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Chapter Text

Most midseason home games were seen as a great opportunity for players to shine, everyone wanted to do well and that was easier than ever with the groove of the season settling in after several months. Kristýna Kaltounková was another beneficiary of this.

Upon the puck dropping at Prudential Center in a mid-January game, Kalty felt on. She scored a goal within the last five seconds of the first, a matching one followed in the middle of the second period with another courtesy of Kristen O’Neil not a bit too soon to make the score 3-0 Sirens.

By the third, a struggling Minnesota team, riddled with injuries and probably various diseases, had managed a dirty goal on the Siren’s starting goalie Kayle Osborne. A few shifts later, Kalty was back on the ice. Putting pressure on a D in the opposing ice, she opened up a lane to pass to Sarah. Saved by Rooney.

At face off and Casey passed a saucer to Kalty whom found some soft ice on the dot to fire a cannon of a shot through traffic. She blanked for a minute- didn’t quite see the puck go in, but she saw the light turn red and the sound of the goal sirens was soon heard as the stadium erupted.

The first overall pick just got a hat trick.

*

Upon returning to the locker room, delayed by a player of the game puck, Kalty found herself in darkness. As she walked in through the door she saw pitch black and heard the door slam behind her. Confused, she called out. “Hello?”

Nothing was heard back except a sort of rustling that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. She gulped, unsure if she went into the correct room or if she was about to get jumped by some Forest players as an epic prank.

A moment passed and she stayed still. Paralyzed by the situation, really, but also uncertain of where to go from there.

She tapped her fingers pensively on her shorts, unsure if she should trying to walk in skates on an uncertain surface or stay still, hopefully find her way out the door. That is, if she could even find the door.

A glimmer of light appeared in the far corner, small and teardrop shaped flickering with the movements of its holder, emitting a flame of heat and brightness welcome to Kalty’s uncertainty.

“You,” the speaker began, a Sirens jersey apparent behind the light, “have upon the hockey gods today been blessed upon a gift of which all aspire for. Three goals mark your name, tonight, truly the gods have chosen such a skater as you. Do you accept our prayers to them, our offering?” The voice made it apparent that it was Micah Zandee-Hart, trying as she might to be stoic and serious.

“Yes?” Kalty croaked, unsure of whether to talk or not. Five more candles appeared, held by her line mates, goalie, and the A’s. All called their hands in prayer.

“Blessed art thou, hockey gods, spirit of the rink we pray for thankfulness after this successful game, for the continuance of our scoring, and the challenges you have presented us along the way. May our future be riddled with more hat tricks and comradeship. In the name of the foreword, the defender, and the holy goalie amen.”

Kayle spoke, “Do you, Kristýna Kaltounková, offer a blessing to the Hockey Gods?”

“Yes.” She replied.

“What of your person shall you offer?”

“My gloves.”

Just as she said it, Micah stepped foreword, removing her gloves and placing them upon the floor. Like clockwork, the rest of the circle placed their candles in a circle around it, getting down onto their knees and bowing before the circle repeatedly.

“Join us, o’ fateful hero.” Kayle said.

Chapter Text

"Those guys don't deserve to just beat us up!" Sarah cried.

"Well that doesn't mean you can just go shoving them around. You're gonna get yourself hurt." Jincey replied.

"Mikes, you're always getting into fights arent you?" Sarah asked her captain.

"Yes but I understand the risks, you're only in your sophomore season and you're out there hitting like you're invincible." Micah replied.

"And yaknow usually people hit back. Consider yourself lucky you haven't gotten your ass kicked four ways to Wednesday yet." Jincey added.

"Well they sure weren't." Sarah retorted.

Micah threw her hands up in defeat, looking over at Kalty who was sat in the corner of the locker room, watching the scene unfold, waiting for Sarah to need her to step in.

"Sar, let it go." The rookie of the year pouted in response. "Captain says knock it off, knock it off. Shes right. No need to beat yourself up to knock out some poor girls who can barely skate out of your way."

"What so now they're all innocents?"

"No," Micah chimed in, "we're just afraid you're gonna end up hurting yourself." She exhaled, punching two fingers along the bridge of her nose. "We just want Yu to own up to it. I'm tired of this dancing around your mistakes. Own up to fighting. We both know you shouldn't be. That's not the game we play. It's not always bad either- you just need to tone it down sometimes."

Sarah grumbled. "Fair enough."

Chapter Text

The night was cooling from the mid-forties of the afternoon quickly, snow began to soon trickle to the tops of light-glittered buildings as a midwinter night fell upon Newark, sending the city into a different kind of light.

Micah Zandee-Hart and Corinne Schroeder watched in soft lighting as the Jets faced off against the Canadiens in a hard-fought battle over two periods. Mikes was cozy under a warm quilt, wrapped in the arms of her girlfriend whom was absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of her wrist, every so often moving fingers when a shot was made on goal to mimic how she would move herself to stop it. Always a Goalie first, Corinne was.

Micah sighed quietly as another face off was won by Montreal who had been killing it all period, she felt Corinne shrink as her provincial team appeared to loose their edge and fall apart. She was just glad it was the Jets she was watching and not the Canucks, if they were failing this hard-—and to their credit they were known to— she would probably be a rambling mess pointing out every little flaw in their defense. Corinne always liked when she went on her defensive rants, all she ever really watched was the puck so it was nice to hear from one of the best defenders in the game about how her position worked.

Right as a shot was saved by the Winnipeg goaltender— the tv went black. Soon, the lamp in the corner was as out as Abby when she got her concussion, outside too, the city had gone quiet, no lights apart from the occasional headlights. All street lamps, corner signs, apartments. Dark.

New York City had just entered a blackout.

A moment later the HVAC stopped pumping warm air into the apartment, much to the dismay of the easily cold British Columbian. “It’s more temperate in the sound!” She’d always say as the Manitoban, forced to endure many a cold winter out on out door rinks, snickered.

“Well that’s a problem.” Corinne mumbled, hand tracing more scribbled lines on Micah’s arm, ruminating.

“I’m sure the power will be on in just a minute,” Micah reasoned, “It’s probably just a small thing, frozen pipe or something.”

“I dunno Mikes, it’s probably safe to say it’s pretty bad if the whole cities gone lights-out.”

“I dunno…” Micah yawned.

“Ya’knoh that game was pretty much a bust anyway, wanna cut our losses?”

“I wouldn’t mind going to bed.” They had no game for a few days and a practice the next afternoon, nothing but an open schedule much of the time.

Upon dragging Mikes from her comfortable, warm spot on the couch, Corinne attempted to get ready for bed, ambling down the dark hall and fumbling to find her chest of drawers.

Micah loomed over her, arms wrapped around her torso as she looked for an adequate pair of pajamas by feel. The goalie smiled, “Do you mind letting me get my shirt on?”

Micah, feeling that she was being incredibly funny, instead helped by lifting Corinne’s shirt. “Arms up,” she requested. Corinne obliged, quickly feeling the cool air against her skin and having a desire to be warm again, reached for her hockey Canada shirt, pulling it over and allowing Micah’s clammy hands to pull it down.

“Do you mind sitting for a sec, babe?” Corinne asked. Micah sat down on the goalie’s side of the bed, watching her every move as she removed her sweatpants, whistling at her.

“You cannot be serious right now.” Corinne snickered all the same.

“What can I say I like what I see.”

Corinne pulled up her pants, “You mean what you don’t see.”

She landed atop the bed, attempting, in vain, to get Micah to switch back to her side, like she was dealing with a stubborn cat. She crawled atop her instead, her necklace dangling between their chests as she leaned in and kissed Micah. “We seem to just sort of find each other in the dark, eh?”

The night was cooling from the mid-forties of the afternoon quickly, snow began to soon trickle to the tops of light-glittered buildings as a midwinter night fell upon Newark, sending the city into a different kind of light.

Micah Zandee-Hart and Corinne Schroeder watched in soft lighting as the Jets faced off against the Canadiens in a hard-fought battle over two periods. Mikes was cozy under a warm quilt, wrapped in the arms of her girlfriend whom was absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of her wrist, every so often moving fingers when a shot was made on goal to mimic how she would move herself to stop it. Always a Goalie first, Corinne was.

Micah sighed quietly as another face off was won by Montreal who had been killing it all period, she felt Corinne shrink as her provincial team appeared to loose their edge and fall apart. She was just glad it was the Jets she was watching and not the Canucks, if they were failing this hard-—and to their credit they were known to— she would probably be a rambling mess pointing out every little flaw in their defense. Corinne always liked when she went on her defensive rants, all she ever really watched was the puck so it was nice to hear from one of the best defenders in the game about how her position worked.

Right as a shot was saved by the Winnipeg goaltender— the tv went black. Soon, the lamp in the corner was as out as Abby when she got her concussion, outside too, the city had gone quiet, no lights apart from the occasional headlights. All street lamps, corner signs, apartments. Dark.

New York City had just entered a blackout.

A moment later the HVAC stopped pumping warm air into the apartment, much to the dismay of the easily cold British Columbian. “It’s more temperate in the sound!” She’d always say as the Manitoban, forced to endure many a cold winter out on outdoor rinks, snickered.

“Well that’s a problem.” Corinne mumbled, hand tracing more scribbled lines on Micah’s arm, ruminating.

“I’m sure the power will be on in just a minute,” Micah reasoned, “It’s probably just a small thing, frozen pipe or something.”

“I dunno Mikes, it’s probably safe to say it’s pretty bad if the whole cities gone lights-out.”

“I dunno…” Micah yawned.

“Thank god, we've been out of our misery?”

“I wouldn’t mind going to bed.” They had no game for a few days and a practice the next afternoon, nothing but an open schedule much of the time.

Upon dragging Mikes from her comfortable, warm spot on the couch, Corinne attempted to get ready for bed, ambling down the dark hall and fumbling to find her chest of drawers.

Micah loomed over her, arms wrapped around her torso as she looked for an adequate pair of pajamas by feel. The goalie smiled, “Do you mind letting me get my shirt on?”

Micah, feeling that she was being incredibly funny, instead helped by lifting Corinne’s shirt. “Arms up,” she requested. Corinne obliged, quickly feeling the cool air against her skin and having a desire to be warm again, reached for her hockey Canada shirt, pulling it over her head and begrudgingly allowing Micah’s clammy hands to pull it down.

“Do you mind sitting for a sec, babe?” Corinne asked. Micah sat down on the goalie’s side of the bed, watching her every move as she removed her sweatpants, whistling at her.

“You cannot be serious right now.” Corinne snickered all the same.

“What can I say, I like what I see.”

Corinne pulled up her pants, “You mean what you don’t see.”

She landed atop the bed, attempting, in vain, to get Micah to switch back to her side, like she was dealing with a stubborn cat. She crawled atop her instead, her necklace dangling between their chests as she leaned in and kissed Micah. “We seem to just sort of find each other in the dark, eh?”

*

A few floors up, Sarah Fillier was stirring nearly ready pasta in a boiling pot, attempting in vain to ease it boiling over.

Kalty, who had been setting the table, looked up as she heard a sharp hiss coming from the stove. "You alright there, Sar?"

"Yeah, yeah, under control. Is the table good to go?"

"Yeah, how's the gravy?" Kalty insisted that it went well with chicken and pasta, Sarah had doubted as much but finally folded and agreed to make it for dinner that night.

"Gooey as ever." Kalty laughed, then, darkness.

The stove turned off, lights out, it reminded Kalty of Hamilton, pitch dark at night.

"Blackout?" Kalty asked.

"For sure, we used to get these all the time in my dorm at Princeton." Sarah replied.

"Is the pasta at least done?" Kalty asked just as the heating shuddered to a halt.

"Hard to an extent that is not pleasant."

"Terrific." Kalty bemused.

"What do you wanna do?" Sarah asked, moving the pot from the hot part of the stove to let it cool down.

Soon the pair found themselves under a blanket atop Sarah’s- their couch. Silence had filled the air in the midst of a lighthearted conversation, nothing much said to a point.

“Do you ever think all the hype is….I dunno…scary?” Kalty asked.

“What do you mean, K?”

“Like about going first overall. Like maybe you’re not as good as everyone said or you won’t ever adjust to the competition.”

“For me, not too much, I guess I doubted myself for a while, but I had played with all these people on the national team, I knew I’d be fine, even on a less than great team Alex was always there for me.” But Alex had left for Seattle. And Kristnýa played for Czechia, not team Canada. “But if you’re afraid,” Kalty looked out the window at the slowly trickling snow, failing to make eye contact. “I’d say just, go out there with confidence, every game. Whether we’re playing the juggernaut Seattle or Minnesota. Every game you’re adjusting more, K, I can see it, you’ll get comfortable faster if you get out of your head.” Sarah said, laughing, knocking gently on her head to punctuate her last phrase.

Kalty looked at Sarah finally, hand finding a spot just at the base of her neck. “That’s easier said than done, I know, but your hat trick last week was no blip, you’re always great.”

*

Down a few doors, Abbey Levy was FaceTiming her Boston College roommate, Hannah Bilka, and attempting to flip a pancake with no spatula when the power cut.

“What just happened?” Hannah asked as the screen went black.

“I dunno, I guess the power went out.”

“Damn.”

“Well, I guess no more cooking.” The goalie said, trying and failing to turn the stove back on. “Geez, and the heating cut out.” Abbey had a lightbulb go off over her head, I know what to do.”

“Yea I gotta go pack for our flight tomorrow.”

“Great see ya Bilks.”

Abbey Levy rang her goalie buddy, Kayle Osborne. Not a moment too late she came knocking on her door, flashlight in hand. “What’d you need me for.”

“I need some help, my apartments getting cold.”

“I think I know what that means.”

“You do?”

“PILLOW FORT!”

“You’ve got the right idea, Osmosis.”

Soon the pair gathered every blanket that Abbey’s room had to offer and carted them to the living room where the couch was quickly taken apart.

*

Blankets soon covered the hard floor, couch cushions supported two walls along with a coffee table turned on its side, a sheet forming a roof with it all illuminated by a lantern.

“Do you think we’ll be cold?” Kayle asked, knowing the heat was not likely to turn on until the next day.

“I doubt it.” Abbey replied, referring to the sleeping bag she was inside paired with the several blankets she was burritoed inside.

Chapter Text

PING

A puck hit the iron crossbar of my post, I gloved it down a second later as a Toronto player sprayed me, stopping before she ran me over.

Only a few minutes left in the game. A few. No goals on the board for either of us. Kirk put a good fight, made another save off a shot from Kalty but pretty soon I found myself facing an odd man rush, I lifted my arm to make another high-save but the puck slipped right past me. I flopped foreword onto the ice.

Shutout chance lost. Their home goal song sounded through the speakers, echoing into my helmet, into my skull. The next face off was taken. It was all too much, the play, the shouting across the ice, the puck moving at light speed, the noise of the crowd. Fifty seconds left. I was freaking out.

Chapter Text

Camp had started and Kayle Osborne felt more than uneasy, more than what’s normal for a goalie anyways. As she slid her pads on in the dressing room she couldn’t help but feel a terrible sense fear creep over her her subconscious, making her feel like she just couldn’t go on the ice, all alone. Neither of their drafted goalies had flown out to Newark yet for the camp, much less even been signed and she was the sole goalie at practice that day. Both of her elder goalies from the previous season, well, they had parted ways with her.

Corinne Schroeder had been an up and coming goaltender for a year when she signed with PWHL New York and very soon became a mainstay, starting goaltender by her second year, so when she got wind of expansion teams out in Seattle and Vancouver and the unrestricted signing period, she figured it could be a way to improve on several things.

Alex Carpenter had made her motives to leave for Seattle very clear: she wanted to win a championship. New York hadn’t gotten her far and the locker room was less than stellar, she figured it could be an easy buyout.

Schroeder, ever the loyal goalie, followed Carp out to Seattle for a chance at a higher paycheck and a change of scenery.

Abbey Levy, strong third stringer playing for her home town, too, decided to leave. She was getting little to know ice time and both of Boston’s backups left for Sweden. Levy figured it would be an opportunity to head back to her BC roots where she lived out some of the best days of her young life and play with her Shattuck buddy, Aerin Frankel, again.

It was difficult for all parties present at the meeting wherein the goalies announced to their rookie the plan to depart. They sat Kayle down at the rink, on a bench in the locker room, with two chairs pulled up in front of her, they looked like a couple announcing their divorce to their daughter.

“Look, Oz, we’ve been thinking….” Abbey began, “With the reshuffling of goaltenders with the Olympics and expansion teams and all, we’d….Seek some opportunities.”

“It’s not that we don’t love you.” Corinne spoke up, assuring, putting a hand out to punctuate her words. “It’s just that we figured a change of scenery could be good for us. I’d hate to leave Carp alone out west, and I’d hate to lose my A who’s always making sure I don’t get messed with.”

“And you?” Kayle said, referring to Abbey.

She sighed, “Look, it’s not that I hate New York, greatest city in the world, I was born here. It’s just, ya’know I get to be with Aerin again and maybe even be the second string.”

“Oh yeah, I can already read the headlines. ‘First Jewish Tandem in the PWHL’” Corinne added, attempting to bring up the mood.

“You think? Gee my Shul’ll be buzzing.”

“W- What am I supposed to do? What- Just BE the starter to my horrible hockey team! Haven’t I been punished enough!” Kayle cried.

“Look, look,” Corinne said, putting a hand on Kayle’s shoulder. “We all have to play behind atrocious teams, it’s a right of passage. It’ll make you a better goalie.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I’m more resilient because of it, you’ll be too. This team isn’t like BU, it’s not—euh—BC, and it’s definitely not like Colgate. It’s a different beast, you just gotta remember that games aren’t won by saves alone, it’s on the offense to score goals, you can’t do anything about that. “ Kayle smirked, obviously thinking of the mythical Goalie Goal, maybe she could score one, one day. “Just forget it Kay, a goalie goal isn’t happening in this league and you know it.”

“Ugh you’re just jaded from watching the islanders too much.”

“Hey we had the most recent one in the NHL I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really? If you’re so sure, then when, Levy?”

“March 1st, 2025, UBS arena, ya’know how I know cause I was there!”

“Oh.”

*

But the fun times with the vets were over. And she was alone. When she went into difficult situations, games against Marie-Philip Poulin, Hilary Knight, Taylor Heise, she always got worked up. Corinne had played those chumps dozens of times, had blocked tens of their shots, she had plenty of experience under her belt and was always more than happy to help Kayle out, whether that be tips on how to respond to their style of play or helping her calm down.

Abbey was similar in that she was also comforting, she cracked jokes, distracted the rookie, always giving her a fist bump when she got back to the bench and reminded her to have fun whenever she skated away.

Kayle didn’t know what she’d do without them. She had no clue how to face the greats, manage her stress, or even handle backing up a team that couldn’t shoot back, she didn’t even know if she could step on the damn ice she felt so scared, terrified, of going out their alone. Nola one else would be there who could understand, the rookies showing up a week later into camp who had never even been to a frozen four didn’t know how she felt, her friends on defense didn’t know what it was like. The Only two people who knew how she felt, esoterically, the pressure of backing for a bad team and to perform well in a league full of top goaltending, had just left her in the dust for better teams. She felt betrayed on top of it all.

Tears began prickling at the edges of her eyes, hidden by her mask. Not that anyone was there to see her, they were already on the ice. Literally no one was there for her.

She couldn’t bring herself to move from her spot for some time, tears streaking down her face, drying in the foam of the inside of her mask, thoughts of what her future held for her plaguing her mind.

At some point, her crying stopped. She felt as thought her face was fine enough to go on the ice without anyone asking questions, but when she actually stood at the glass, a step away from the ice, she was, again, paralyzed sort of by fear. She was scared, of everything, the ice, falling like she was a five year old who left their skate guards on, of being alone in her crease while the rest of the team ripped around on the other side of the ice, like she didn’t even exist.

Standing for what must have been a minute, a few eyes perked up at the girl standing on the edge of the boards. After a bit, Sarah skated over. “Hey Oz? The great and powerful?” Kayle snapped out of her trance. “We’ve been hoping you’d show up, we were about to throw a rookie in pads. C’mon let’s go have some fun.” Sarah said, waving an arm for her to follow. The goalie hesitated for a minute before stepping carefully onto the ice and skating to the near crease. As she tapped her posts and made a glove save, a smile creeped over her face.

Chapter Text

POV Kayle Osborne

A play unfolded right in front of me in practice, mid camp, a hard fought scrimmage by the white team. A shot, pad save, the rebound— glove saved. A whistle blew and my eyes unfocused. I was on a streak, ready for the next face off.

White team dumped it into blue’s side, Kaley passed the puck right back to the red line where Casey took it up, a pass to Kalty who held the puck for a moment before opting to pass back to Filly who was heading full speed for the net, she tipped it right up by my glove and I managed to swat it away before she fell right over me, ending up in the net. As fast as Sarah was going, her attempt at making trouble was in vain as her small frame wasn’t enough to dislodge the net from its place pegged into the ice. The sophomore instead flopped hilariously, her back hitting the net with her skates and arms flailing.

Micah spread her fingers over her forehead, much like how a disappointed father would. Jaime turned to her, “She’s your problem you know.”

“I did not sign up for this.”

“Motherhood is not asked for; it is only gifted.”

Chapter Text

Off season practices left much room for goofiness, the Sirens and other PWHLers who had been training together were no exception. Between puck tricks, fun cellys, and maybe a few too many ticktock dances, the handful of them had bonded a good bit, seemed to be finding one another on the ice more, and were pumped up to be returning for a better season in the tri-state. Those few weeks were blissful, no blockbuster trades, on-ice drama, nothing. It was peaceful as hockey can be, until Abby Roque signed with Montreal.

“What do you MEAN MontREAL?” Jaime Bourbonnais cried. Abby didn’t mean for her to find out this way, she wanted to sit Jaime down and explain her reasoning, not have her nearly in tears in the locker room, the announcement posted by some league watch account, probably ran by Ian Kennedy or something. [AN- eyeroll]

But that was a week ago, and Abby figured things had at least somewhat gotten better, even though Jaime’s passes starting inching more and more away from her stick, and passes between the two became less frequent.

After the group’s daily skate, Abby was on her way out by the rink when she dropped her coffee, sticky brown liquid falling upon the rubber floor. “Oh. Just great.”

She went around to the broom closet, the door propped ajar by a stop. Inside, she pulled the string to the lightbulb which illuminated tow brooms, a bucket, and a mop. She took the latter two back to her spill and began cleaning it.

By the time she had dumped the water down the drain, Jaime was walking by and being the good teammate that she was, offered to help Abby.

She stood inside the closet, propping open the door for Abby by lightly jamming the doorstop in and stepping aside, but as Abby pushed the bucket harshly to get it passed the threshold, the doorstop dislodged and the door slammed shut, a click was heard.

The defender frantically tried to open the door only to find it locked from the inside, the handle unmoving. “Oh this is just great, real great.” Abby said.

“Well don’t you have your phone on you?” Jaime pondered.

“No it’s in my bag back by the locker room. Where’s yours anyways?”

“It’s n my bag because I’m not addicted to my phone like some of us.” Jaime jabbed.

“Hey! That was one time.”

“Great. This gives me time to pepper you with questions as to why you’ve left us for dead.”

“I did not leave the Sirens for dead—“

“So why did you go?”

“I dunno, I just wanted a change of scenery I guess. A smaller city, work with Pou and Stace, it’s a pretty good gig up there.”

“With a fat paycheck too I bet.”

“Says Mrs. Bourbonnais-Clark, sugar baby of the highest paid in the league.” Jaime rolled her eyes.

“But we’ve built so much.”

“Yea and I haven’t done shit of it. It’s all Mikes and Greg and Filly. I’m not the main character, I’m not a too points getter. God I don’t even think I got double digit goals last season.”

“So what? We’re enemies now or something?”

“Maybe.” Abby said, sliding to the floor, almost as if in defeat.

“Sounds a bit weird, eh?”

“Just a little.”

*

And so the pair talked on long into the hour, when footsteps were heard in the hall, a savior at last in the form of their summer goaltender who in true goalie fashion took forever to get out of her gear, Kayle Osborne. “Gee you two look, rough.”

Chapter Text

POV Kristýna Kaltounková

A game had wrapped up. A loss, really, wrapped up. When I got back to the locker room I got my skates off but slid out as soon as I could. I didn’t quite put my finger on it but I just needed to be alone.

Score was something like 4-0, I just couldn’t seem to finish on my 9 shots. A post thrown in there, god I made a fool of myself. Why did I even try? Hannah Murphy knows my shot like the back of her hands I had to keep finding ways to score on her at Colgate. It seems like we’re back to the good old days of her saving every shot I made, every trick in the book, just like Kayle– except I’ve gotten better at shooting on her. My game got stronger, shots faster, more accurate.

Foolish. The word kept coming back to me. I looked like an idiot out there, all that effort, skating so hard, and for what? Sarah barely got any shots, Casey did her best, the other lines had no better luck. God.

When I made it out to the hall the coast was clear. A few dozen paces away from the door I was face to face with many a painted cinder blocks, white with the occasional black mark. From old bags, to tossed pucks, who’s to say what it was.

I sort of blacked out for a moment. All the anger of the game, all the anger I was hiding, keeping it together for my team, came up; before I knew it I was throwing my fists at the walls.

I guess my vision got a little blurry, my mind sorta went out. It hurt like hell, meat hitting brick. It’s not as nice as hitting a punching bag or body or anything. It doesn’t move. You’re not really trying to hurt the object so much as yourself. It’s better to take it out that way instead of around— or on— someone else, but that’s doesn’t numb the pain. After a while I stopped noticing each shot to the wall and they just sort of scrambled together, my hands hurting less as I went on though I never let up on force.

The grey fog sorta took over my vision, when I got some more visibility back the white wall had a bit of red on it, I couldn’t hardly see my hands.

Next thing I remember I was sitting in the hall, my back to the wall, Sarah looking at my banged up hand. I don’t remember what I said to her or anything, if I even did. I think I might’ve begged her not to take me to the trainers, though, because I only got fixed up once we got to Sarah’s— our apartment.

My vision started clearing up when we got back to the locker room, most people had scattered and the goalies were still showering. My hands hurt too much to get dressed myself so Sarah helped me get my jersey off and all. Not much was said, I think she was sort of shocked by the whole thing, but also understood. We’re both competitive as it gets, however esoteric that may be, I think she was just a little blind sighted by how I handled it.

When we got home she was probably the most gentle and genuine I’ve ever seen Sarah Fillier. A beast on the ice, competitive and physical, has your game beat before she even crosses the blue line, ready to strike. Feared by all. But when we got back, she took me to the kitchen, in the warm lighting I could finally see how beaten up my hands were as she led me to the sink. Blue, purple, and brown were the color of my knuckles. Small red dots had former on the side of my hands almost resembling a day-old hickey.

She stood behind me, her head on my shoulder and took my hands in hers. She turned on the warm water. It was then I understood why she was holding me, because it hurt like hell. Forget the actual punching, the, for all intents and purposes, open wounds hitting water was much worse. I scrunched up my face to distract myself but it wasn’t near enough, they burned and ached more than I thought was possible.

“Shh,” she cooed, “You’re doing great, K.” I bit my lip as she spread soap over my hands, rubbing it into my knuckles.

“I know, I know. I got you. It’ll be over soon.” It felt like forever and a day. She rinsed off my hands with hers.

“Are we done yet?” I croaked, I hadn’t said much after the game.

“Just a little longer, I gotta bandage that little mess you made.” I looked down at my hands. “Don’t look at it, K, it’ll freak you out, believe me.”

I often recall just how smart Sarah is, but honestly sometimes it passes over my head the fact she went to an Ivy League school and took quite a few behavioral psych classes for her degree. I trust that she knows what she’s talking about.

I sat at the couch, she sat on the floor in front of me.

“Hold still,” She requested after I started squirming at the sight of the first aid kit. “You’ll be fine. I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t look at your hands K, look at me, okay?”

She inspected my hands, mainly the knuckles were the problem. She got straight to bandaging around my knuckles to the top of my palms and back again. A few fingers had some cuts I guess, because I felt her put a piece of medical tape with a folded over bit on my ringer finger, followed by a few on my other hand.

“You might wanna take some ibuprofen….” She trailed. I nodded

“Thank you, by the way, for this.”

“Anytime K.” She said before sneaking a peck on my cheek. God I love this girl so much. “Just, maybe don’t make a habit of it.” But that was a conversation for another day