I did not know hangovers could st two days.

  I also was beyond grateful that our wildly, rich owner made it team policy about a decade ago, to buy extra commercial seats on our flights because of how inconvenient most road trips are that cannot be done by bus in the UHL. While, it was nowhere near as luxurious as the New York team’s chartered pne, it did mean that every time we had to fly somewhere the middle seat would be open. That meant a bunch of beefy hockey boys could stretch their legs to the slightest extent, making a four and a half hour flight from Seattle to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan slightly more bearable.

  However, it did not mean that the experience of getting up at 4 am to fly out of Olympic City Regional Airport 90 minutes to Seattle, just to catch a connection to a far flung Canadian city any better. Add in a total disregard for trying to cure a hangover on your day off and I was miserable. I think every time Jenna tried to tell me to drink water I purposely avoided getting a gss. My stomach was a mess, so food was out of the question too. If I had to guess I was purposely trying to punish myself after reading the brazen text message I sent coach at 3:04 am on Monday morning.

  “Put me with Brock on the road trip.”

  Put me. With Brock. On the road trip. What was I, a giant brat demanding our coach cater to my sick and twisted desires wanting to be close to the boy I was slowly falling for, during a crucial road trip in which our team is still needing to stay focused while trying to qualify for the upcoming pyoffs? I won five games in a row and decided that I was above any sort of decision-making hierarchy need to tell our coach of all people that I dictated room assignments. Nevermind that I was not a captain, nor was I anywhere near any sort of leadership cadre in our team or organization.

  Coach still had not responded to that obscene breach of protocol. And we had not gotten room assignments for the road trip. Usually when we had to go to four different cities, it was handled beforehand. We’d have one guy that would be our buddy for the whole trip to minimize logistics. Every hour not knowing who I’d be rooming with was another crisis building in my head. I had done absolutely zero prep for our next few opponents. My heater was toast.

  Clutching a barf bag, we descended into Saskatchewan to start this horrible idea of a scheduling quirk. Tuesday night we’d be in Saskatoon, with a game Wednesday night. Thursday morning it was off to the airport to fly to Winnipeg, where we’d be able to practice on Thursday and py Friday. Saturday morning, a flight to Calgary, then a drive over to Cochrane for a game that night. Sunday morning we’d drive back to Calgary and fly to Victoria. Monday afternoon would be a matinee for kid’s day and then we’d have that night off. Tuesday morning we’d fly back to Olympic City, where we’d be off until next Friday. Six days in Canada essentially. Six days of rooming with who knows who in who knows where just hoping I don’t blow this road trip and put us back behind the eight ball as we head into March.

  The guys spent all Monday pnning what we’d be doing on the road trip. Even if I was not rooming with Brock, I’d get to hang out with him even if in the presence of Brady, Cude and Scott. It was clear I’d be rooming with at least one of the four guys my age, as that’s usually how it went. I could also be stuck with the guy from the C who is my backup. I still have not bothered to learn his name. He managed to let in 2 goals on 3 shots after we were up 8-0 in that game by the way. This guy was not cut out for the U let alone anywhere near an NHL training camp. When he had a save percentage over five-hundred maybe I’d learn his name. Knowing my luck we’d be roommates for every away game left this season because of my boneheaded decision to personally text Coach MacGuinness at three in the fucking morning. Bad Rhea, bad.

  Don’t ever let anyone tell you the life of a minor league athlete is pretty. Don’t also ever let anyone tell you there are massive amounts of entertainment options in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.

  After nding we went to the hotel. Riding the fits of anticipation was not something my stomach could handle, so the first thing I did was get my room key and start hurling in the bathroom. Poor Brady. He heard it all. Smelled it all, too. Immediately dipped before I could say anything and took the other guys out to a bar and grille, leaving me to figure out dinner alone. This was for the best. I found a burger joint down the street and brought my meal back to the room, booting up my ptop. It was a little surprising he did not come back until after midnight, but I guess the guys had fun without me.

  I wanted to look up highlights for the team we were pying, so that I could prepare for tomorrow night and be in the right mind for when we stepped out on the ice. I wanted to know what to look out for. I wanted to know who was likely going to beat me, and how out team would match up with them. Instead, I realized all of that could wait for tomorrow’s morning meeting. We usually decamped to a conference room before practice, had a spread of motel pastries and had a talk from the coaching staff about what to expect. So, I did what any young twenty-three year old woman would do and logged into my secret, anonymous girl-coded social media accounts and looked up what simirly aged women were saying about Brock on hockey-tumblr. What? Most athletes watched whatever fancams had been made of us, and life in the minors meant that we likely followed some of our fans on Twitter, Tumblr or Insta. One of the worst kept secrets in pro sports is that athletes actually love the attention we get. And hoo boy, Brock got a lot of attention.

  There had been some fan fiction written about his trade from LA to New York. Most of it was based in AUs where Brock never pyed in the UHL and was already an NHL superstar even before the age of 25. In most of these tellings he would spy a pin looking girl with gsses in the stands looking out of pce at a hockey game, and invite her to his apartment after the game, by having a stadium staff sneak a puck with his address written in sharpie on it to her. They would date in secret before realizing just how important they were to each other, and confess feelings at some pce like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or some indie theater in Brooklyn at a py no hockey hunk would be caught dead in. I loved the fact that the guy I was crushing on harder than a boulder trampling Sisyphus had an art-girlie fandom. He was beyond attractive, but not in an unattainable way that only the vapid girls on Tumblr would talk about him like he was a piece of meat. I wouldn’t go as far to reblog any of these pieces, but one comment couldn’t hurt.

  Three hours ter I realized I was messaging one of his fans debating her prose as Brady quietly slipped into the room and passed out. I could smell the alcohol from here. Yup, the guys did have fun without me. I quickly shut my ptop hoping that he didn’t realize I was still awake, letting dreams of our new stud defensemen take over hoping, praying really, that I didn’t say anything in my sleep.

  Four to three.

  That was the final score. Did we win? Did it even matter? Nothing matters in this life when you’re woken up by your roommate pouring cold water on you saying “stop fucking moaning” and walking out to practice. I had to basically assault Brady in the elevator, but he did in fact confirm I was not moaning a name, but that I was moaning and it was quote unquote fucking creepy dude.

  We lost, but I was so disassociated that I could not tell you how we pyed, or who even scored. Two points dropped to start this bizarre-ass road trip was really all I needed to know. I made sure to just stare at the ceiling for an hour before going to bed, praying Brady was out and that I wouldn’t say anything weird in my sleep.

  Thursday morning was a blur of coffee, and absolutely no eye contact with what I assumed was my road trip roomie. Thankfully I was in a different row on the pne to Winnipeg from him, and could focus on our next game. Winnipeg used to be an NHL city, before having the ignominious distinction of losing an NHL team twice, just like Atnta. Now, with a newish arena and a still rabid fanbase it was a hell of a pce to py. Even if the facilities were incredible. When you lose six to one though, its hard to even take any of it into account. We had a Thursday practice, of which I had absolutely no headspace for, and then a night out with the five of us at a local restaurant. I was rooming with Cude this time. I think Brady demanding Coach switch him out of my room or something. I really had no head in any game whatsoever, so I followed along to some Italian pce and just spaced out eating Carbonara and a sparkling water. I would pay money to forget anything that happened in the 36 hours in Winnipeg, especially the spanking we received. One win and one loss, this roadtrip was becoming a wash.

  Cochrane was the same. I blinked and found myself returning to the hotel room to go to bed next to Scott after a three to nothing drubbing. I guess Coach saw my message from the beginning of the week and decide I needed a new roommate each night of this trip. I had accepted I was not going to get to room with Brock, and mentally prepped to be stuck in the same room as backup goalie during our stay in Victoria. The capital of British Columbia and where Scott of all pces had family, and an in at an upscale Chinese restaurant with a night club attached to its roof. The pce we were sted to I was told ball out on Monday night after this helcious stretch was finally over. He told me how we pnned to blow off some steam and that he was really excited to see us all hang out together, especially after Brady was such a dick to me when I started this road trip with the hangover from hell.

  Scott told me about how one of his cousins married a Chinese real estate magnate who emigrated to Canada and needed a marriage to stay in the country, and that’s how a wing of his family stepped out from the novel “Crazy Rich Asians” into his life. He had a lot of cousins that would come in an out of Victoria to help run the Canadian part of the global conglomerate and study there. He had circled this date at the beginning of the season just hoping to get some family time, but now he got to share that part of his life with his teammates. It was endearingly cute. Something a Rhea in a normal headspace would p up and get more excited about than anything if she was in her right mind. Now, I realized that the two teams below us both won their games this weekend meaning we were hovering just above the pyoff line by one point. Another loss in Victoria would erase all the gains that I made during our little win streak. I was ready to spiral out of the control. I was ready to put all the bme of a one point road trip on my back and get in front of everyone at practice and demand they hit me with their sticks in penance. Like some bizarro caning ritual or something.

  Kids day is always such a hell of an excuse for a team to schedule just an inconvenient game hoping that it would throw the other team off. Who wants to py a twelve pm matinee on a Monday? Not me. That’s for sure.

  The flight from Calgary to Victoria was just under two hours meaning we had most of Sunday to just ze around. Somehow, Brock managed to get the only single room this stop of the roadtrip meaning I had to room with Cahrtehr. Yup, that’s our goalie’s name. Spelled like that. I don’t get it either, and apparently the entire team razzes him about it, as they should. I could tell not even acknowledging his existence was psychologically torturing him, so I decided I was going to keep it up. If hell was other people, then call me Lucifer for the next two days. I may be on a slide, but you sure as shit do not belong in this league. Make some fucking saves and then you’ll get my friendship.

  All five of us poured into Brock’s room watching some Judd Apatow movie as we all brought in takeout Sunday night hoping to get one night of normalcy from this road trip of hell.

  “You alright Marksy?” Brock asked me as we hit that weird middle part of the movie that has some jokes but really does not add anything to the plot.

  “No, not really.” My candor shocked him.

  “What’s going on?” Brock earnestly asked, looking like he wanted to pause the movie to hear this out.

  “Just in a weird headspace, don’t worry about me.”

  “I mean we’re going to, man.” Cude was being nice, but god that felt like a knife to the fucking chest.

  “Still thinking about Tuesday night you fucking perv?” Thanks Brady.

  “What is your fucking problem man?” Now, I was not expecting that from Brock.

  “Look it was fucking weird alright!”

  “What happened?” Scott, how did you not know?

  “I got woken up by Brady pouring cold water on me, and I’ve been in a funk ever since.”

  “Yeah because you were moaning and some shit, it was creepy.”

  “Wait, that’s it?” Cude earnestly asked. “The way you described it in Cochrane made it sound like you walked in from the bar and you saw him just jacking off into the wall. What the fuck man? Who cares if he was moaning in his sleep its a long season.”

  “Look the dude was projectile vomiting the second he walked into the room, and then was weirdly moaning super loud at like six am. I snapped! I’m sorry.”

  Brock looked like he was going to choke out Brady with each new line of expnation he had for his behavior.

  “Its fine. It was weird, I’m over it.”

  That drew more daggers from Brock.

  “No, fuck that,” he said turning off the movie. “Apologize now Brady.”

  “Who the fuck are you to say new guy?”

  “A decent fucking human being that’s who. And someone who doesn’t want to fucking lose another game.”

  “Righteous prick.”

  “Fucking asshole.”

  Next thing I new the two were wrestling on the floor with Scott and Cude yelling. I froze, not knowing what to do. I guess we were having it out tonight.

  “EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP,” I screamed. I did not want to see anyone get hurt. “Clearly there’s some shit going on so we’re going to end this right fucking now.”

  I had an audience it seemed. All four other guys in the room stood there stunned, with Brock and Brady awkwardly shifting off each other.

  “We’re not going to fucking fight each other and then lose tomorrow afternoon because we all know its going to fucking suck getting up at 7 am to py a game. Brady, whatever you did was dickish but I’m over it. I’m sorry for making that night so fucking awkward. I was so still hungover Tuesday morning from when we went out on Sunday that the pne ride was pure hell. I don’t know what I was on about in my sleep, but it was in. My fucking. SLEEP. I was not purposely moaning in your fucking ear to fuck with your head. Get over yourself. Now, you. Brock. Get the fuck off your teammate before both of you get hurt. We are not losing you for the fucking season because you decided to duplex some guy in a hotel room because he was being annoying while watching “Superbad.”

  “Suplex.”

  “What?”

  “Suplex. You said I was duplexing Brady. A duplex is a type of house.”

  “I DONT FUCKING CARE. Now I’m going back to my fucking room to stew in the same pce as that fucking insufferable backup goalie that we brought up from the C that literally makes me blood boil every time I look at him. We are winning tomorrow’s fucking game otherwise I’m bailing on seeing Scott’s family. And you know what? I actually was looking forward to that. I fucking love Chinese food, let alone authentic dim sum. I was even going to find a nice hole in the wall Sichuan to eat alone at before you all convinced me to come here and watch some dumb movie from 2008. I’m done with this shit.”

  I didn’t even look at my teammates faces as I strode out of the room and smmed the door as loud as I humanly could.

  “Marksy, wait.”

  Brock was sprinting behind me as I finally got to my room down the hall. I guess he was mad that I wanted to bail on his little sleep over team bonding bullshit.

  “Can it Brock, I don’t want to talk.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “What the fuck are you on about?”

  “You know. Things get tense. Sometimes they need to blow. Its like that on any team.”

  “I don’t know what fucking alpha games you pyed at Descartes. I’ve never blown up on my teammates before.”

  “Yeah, but from what Jenna said you never really actually tried to engage your old teammates.”

  “Don’t make me fucking go at you too.”

  “Okay. Okay. Point taken. But thanks. We needed that reality check.”

  “I’m not in the mood to make up pretty boy. Just fucking win tomorrow.”

  “If I score the winning goal you buy my drinks, how’s that?”

  I opened the door, didn’t even turn around and shouted “you better score first then since that’s all we’ll need” before smming it shut.

  Eleven thousand screaming kids getting free tickets from the local government to celebrate Steve Nash investing some obscene amount of money in the pce where he pyed high school basketball was not what I expected to be my audience today. But they were getting a show.

  Fifty-three saves through sixty-five minutes of action is what I greeted them with. Secretly, I was kind of hoping they’d score so that I could really stick it to my teammates and not go out to dinner tonight, but then during the first intermission I stupidly checked my phone and saw it was rated the best restaurant in the entire country of Canada for 2022. Then I yelled across the dressing room at Scott and said if I got a shutout my dinner was being comped. He smirked and said “fuck yeah Marksy, make it happen,” and now I’m about to face down the third member of the opponent’s team trying to score in this shootout.

  I was in the zone, and they were not getting through. Whoever they sent at me started flying down the ice right at me, before I could see in their eyes they did not have a shootout move primed, and needed to slow down to make one happen. In that slight hesitation I pounced making myself bigger by coming out to them, and physically imposed my will as they tried to get around me. They couldn’t even get off a shot, before the puck fell off their stick leading me to celebrate like a madwoman forgetting we still had one pyer and needed to score to win this thing. If they pocketed one they would get credited with a game winning goal, even if it did not come up on the stat sheet.

  I skated to the bench to watch while the other team’s goalie took my crease. All I could hear was chuckling as Brock Lazenby hopped over the boards, and took off his helmet throwing it my way.

  “Wanted you to see the whites of my eyes as I buried it.”

  Did the temperature in the arena spike? No? That was just the heat building in my core as his confidence gave me something to readjust under eight thousand yers of padding making sure my crotch was protected during a game.

  Brock blew a kiss to the crowd leading to a cascade of high pitched boos from the elementary school students poputing the afternoon crowd. He took off skating at light speed deking left and right trying to confuse the goalie. At the st second his body went left which his stick and the hidden puck on it went to the right tapping it in an empty net when the goalie followed him. The Forsberg.

  Of course he could do a perfect fucking Forsberg at a moment’s notice. That beautiful, fucking sexy showoff.

  I screamed and led the charge of the entire team rushing to celebrate with the hero who brought our road trip back from the brink. I made sure to get to him first, engulfing my crush in one of the tightest bearhugs I could manage, even in my unwieldy pads.

  “You know what that means, Marksy?” Brock whispered in my ear as the team descended on us. “Your pretty boy is drinking for free tonight. Get ready.”

  Oh I most certainly was not, but goddess I couldn’t wait.