The second that goal horn sounded I snapped.

  On instinct I just took my stick and started smming it on the ice. I didn’t even have to look back into the net to see the puck lying there, taunting me. Over and over I smmed the stick down hoping for some form of catharsis, just anything to get out of the hell that this game has become.

  There’s something athlete’s don’t like to admit publicly, especially in a team sport where you py a lot of games over the course of a season. Some days you just don’t have it. Be it soreness, motivation or literally any other factor, there are going to be days that you’re not going to perform at the level you are expected to. The goal is to minimize those days, and then, if you can, have them be during practices so that you can shake it off and continue with the long-term goal pnning. The body doesn’t work that way though, and certainly neither does the mind.

  I could hear my teammates yelling for me to calm down, as finally, finally the stick began to crack and explode on the ice giving me that release I so desperately craved.

  Hockey pyers don’t like breaking sticks, or any other equipment but sometimes it is an occupational hazard. The organization doesn’t pay for our equipment, since each guy has gear that they prefer and sometimes endorsement deals with certain brands. So, this little tantrum I was throwing, no matter how needed it was, would be coming out of my own pocket.

  Screaming, ignoring everything I made my way back to the bench, to retrieve a new stick from our equipment guy.

  “Marksy, what the absolute fuck was that?”

  Coach was tearing into me and I was not having it. I may not be at my best, but this goal was not on me. The other four I let in? Sure. You can bme me, that’s fine. I certainly already did. But this one? Not a chance.

  “Ask your pretty boy new acquisition why he decided to pinch up towards the point to cover one of the league’s best snipers while his partner drifted across his own crease screening me, leaving the center of the ice open for them to take a wide open shot?’

  I didn’t hear whatever he had to say to that and I made sure I got the hell out of there before Brock heard me.

  “Do I need to pull you, asshole!” The thought that coach would even consider it was out of the question, our new backup was floundering in the CHL, and certainly would give this one away either in the 71 seconds remaining or in overtime. For all the shit I let in today it was still 5-5 on the scoreboard, not some other score that would result in an automatic loss.

  Skating back to my crease, I tapped my new stick on the ice three times as is my routine, looked up, took in the deepest breath I could and muttered, “nothing gets by me again. Fucking nothing.”

  Until that goal, I thought I had stabilized myself. The first period was rougher than 20 grit sandpaper. I let three in, on like nine shots. All of which were at even strength. I just wasn’t on it.

  After being down 3-1 at first intermission, the boys started to show maybe this was a game they had my back. The offense lit up for two quick goals early in the period, and then they started to unravel. Two quick penalties gave us a 5 on 3 for over a minute thirty, which meant an easy goal make it a 4-3 advantage for us. We kept pushing and a power py with about five minutes left in the period led to a short handed chance for them with a breakaway. I was terrified with some scrub barreling down at me at full speed. I chose going right way too early, and he successfully faked me out leaving us tied 4-4 with twenty minutes to go once the period came to its merciful end.

  We quickly scored to start the third period, our second lead of the game. That’s when I was supposed to go into lockdown mode. And for nearly all of the period, I did. Until the other team managed to take advantage of a routine positioning slip up and I let in a fifth. God, it was going to be January all over again wasn’t it? No. Don’t let those thoughts in. Not fucking now.

  The st minute of the period was uneventful, as neither team really gained the zone well enough to fire an actual scoring chance on net. So, it was time for three on three hockey. The bane of everyone’s existence. Overtime rules were changed a few years back, in an effort to open the ice and end games rather than forcing a shootout. Unfortunately, it had the effect of letting teams become too cautious when they had the puck, seeking to find the perfect opening into the zone rather than pying end-to-end hockey with more space.

  In other words? I fucking hated it.

  Coach sent out Cude, one of our vets and finally Brock to start the three on three period. If I had to guess, his thinking was put the guy out there they don’t know much about in hopes that we score early.

  We lost the face-off. Almost immediately Brock got caught pinching and somehow the other team had a two-on-one barreling down on us. Who was going to take the shot, left or right? Cude, for all his offensive upside still maintained a defensive first attitude even as a top line center. He modeled his game after Guy Carbonneau, god he was such a Frenchie Canuck. A quick pass disrupted by Cude’s skates and I was able to step out of my crease and push the puck forward…right to an open Brock.

  He quickly spun the trailing defensemen and was off to the races all alone barreling down on the opponent’s goalie on a breakaway. One fshy move ter and boom. Mariners win 6-5. Everyone mob’s Brock the hero of his first game. The breakaway was his third goal of the night - to go with three assists - and hats poured down from all areas of the arena. Our new stud acquisition had a hand in all six of our goals, on debut at home. You couldn’t script it any better.

  For the first time all day, I was able to exhale.

  Normally a game where a new intriguing storyline scored six points on debut would mean there was no media obligations for any of us.

  So, while reporters finally allowed into the locker room swarmed Brock to learn about his six point exploits, I packed up quickly hoping to get out of here as quickly as possible. I wanted a shower at home and I wanted to fucking pass out. Nothing would deny me.

  Except Riley Strauss.

  The rising star 25-year-old beat reporter at the Olympic City Independent all but ignored the hubbub happening a few stalls away and made a beeline right for me. She smirked as I caught her eyes and next thing I knew a voice recorder was a foot from my mouth.

  “So. Want to talk about that st goal?’

  “I mean that was all Cude. He disrupted that two-on-one I just happened to push the puck to a guy that was primed to capitalize on a breakaway.”

  “Not the goal I was talking about.”

  “You will have to be more specific then.”

  Smirking, she sighed. “What happened on that st goal you let in Jamie? Walk me through it.”

  Riley was one of the few beat reporters that actually understood the nuances of hockey. Most beats these days can tell you about the second-order stats like GAR and xG% which tell you more about a pyer’s impact on the ice, but Riley understood how our coach operated and what instructions were given to pyers on the fly. I swear, that girl would be great behind the bench somewhere with the amount of knowledge of the game she’s picked up in the two years she was covering the Mariners. Some legacy paper is going to snatch her up next year and make her a star. She’ll be a guest on one of those ESPN shows in no time.

  “Alright, so all game these guys have been setting up from the point. And before the third, coach emphasized this because I had let in two long rangers. Doing this meant that there was a lot more open ice in the center and we had to work hard to contain that really drilling down our positioning. I got caught looking at the point, and we pinched a bit too early and they bit on our mistake. Next thing you know I’m screened and the puck is in right in the heart of the ice. Even with that, I needed to stop that one. Thankfully we didn’t let it break our backs and got all two points today.”

  Wrapping up my answer Riley just stood there looking at me, thinking. She was good at this.

  “After a shakeup at a trade deadline there’s always going to be a learning curve for teams who make additions. But, we scored eight goals in two days and got four points in a back-to-back; you take that any day of the year.”

  Riley nodded, she knew I wasn’t going to bite.

  “Are you worried that the team chemistry will be impacted by the moves the big club made?”

  “Look, we had a rough January and had been cwing our way back into the conversation this February. Now, we have some new firepower and are going to continue that as we head towards the pyoffs. Now if you’ll excuse me, it has been a long weekend.”

  Riley shut off the voice recorder and smiled. “Thanks Jamie, you know you’re one of the most insightful guys to talk to.”

  “Yeah, I know. And it’s your job. But off the record?”

  “I’ll allow it.”

  “I’m not fucking biting on a fishing expedition to point out a split second mistake from our new pyer that most teams never would never notice.”

  That shut her up for a second.

  “Wasn’t trying to,”

  I cut her off. “Come on I know the game. I know its not malicious, but still, yeah?”

  “I was probably the only reporter who noticed it.”

  “Of course. So I gave you something that reflected that. I won’t talk to anyone else tonight okay?”

  “You’re a gem. I found some interesting goalie blogs this week that I was digging into trying to understand the position. I was going to pitch a story on how teams fare after trading a starting goalie given the situation here. You mind if I text you this week with some questions about what I read? It was real technical.”

  “Yeah, of course. Totally.” That was something that I still never truly got used to, two-way communication with reporters. Like I said, she was good at this. “Any reason you didn’t go straight to Brock?”

  “Yeah, he’s so new I doubt he adds anything, plus the team owes me his first one-on-one with him for not breaking that a major shakeup was happening before the trades were complete.”

  “How…how did you know that?”

  “Toodles, Jamie! I’ve got eyes everywhere!’ She gave me a pyful little wave as she walked back to the press box.

  By the time I made it to my car, I swear I felt my pocket was going to melt from my phone overheating.

  Cude Lamoreaux added “Brock” to “Core Four”

  Cude Lamoreaux changed “Core Four” to “Fabulous Five”

  “Sup guys?”

  “Yoooo is this our new stud?”

  “What upppppp”

  “Finally gd to got you on board”

  “Markus’? We goin? What a WIN shots are on me”

  “Brock just take Marksy’s spot there when we get to the booth there’s no way he’s coming. He’s gotta be pissed from tonight”

  You’re damn right I was pissed, Brady. I let in five fucking goals. And our new savior had to be the one to bail me out, even if I set him up perfectly for the win.

  “Maybe I’ll show up and drink you all under the table,” I quickly scribbled throwing some red meat to the hyenas.

  “Yo, he lives!”

  “Where did that come from???”

  “Marksy I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do a shot after stopping so many ;)”

  “Tonight we ride boys!!”

  “I’m so confused.”

  “Brock, you’re a unicorn here. You’ve actually seen where he lives. Marksy is a fuckin’ hermit and we can barely get him to join us.”

  “Sorry that I don’t want to go out drinking after every home game.”

  “Apology accepted! Now come tonight!”

  “You know he’s not going to show up”

  “Brock, tell me about his pce! You’re like an explorer! Finding a forbidden city!”

  Scott changed name “Brock” to “Dora”

  “You absolute dick”

  “Oh come on!”

  Even I had to chuckle at that. That did not change that there was no way I was going to Markus’ after one of the shittiest wins of my life. I wanted to go home, close the lights and stare at where I assumed my ceiling was for about two hours and then fall asleep and do my rest day yoga and immediately start doing some research on our next opponents. I’m sure we’ve pyed them about three times already, but who knows. Maybe one of the central division teams is flying in. Being in the Western Conference meant we had to traverse the coast over and over and every once in a while fly commercial to like Nebraska or something. The Western United States was fucking massive.

  “Look, I have an unexpected roommate I need to deal with. I’ll be there Tuesday after practice. I promise.”

  “Roommate??”

  “Yeah Marksy what the fuck you can’t drop lore like that out of nowhere.”

  “She’s his friend from college.”

  “SHE?”

  “Did you say she??”

  “How the fuck do you know Brock?”

  “He lived with him for a night remember?”

  “Her name’s Jenna she helped me move in. Super cute too.”

  “Oooo are you hitting that? Marksy your girl is already being hunted.”

  “She’s not my girl. She was my best friend.”

  “MARKSY HAS OTHER FRIENDS?”

  “This is blowing my mind.”

  “Brock get to the bar now we have to talk.”

  “Omg this day keeps getting better”

  “MARKSY? HAS? OTHER? FRIENDS?”

  “I’m going to leave this chat if you all don’t calm down”

  “I’ll be right over, can someone send me the address?”

  “God I’m going to need like five drinks to process Marksy has friends outside of hockey. Let alone ones who are women. This is something else.”

  And that’s when I muted the chat. Thanks Brock, just kissing and telling how you’re clearly fucking my best friend a day after moving into my life. I had to get out of here. I needed to talk to Jenna and figure out what the fuck my life had come to in such a short period of time.

  “Jamie is that you?”

  “Couch. Now.”

  I wasn’t going to fuck around. This needed to be had out now. That was my singur thought after throwing my phone on the floor of my passenger seat and while I drove home in silence. I told myself I needed to get out of the arena parking lot and I needed to get home now. And now it was time to talk.

  “Uh, is everything okay, friend?”

  “No, everything is not okay.” I made air quotes on that st one.

  “Calm the fuck down girl.”

  “Don’t call me girl.”

  Jenna just gred at me.

  “Like I said, calm the fuck down. Girl.” She made air quotes back.

  I took a deep breath and tried to center myself. I felt like I was going to throw up. I just showed up in my own home ready to bite the head off my best friend and I wasn’t even sure why? So what if she was kissing my teammate. She’s an adult she can make decisions. But why did that bother me? I literally stop some of the best athletes in the world two or three times a week with superhuman speed and reflexes. What is a little pointed confrontation with my friend? We’d resolve it anyway. At least I hoped.

  Okay, I started to think of this like it was an elimination game. You just need to be confident, and py prevent defense. If the team around you is not letting in shots then you’re more focused to stop what comes your way. I just needed to talk this out and calm down.

  I inhaled as sharp as I could. “Okay, I’m trying to be calm. Can we talk?”

  “Wow, using our words! Look at that.”

  “I’m fucking serious Jenna,” my heart rate started to rise as I said that.

  “Sorry. Sorry. I was owed one snotty comment after you literally barged in here and demanded I sit on the couch. Which is super unlike you by the way? What is even going on?”

  “Can we sit down?”

  She nodded and we wordlessly went to the couch sitting next to each other angled to face each other. I wanted to project that this was going to be a serious conversation, not some fluff she could py off the second she was confronted.

  “I saw you kissing Brock.”

  “Oh.” Her face was crestfallen. It was like all of a sudden she was punched in the gut repeatedly, but knew she deserved it and was guilty about what lead to it happening in the first pce. “Look.”

  I put my hand up. “Just tell me what happened.”

  Jenna paused. Jenna never pauses. Jenna operates on Jenna time and Jenna time is always moving. There is no pause in Jennand, because no one ever thought to invent a pause. It just wasn’t necessary.

  “I mean, that Saturday I woke up, gave him directions to his new pce and sent him off. Then I dug out the dress I gave you, and heard the doorbell ring. Before you say anything he didn’t see it I fucking promise. Anyway, Brock had mysteriously left one small item of clothing in the spare room and we got to talking. Clearly he wanted to hang out and didn’t know how to say it. Well, we talked for hours and he was actually really nice. Or I think he was. He invited me back to his pce, and we picked up some beer on the way over. We watched a movie and after finishing a bunch of the cans we started making out. I stayed the night. We didn’t sleep together or anything. He hasn’t even texted me today’s but I know he had a game. How did you guys do by the way?”

  “We won. But that doesn’t matter.”

  Jenna sighed. “You’re right. I know. It’s just embarrassing? I made sure never to let my world cross yours when you were on the team in school. I never wanted some shit like this to happen.”

  “So why did…”

  “Jamie I’m lonely. There was a cute boy who invited me over. We watched a movie and were tipsy. I kissed him. It’s really not that complicated.”

  “So now what?”

  “I don’t know. Clearly this pissed you off. The st fucking thing I wanted to do. God. I’m such an idiot.”

  “No. Stop. We’re not doing that. I came in here pissed which was stupid.”

  “I mean, yeah. Really dumb. But also kind of understandable. I guess we kissed goodbye in front of your window?”

  “Yup, saw it all.”

  “And then you had to go py a game. That’s why you rushed out of there.”

  “I was going to say something, but, well, time ran out.”

  “I don’t even know if I want to see him again! Like I said it was a dumb hookup. I think it meant nothing.”

  “It doesn’t have to mean nothing.”

  “Oh, great. I kiss a teammate of yours behind your back within a day of getting here and you’re already forgiving me and being nice.”

  “I mean, what are friends for?” I grimaced saying that. Terrible line. What are you doing Jamie?

  Jenna, thankfully, just ughed. “That was really terrible.”

  “I know,” I snorted. “I fucking know.”

  We let that linger for a minute.

  “Do you want it to mean anything, Jenna?”

  “God, I don’t fucking know. I just don’t want to cause you some drama.”

  “Well too te for that. I pyed terrible tonight.”

  “Okay that’s it I’m telling him to fuck off tomorrow and never talking to him again.”

  I put my head in my hands at that. “Jenna, I pyed horrible but we fucking won. I’m not the only one that matters.”

  “Oh,” she got quiet at that.

  “This is just a fucking confusing situation, not an impossible one. We have lives everyone on the team, you can see him again if you want, it’s not up to me.”

  Jenna was biting her lip at that. Clearly she wanted permission to ask him out.

  “Okay, I’ll ask him out. But you’re coming with us?”

  “What the actual fuck Jenna?”

  “Yeah, this is perfect! We can do a double date. You can find someone right? Oh god this is amazing, yes. Obviously I won’t make you over, but god it’ll be so much fun. I wanted to do this in college so bad.”

  How did every situation I put myself in with her spiral out of control so quickly.

  “There, I texted him!” Jenna squealed.

  Great. Just great. Instead of confronting my friend, I brought her closer to my new teammate I know nothing about and now I had to find a literal date to sit there while they get closer than ever?

  “He said Tuesday should work! Find someone!”

  “Jenna, who the fuck am I going to find on short notice to go on a date with you and my new unknown teammate?”

  “I don’t know! That’s your problem! Oh god, I have the perfect dress for this. You’re going to watch me get ready. For our next girls night. God, moving here was the best decision ever. Quick, let’s go into the bed and watch a show. I’m sure you need to quote unquote get some rest after a tough day at work. Ahh!!”

  I could only sit there in shock as she ran into my room, which clearly she was still pnning on making her’s for the time being as well. It’s official, I no longer have any control over my own life. Hurricane Jenna category five makes ndfall, yet again.