debrief. During this time I went to the hospital to get an MRI. Cra came with me to oversee the process, and confer with the doctors about what was going on so they could come up with a pn with our head trainer. Being the team’s cornerstone goalie for the postseason meant they could not get this wrong. If they did, it could doom a potential deep run.
Sitting in that metal tube in my hospital gown I just reflected on how wrong everything felt. The staff aggressively gendered me male, which was to be expected, but god it did not feel great. I thought at the beginning of this year I could get through a few years in the minors and possibly pros, then come out quietly when retiring and never doing any alumni events so that no one would look into me. Hormones would become a possibility, I’d rgely be off socials as I was already and I could just grow into the person I was supposed to be all along. Winning here would change that calculus, but it would also give me something real and big to hang my hat on should I throw it all away and say I need to prioritize myself instead of my sport sooner than I imagined. A win here would make training camp next year a real possibility of being in New York for the end of it. But I had to ask myself, did I want to py at the highest level of men’s hockey because that’s what was expected of me, or because I wanted to? Each day with Brock being myself made the tter seem less and less likely, even if pushing myself past any theoretical limit on the ice was some of the most enjoyable time I ever had as myself. No one saw a gender there, they just saw an athlete. If only the world saw me like that all time, then I could just be Rhea in the NHL. No one calls it the Men’s National Hockey League, just the National Hockey League. I could wear the cutest outfits coming into national TV games, and get bloggers to critique my style like they do the men. It would be cathartic, but I also would have that gnawing feeling that my body still wasn’t mine, even if I had complete control over it.
Snapping me out of my thoughts was the MRI machine’s sudden shutoff and a nurse helping me get out.
I made my way back to my hospital room, where Cra, our head trainer and the doctor joined us.
“So. Let’s take a look.”
Holy shit I was bored.
Is this what it is like all season for healthy scratches? Just sitting here in the press box watching other people duke it out on the ice having the time of their lives? No wonder guys demand trades. If I had to do this more than five times a year I would probably go mental on someone just for having to sit around and watch my teammates.
The first period gave me a great birds eyed view of how we were pying and what Coach was trying to do to help minimize any potential damage and get us out of Seattle as quickly as possible. The next round wouldn’t start for a few more days, four off days if we won game 2, three days off if we had to go to a third game here, so I would have plenty of time to rest before going to Olympia. I don’t even think we’d go home, we would just practice there and stay in Olympia until it was time for Game 3 back in Olympic City. It would be a bit before our fans got a home pyoff game, but for them it would 100 percent be worth it. Especially with how we matched up with Olympia all year. We knew for sure we’d be coming home in that best of five series with at least one road win.
I had some feedback for coach on how our defense was positioned, based on what I saw up here and what I saw at ice level during Game 1, but I was advised not to travel from the press box to the locker room for I was supposed to be resting as much as possible.
Thankfully the MRI revealed no tears anywhere in my knee, and the swelling had gone down considerably from the night before. Basically, the medical advice was to rest as much as I could between games and to just take everything one day at a time. We would be sticking with only OTC pain killers, nothing explicitly with any opioids, and extra stretching with the trainers to help keep me loose. I was strictly on an only elevator diet when going into multi-story buildings and absolutely no stairs. So that meant I was parked up here in Seattle’s press box until the game was over. An intern would bring me any food or drinks that I needed to be satiated. That did not stop me however from using said intern to pass notes down to the coaching staff with my observations. I have no idea if they ever made it to Coach Mac.
The game was over the second our backup took the ice. It was 3-0 after the first period, despite a valiant effort from our guys. That was enough for coach to yank him and put our new NHL-caliber backup Marek Chu in net. The Slovak known for his poise did a great job of limiting any opportunities for Seattle the rest of the game, but was shaky at times. He let up a fourth goal towards the end of the second period, and Seattle added a fifth with an empty net in the third. Final score was 5-1. Brock scored the only goal on the power py in the second period. There was a brief moment where it was 3-1 and maybe we had the slightest of chances to get back into this one. It was never to be though, and I think everyone felt a little defted after it was clear I was being scratched tonight.
I didn’t need any help getting back on to the bus, but Brock once again deposited me in the first row with Cra. Even in a loss, it was still way too early to change things up.
We had another chaste night in the hotel room. Neither of us really knowing what to say. Brock clearly wanted to put the game behind him and focus on game 3, and I just wanted to not think about my knee at all. We ended up cuddling watching a tv show and then going to sleep fairly early.
I managed to get myself out of bed at 7 am the next day, quietly leaving the room so Brock could sleep in. We had a day off before the winner take all game, and for our guys it was a chance to just rex and reset themselves. I, naturally, went to the hotel gym and did a light hour on the exercise bike. It was Cra-approved, as it would be a way to loosen myself up early in the day, and for the staff to see how my knee responded to light work before game day.
Coach Mac saw me working out before 8 am and scowled at me, while starting to walk my way with a face that only described fire and brimstone fury. I quickly mouthed “Cra approved” and he curtly nodded, before going to another machine and starting his workout. The man may be in his 60s, I think or something like that, but he could skate with the best of them still. Even in retirement some guys don’t know how to quit. So I watched him use dumbbells that were bigger than what most mortals could handled, impressed that our coach was pushing and punishing himself on our first pyoff day off.
I ate a rge breakfast alone, showered off and then went for a leisurely walk around Seattle, alone. I texted Brock that I needed the space and he said he wanted his own as well. We were both in our heads, which was only natural with what was to come tomorrow. I had a lot to think about. Yesterday’s doctor’s appointment got more in my head than I had realized. What did I want out of transitioning? What did I want out of fucking hockey? God, I was not prepared to answer either of those, but they felt like two giant swords ready to fall on me at a moment’s notice. Still, what mattered was tomorrow. I needed to be loose. I needed to be limber. I needed to be able to push off on my skates. I was going to get there, I just knew I was pying. No matter how well Marek did, that was my fucking crease. I knew what I had to do. It was time for a gut check.
