There’s a moment in the arena just before the national anthem starts that the collective dine of the fanbase crowded inside pauses to take a breath. It comes right as the singer takes their first breath and belts out the first word “O” starting the countdown to the night’s festivities. Its in this moment, I would find myself in my crease ready to center myself. I had done it nearly all my life once I started pying games big enough that they would have to sing the national anthem before them. I would take in that collective deep breath for myself, and then shut out the world as the singer went on with their tune. I did not need the national anthem to hype me up, I needed to dig deep within myself and draw upon everything that I leaned on to get me here. I needed to practice shutting out the world around me and find what made me tick. Then I could use the gift that I worked so fucking hard to hone to beat a group of some of the best skaters in the world at their own game.

  Sitting on the edge of the bench in full goalie gear and a baseball hat was probably the exact opposite of the experience my pregame ritual brought. I was exposed, no helmet to hide myself behind. I was surrounded, on the bench with the team next to me and the coaching staff behind me. I was trapped, even if my crease confined me, I could see the ice open all around me. Here? Just feet in front of me was a wall, that was hard for a goalie to climb as quick as the other skaters. We had already done our pregame introductions with all of us on the blue line, since it was our first - and quite possibly our st - pyoff game.

  Confined to my little crate, I was forced to watch as someone else controlled my net, with the team on their back as we hoped to get at least one more game in this charade of a series. Coach was right, I wasn’t at my best and it cost us. It may not have been the only reason we lost those two games, it certainly was not, but it pyed a role. And here, in the pyoffs, the margins are slimmer. A missed pass or an ill-timed shot is all that is needed for a team to capitalize on your mistakes. Mentally, the games just get tougher. Only one team can win, the team that minimizes everything around them and executes when it counts. That’s not to say their opponents aren’t going to execute as well. But the center cannot hold and one team will always come out on top.

  The first period of the game I tried to focus on the action itself. See if I could notice any little thing and pass it along to our coaching staff. Just sitting there hoping to be useful, to atone for my misdeeds in games one and two. Any little thing will help, especially as this game was promising to be tighter than the previous two. A goal may be all it takes to win.

  Both goalies looked sharp, but the first period it was clearly adrenaline helping both of them overcome any sort of mental sloppiness. That was pretty standard in an elimination game. The team trying to stay in wants to capitalize on their chances, but they’re going to be locked in defensively. Its like a game of blitz chess, you’re going to open conservatively but the second there’s an opening you know you are going to pounce. Its just harder when both teams are doing the same thing and working to cover their own deficiencies.

  The second period was a simir affair, that was until Olympia scored about seven minutes in. You could just feel the air defte out of the building. Its like someone opened the doors and all the energy that was building up inside, seeped out. The bouncy house had a small leak and all the children were crying as it came tumbling down on them. It could be fixed, but the situation was not great.

  That’s when I noticed it. Their coach was utilizing a dump and chase, hoping to force our guys into a bad turnover in our own zone to lose possession as they’re trying to come in. Yet, one of their defensemen was not sticking to their assigned spot and was hanging back, just to be ready when we recovered the puck. It was almost like he was too timid to press so that he wouldn’t make a mistake.

  A few minutes ter on his next shift, I noticed him do simir things when they were controlling the zone. That’s when I yelled to coach.

  “Hey, Coach Mac. Number 73 there, on the left he’s being timid. If we throw the puck at him during a dump, he’s going to turn around to try and do damage control. If we get it far enough pas it we can easily outstate him.”

  “The fuck you on about Marksy?”

  “I said if you watch 73.”

  “I heard you. What are you on about?”

  “I don’t think their coach notices him doing it. He hasn’t been dropped a shift even if he’s a third pair guy,”

  “Huh, alright. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  The rest of the period went by, and you could see it happen a few more times. I don’t think coach was taking me seriously, but who knows. He’s been doing this well before I was even fucking born.

  We went into the third period down 1-0, but they committed a penalty with about 23 seconds left in the period. So for the first minute and thirty seven seconds we’d be on the power py to start the third. Now we wouldn’t have as much time as a full bench minor, but we needed to capitalize.

  Of course the power py was nothing more than a few low quality shots on goal, but I noticed coach talking to one of our fourth liners just before the penalty expired. That line was sent out once we finally lost possession in their zone. A quick change, right before Olympia dumped the puck in, and I noticed our top d-pair was out with the checking in. Odd, I thought, especially as Brock had just been out there all eighty-seven seconds for the power. Big boy shift time I guess. Almost instantly I saw what was happening. Brock threw the puck at the wall right by 73, leading to the puck going out of the zone behind him and him spinning around. One of our speedy fourth liners broke out in a full sprint, passed him, and got the puck rushing into their zone with 73 in quick stride right behind. Now, instead of going for the net, our guy quickly skated past it, noticing the other defensemen rushing back, and out behind it. He then id a perfect pass across the front of the goal to Brock who had skated in by the opposite faceoff circle. The defensemen must have missed him, and Brock had a perfect shot right at net. Tie game.

  Coach just looked my way and nodded as our bench erupted. The rest of the game was as tight as it had been the first 50 minutes, and it looked very clearly we were headed to overtime. But the thing with pyoff games is, momentum changes in a heartbeat. Olympia committed a penalty with about two minutes and 14 seconds left, and we had a power py with a chance to put this one to bed. About a minute in one of our pys was executed to perfection and boom 2-1 lead. A nervy final minute ended with an empty net goal in the final 10 seconds for us and a resolute 3-1 victory. We’d live to see another day, and Marek would get Game 4. I was happy we were still alive, but this was going to eat at me. Shoved in a little box for all to see. But the worst version of myself I could ever imagine being on dispy.

  During the postgame on-ice huddle Brock came my way and whispered in my ear asking if I’d want to come to his pce. I nodded meekly, but croaked out “after 40 minutes on the bike. Gotta stay loose. And ready.”

  “Hey,” I softly said as I melted into Brock’s arms finally at a pce of respite after that horrid sixty minute affair. I never though a win that kept our season alive could be so fucking depressing when I interrogated it. I wanted to be out there so bad, it was where I felt like I belonged and I hated that it seeped into the other pce I belonged because it was all I could think about going over to Brocks.

  “Hey, you.” He said softly.

  “You don’t need to hold back, it was a sick shot, Brock.”

  “I’m not! I’m just comforting my girlfriend who looks despondent, despite our season continuing.”

  “Would you hate me if I said its because I am depressed I wasn’t out there?”

  “Fuck, no. In fact I’d ask what the fuck your problem was if you said anything else.”

  “Okay,” I melted back into the hug. I really just needed to be held in this moment. It felt like everything I had worked so hard towards was hanging precariously by a string that some guy named Marek would gleefully cut. And he’s pyed in the NHL! He doesn’t need to steal my job!

  Plus, he’s probably just going back to some hotel room the team rented him and calling his wife or girlfriend or whoever friend and just sitting alone watching tv after a pyoff win. I did not envy that. I was dating the hottest guy on the team and he seemed to be trending towards genuine, unconditional love towards me. Me! The closeted aloof trans girl that no one would give a second thought to. And yet, I was worried about a scrub named Marek? What even is Marek as a name?

  I was spiraling.

  “Babe, let’s sit on the couch. You’re clinging really tight.”

  “Sorry,” again with the meekness. I didn’t have it in me to be bratty confident Rhea. I think I even called myself my deadname at some point during the game. My head was a fucking mess.

  Brock ended up putting on some tv show for us to listen to in the background as we kissed for a little bit, but mostly cuddled. I id on top of him on his couch as we sat there. Somehow he had gotten one long enough to accommodate two over six feet tall hockey pyers with room to spare. I needed the name of his furniture guy. And his workout routine guy, because my god his abs were the perfect pillow. Next thing we knew we were asleep and he was gently waking me up around two o’clock in the morning to make our way to his bed.

  A blessed off day came after st night’s win and we slept in until 10. There would be an optional skate for the guys likely scratched for game four, so that meant me. Even if I was not a scratch, I needed to be at the arena showing that I could still walk, do basic workouts and show that I had some mobility on the ice. Cra said that this would go beyond a long way to getting the team doctors to approve me starting. I wasn’t technically too hurt to py, but coach knew that I should only be used in a break gss if emergency type situation. I hated that. The few days off I had did wonders. The swelling was completely gone, and the pain was beyond manageable. I wasn’t even wincing when pushing off in drills.

  I texted Cra and told her I would be in a little early before optional skate to do some maintenance. I then woke up and kissed Brock on the forehead before whispering that I was going home to get ready for today and he should enjoy the day off. He tried to bear hug me to get me to stay, but we both knew he understood why I needed to leave.

  Jenna wasn’t home and left a note that she took an extra long shift today in order to have tomorrow off to watch. She said in the note Sam did the same thing. It seemed Sam’s dad being a prominent, local Mariners alumni gets tickets to pyoff games and snagged two extra for Sam and Jenna to go. Jenna Stanley at a UHL pyoff game in Oregon of all pces. If you had proposed that to me before st year’s NCAAs I’d have called you on drugs. I think dating or whatever she’s doing with Riley got to her. There was a tinge of excitement int he way she worded her note.

  Things with Cra have been tense since Olympia. We do work together, but we’re not in the pyful speaking banter we once shared. I think she thinks I should shut down, but I just can’t do that. I don’t know how many, if any, other chances I”ll have. Sure there’s next year here but I don’t know if I have it in me mentally to do another season here. Not without an actual life and career pn. I had a future dammit, and it had two tits and two functional working knees. They just did not need to be elite hockey pyer knees. Plus, what girl doesn’t love a bit of jewelry?

  Getting pucks shot at me at the optional skate was cathartic. I needed it, solely to remind myself that being hurt for the first time in my career had not robbed me of all my timing and ability. I was still me when I was in the crease, I just had to deal with a dull ache that didn’t seem to want to subside no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, or work on it. Luckily for me, my secret weapon was this ache was familiar. It absolutely sucks that I had to feel this way, but hey take any advantage you got when you can, right?

  I skipped the night at Brock’s before Game Four because we both knew we had to focus. It was important Going through my pregame routine was pure hell. Not because of the nerves, no, I was kind of convinced we were winning this game, the crowd was ready to go ballistic, but, rather, because I was going back to that box. The stupid box with the stupid hat with the stupid partitions and the whole team next to me getting to go out on the ice and compete while I had to sit there like the fucking backup I was all along watching a version of me that everyone else knew be trotted out for their entertainment. I was nothing more than a tool, for this team to win, if, and only if, they needed me. I was nothing, a facsimile of myself sitting there content needing to be primed to spring into action at a moments notice should something go wrong for the person supposed to be out there. I was the understudy, the bridesmaid, the clearance aisle. The main event was fucking Marek.

  The game itself I don’t remember much about. It was a back and forth affair. We scored first, they tied. Then the first period ended. They scored first in the second, we tied and then went up 3-2 te. The scored stayed that way during the second intermission, and then Olympia scored early in the third to tie it up. Or so they thought. After the puck went in the net, the second linesman quickly was blowing his whistle trying to signal that it was offsides. The call went to a video review and confirmed that the other team was in fact offsides entering the zone. No goal.

  We scored next going up 4-2, and then Marek started getting shaky. Olympia poured on the pressure during the final ten minutes scoring with about six to go. It looked like they had the momentum and would equalize this game, but thankfully our defense blocked more shots than I thought was possible. It was as if they noticed Marek’s waiver and said “we’ve got this.”

  Thankfully they did because we didn’t even get a crack at an empty net goal. Another squeaker of a win, and all of a sudden this series went down to one final game. Back to Olympia for all the marbles.

  By the time we boarded the bus the next day to go back to Washington State, things had gotten more tense than I ever could have imagined.

  After the game Riley asked Coach Mac if Marek’s job was secure for Game 5, and he responded saying that the team was “always considering each and every option.” Now, to the average Joe this could mean almost anything, but to anyone behind the scenes the writing was now on the wall. Marek’s job wasn’t secure. I guess if I could prove I was healthy enough I may get the job back. I had won every regur season game in Olympia in the regur season in resounding fashion, so it made sense that I would get the tap to take them on in the game that would define our season.

  Brock and I again did not talk much between the end of the game and boarding the bus. Mostly because there just wasn’t time. After coach’s comments hit Twitter, I made sure to stay back and pull one of our goalie coaches to get extra work on the ice. I swear I could hear Marek scoffing at me as he saw what I was doing, but hey who is going to stop someone from wanting to get better?

  After about an hour of work ter, some of the arena staff had to practically shoo us off the ice, and then I saw him. Coach Mac slyly observing part of the practice. That was my pn, show him that I cared. More than anyone else. Keep seeding that doubt Rhea, and maybe you would get your crease back.

  After showering at the facilities because all the other pyers had lost I found an irate Cra waiting for me outside the pyer’s locker room.

  “Are you absolutely insane?”

  “Hey Cra. Good to see you. Cra.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to push it.”

  “Probably a few more.”

  “I’m fucking serious Rhea, do not py around.”

  “I felt good! I saw coach was thinking about me and I figured extra work before a day off is fine. Is it fine?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t know the full extent of your injury you fuckwad.”

  “Well, I felt good. That has to count for something.”

  “Look. I know you want to start, but you have to think about your career.”

  “Who say’s I’m not?”

  “Be serious Rhea.”

  “I am! I know how to do pain management. I felt good. Things have been trending up. The swelling is gone. You even said so yourself.”

  “I know what I’ve said, but seriously do not fuck this up. This could end up being a longterm thing.”

  “Or it could not!”

  “That’s technically true, but you are reckless.”

  “I’m not being reckless. I promise.”

  She gred at me. Hard. “Fine,” she said. But if you get hurt, hurt I’m going to be so fucking pissed. I’ll fix you because its my job, and because your my friend, and because I fucking care about you want you to thrive. But I will not be happy about it for a fucking second.”

  I pulled her in for a tight hug. “Heard.”

  The night before the bus ride passed quickly, and it was clear things were tense with Brock. I wonder if Cra had texted him her concerns about me. She probably would, because she sounded actually worried yesterday. But, I knew my body. I knew if I was going too hard. I wasn’t anywhere near that red line.

  Once we got to Olympia the team swiftly disembarked from our bus, but Coach called me over to talk with him before going in the hotel.

  “Marksy, I saw you yesterday. I want you in that crease. We both saw Marek’s third period. We can’t have that tonight. We’d get eaten alive.”

  “So what are you saying Coach?”

  “Prove to me you’re good tomorrow morning and you’re starting. I’ll name you starter tonight and we can scratch you if you don’t pass.”

  “That’s kind of public.”

  “Yeah, and if you don’t pass we’re shutting you down for a series.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, kid. This is one of those times I’m pulling rank and saying I know what’s best. Just…just trust me. If you can go for tonight you can go for whoever wins that series in Spokane. If not, well, you either have an offseason to rehab, or another series to get actual testing done so we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “That seems fair.”

  “Atta boy. Now go. You’re rooming with Brock again.”

  It was weird that he mentioned that at the end. Had Coach noticed we were getting closer or something? It always felt like the guy had eyes fucking everywhere.

  Stepping into the room I found Brock on the bed waiting for me to arrive. I came in smiling, knowing there was a path bath to my starting job.

  So I told him. I told him what I did after the game, what Cra said and what Coach said to me on the bus. His face never wavered. It was like he was keeping all his cards close to the chest, when all I wanted him to do was be happy for me. Be as happy as I am for myself for a change.

  “I’m obviously not going to convince you of anything, but I’m a little worried,” he finally said.

  “Worried about what?”

  “Worried that you may get more hurt doing this.”

  “Brock you don’t get it”

  “Don’t get what”

  “This championship for me? It’s everything. It’s life or death.”

  “Rhea, stop. No. It’s a fucking minor league pyoffs. You’re not risking your career to chase a ring in fucking Olympic city Oregon. You’re going to listen to Cra and Coach and you should shut down for a series and find out what is actually going on.”

  “No. I’m not. Because you don’t get it.”

  “Then make me fucking get it because I’m not watching you do this.”

  “Brock, you’re going to have a very long career in this sport. Not because you’re talented. Because you are. But mostly because you fucking listen. And adjust. You let people coach you. You let them make you get better and then work harder than they can imagine to perfect it. That drive is genuinely what makes me hornier than fucking Eros herself thinking about it because it’s rare. And if you keep me in your life, I’m going to want to be a part of molding that because I know I can help. And I don’t ant you to reach the highest of heights. That thrills me. But you have to understand. Every day I’m kidding myself about competing for a spot in New York next year is another day I’m sealing myself in a titanium reinforced closet for this chance. And I don’t know how long I can do that. You’re the most important person in my life and you let me get to be me. All of me. And putting that part of myself away to compete in this sport is only worth it if there’s a goal at the end that has some equivalency. For my entire life I thought that was a Stanley Cup. But we all know even greats go their whole career without one. Nothing is guaranteed in this sport anymore so life. So this championship? It’s my shot to take something from this exercise in self harm. And share it with the people I love. My fucking family. Brock I want this championship so bad because I don’t think there IS a training camp next year. I’m 30 seconds away from DIYing estrogen every day of my life and this rink most of the time is what stops me. There’s got to be a reward for that. Otherwise this is just senseless harm.”

  “Rhea, there’s more than this.”

  “You. Don’t. Get. It. I know that. But the version of me where there is more is not being debated in prospect rankings. And I don’t want her to be.”

  “There’s more than just hockey.”

  “No fucking shit. But until our world lets someone like me py with other women and not have it be a thing? Hockey where I’m pying right now is pretty fucking important. I’d say it’s fucking everything.”

  “Rhea…”

  “Brock I’m not asking you to understand. You never can. I don’t WANT you to either. I want you to never have a ceiling. I just need you to respect that I may crash into mine straight on with a front bumper going 65 miles per hour knowing that I will survive. I won’t be unhurt but I could not give less than a shit.”

  “I draw the line at quality of life.”

  “What the fuck are you saying?”

  “If you have legitimate potential long term degenerative issues I am stopping this.”

  I thought for a second. “Fine. I can allow that. We need to celebrate your third straight Cup properly after all.”

  “You fucking bitch. You don’t get to make light of this!”

  “You mean your fucking bitch. And I can’t wait until the whole world knows.”

  He hugged me. We fought, but he honest to god hugged me after. I still don’t think he fully got it, and I doubt he ever would. The man would probably py on a broken leg and tell me it was a paper cut, yet he was showing his concern for me in the only way he knew how. But still, there was a part of me that was hurt. This was a time to be a little bit reckless. It was the pyoffs. We were trying to win. Spare me the morals when you’d be just as big a hypocrite as me pying this.

  But also, he was right. Once I stepped off the ice, I was stepping off the ice for good, likely. Its not like I could waltz into a professional women’s league without taking a period of time to go on hormones, which would change my body in ways I don’t even think I could fully anticipate. Plus, who really wanted to have a trans athlete on their team? Let alone a women’s team? Dammit, Rhea. Now is not the time for that. You’re pying tomorrow. You’re icing your knee tonight, you’re cuddling your man and you’re getting a good fucking night’s sleep. This team has a god damn fucking pyoff series to win.