Page 124 of Of Pucking Course

Playoffs are a brutal time in the NHL. Our bodies are battered from back-to-back games and traveling constantly between our home cities and the cities of the teams we’re playing. We prioritize resting and sleeping as much as we can, but there’s no getting around just how exhausted we all are right now.

I shake my head and chuckle. “That kid is a freak of nature. He bounced back just fine. He said he woke up at dawn to meditate for an hour before our flight. Now he’s doing yoga with one of the team instructors. He said he’s going to the sauna later before bed.”

“Fuck, I miss being young,” Del says.

“Oh, come on. Quit talking like we’re old men,” Blomdahl says.

“We’re in our late twenties,” Del says. “That’s a world away from early twenties when it comes to the way our bodies handle the brutal playoff schedule.”

“It’s the truth,” I admit. “I’m twenty-nine, but compared to twenty-four-year-old Connors, I may as well be seventy. I need double the recovery time that he does.”

“Oh my god, you guys sound like my grandpa.”Blomdahl plops down on his bed. He kicks off his shoes. “Want me to see if he has an extra walker he can give to you?”

Del throws his pillow at Blomdahl, but Blomdahl ducks before it hits him and laughs.

“He can help you sign up for your AARP memberships too, if you want,” he says.

I toss my half-empty water bottle at him, but he catches it easily. Damn those goalie reflexes.

“Very funny,” I say, even though I’m smiling.

“I don’t have the energy to do anything other than sleep for the rest of today,” Del says.

Blomdahl smirks at him. “And maybe go see your girl, right?”

Del grumbles, but the look in his eyes is happy. “Yup. The hotel room is all yours tonight.”

Blomdahl pumps his fist. Since Ingrid is in charge of social media for the team, she travels with us to most of our away games to film content and post it online. She gets her own hotel room, just like the other staff members who travel with the team, so Del normally stays in her room.

She’s been posting tons of clips of us during games and warmups, which helps keep the fans engaged and excited during our playoff run.

Just then, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and see a text from Dakota.

Hey. How are you holding up? Is your shoulder okay?

Warmth gathers in my chest at how she’s checking up on me. When I arrived home after our game the other night, she surprised me with a hot bath, then she massaged my shoulder before we went to bed.

Me: It’s sore, but I’ll be fine. It’s feeling a lot better thanks to that massage you gave me.

Dakota: I’m glad :) I’m sad I’m not there to cheer you on in Nashville though :(

Me: Me too. I miss you.

Dakota: I miss you too

I glance up at Del, who’s talking to Blomdahl. Guilt lands at the center of my chest. I’m texting his little sister—my secret girlfriend—right in front of him. And he has no idea.

Dakota: I have a surprise for you, but I want you to be alone when I text it to you.

Me: Is this a dirty surprise?

Dakota: Half of it is. The other half, definitely not.

“Aww look at that smile.”

I rein in my expression when I hear Blomdahl giving me shit. I slide my phone back into my pocket.

“You texting your girl?” he asks.

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