I open my eyes and feel the hangover hit me, right on the left side of my forehead. I blink a few times to try and get my bearings.

“Okay,” I think to myself, “you’re in that woman’s house. Jesus, what time is it?” I look over at her alarm clock. It’s 11 am.

“Shit,” I whisper, sitting up.

I have training at noon with Bronson. Coach will be out of his fucking mind if I don’t make it there.

But then I look to my left and she’s there, sleeping like an angel. She’s not the kind of girl most of the players would get with. She’s got something else and I can’t really put my finger on it. Her face is pure, like the girls from back home. I’m not talking about Chicago. I’m talking about Wisconsin, where I grew up.

Maybe I’m getting older, or maybe I’m finally realizing what I like about this world. I remember being a kid and living the simple life, before all of the lights and cameras. I used to play ice hockey with the neighborhood kids. My mom would make me hot cocoa and I’d go soaring on that ice. Back then, everything felt magical. I knew I’d be the best player that had ever lived. I just didn’t think it’d get so… boring.

She draws me in. She makes me want to find that person again. And I have no fucking clue as to why. I barely even know her, but I know that I’m drawn to her. Chicago is looming in the near future. I’ll have to go back home and resume that life. Huge games, autographs, getting bashed into a plastic wall all day… That’s what I’m going back for.

I run my fingers through her hair and she opens her eyes. She looks tired, but a smile forms on her face.

“Morning,” she says.

“Thanks for having me, darling,” I whisper.

“You dipping out on me?” she asks.

I nod solemnly. “Yeah, I have training in less than an hour. I’d rather stay here, though,” I admit.

“Whatever works,” she shrugs, nonchalantly. For a second, it feels like she wants me to leave, but I quickly disregard that feeling.

“Let me get your number,” I say.

She closes her eyes, before sitting up in bed. Her hair is frizzy and unkempt, but she still looks fucking hot.

“Give me your phone,” she says. I do just that and watch as she types her number in. “There. Now you can call me.”

I pocket the phone and kiss her one more time. “I’ll be thinking about you,” I say. I grab my shirt and slide it on. “Bye, Jackie.”

I walk out that door and call an Uber. The sun is killing my head right now, but I gotta push forward. There’s plenty I can look forward to right now. I’ve got this gorgeous and completely sexy woman who fucked my brains out. She let me say and do things I’ve only dreamt about.

When I get to the gym, Bronson is tapping his watch at me. “You’re late, bro,” he says.

I laugh, but stumble back when my hangover gets the best of me. “Long night,” I say.

“Tell me about it,” he says. His breath smells like whisky. “The whole team is suffering right now. Practice tonight is going to be a shit show.” He grins like a maniac.

“Coach is going to have our asses,” I say.

“He’s always pissed,” he says. “Anyway, you get lucky last night or what? Where the hell did you run off to? Everyone was looking for you. There was this beautiful moment when Cruz stood on the table and screamed. It just happened out of nowhere. He just started screaming like a lunatic. It was amazing.”

I chuckle when I think of Cruz doing something as stupid as screaming on a table for no reason. “I always miss the good shit, don’t I?”

“That depends on what you were doing instead,” he says.

I slide my body onto the bench and grab the weights in my hands. I lift up and hold them steady. “I met someone,” I say. I let the weights go down and feel the burn. I lift up again. “She was so smoking hot, it’s crazy.” I do a quick rep of 12 and let the weight rest again.

“Bullshit,” Bronson quips, but he knows I’m not lying. I’ve always been honest about my escapades. Sometimes I win, and other times I lose. This time I won. “Seriously? How the fuck did I not end up with someone, but you did? You were barely even talking last night.”

“Some women like the quiet types.” I wink.

“Bet you weren’t quiet in the sack,” he says, laughing. “Spot me.”

He lifts the weights effortlessly and groans loudly so that everyone looks over at us. “Did you sound like this?” he jokes, making more grunting sounds.

“You’re insane,” I say. He sets the weights back down. “I was way louder than that.”

He grins. “Damn right you were,” he says.

I go back down and do my set. I start to break a sweat, but I feel strong and powerful. I feel like I could take on anything today, despite having the worst headache of my life. I lift an extra five reps just because I can. I set the weights back down when I’m done grab my water bottle. The water is ice cold and refreshing.

“I think I’m going to call her again,” I say, out of breath.

Bronson looks at me like he couldn’t care less. “Do what you want, but remember, our heads are going to be in a different place in about a week. Right now, it’s sort of like summer camp. We get to practice, get to hang out and bang hot chicks. But when it’s all over, it’s over. Back to normality.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I like playing the game. I’m excited to play for Chicago, you know? Those fans are my life and they depend on us to win. But, man, I fucking hate all the bullshit that comes along with it. I like training. There’s just so much that can happen.”

“It’s all the same to me,” he grunts. “They gave me a job to do and I do it well. That’s how you have to think about it at a certain point. It’s just a fucking job.”

“That’s true, I guess,” I say.

I hate that I’m even agreeing with the sentiment. Of course, it’s a job. What happened to the magic?

After he finishes his set, I pat his back and throw him a towel. “But you remember how it was, Bronson,” I say.

He squints and grabs the water bottle from my hands. “How what was?” he asks, sloppily drinking the water down.

“The game. This. Everything,” I say. “Remember back in the day? We’d go on dreaming about this shit.”

“Yeah, so what? There was a lot to look forward. When you get older, there’s less. That’s just how it is, man,” he says.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I tell him. His eyes are still squinting, as if he’s trying to get a read on me but can’t.

“You were always a dreamer. I mean, you’re dark as fuck sometimes. And you’re a tank off and on the rink. But you’re a dreamer, man. You’ll always be chasing that line,” he says.

“That line?” I ask him. I grab a set of weights and force them in place. Sweat drips from my eyes, but I catch it with my towel.

“Yeah. The first wave of energy you ever felt. You’ll never stop trying to find it. Whether it’s with the game, or with women, or whatever,” he says. “Let me guess. You met this girl and she reminds you of how it all used to be.”

“Fuck off,” I say.

I try to laugh, but he’s not laughing. I realize that what he’s just said has hit too close to home. He’s making it seem like I’m guided purely on impulse.

“Am I wrong?” he asks.

“I just thought about Wisconsin today,” I say.

“You’re getting nostalgic. All I’m saying is that it’s time to realize that this isn’t forever,” he says. “As much as I love the game, it’s never going to feel the same. Never. And that’s okay, I guess. Life is supposed to even out sooner or later,” he says.

I sigh and lock the weights in place. “Yeah,” I nod. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. This can’t last forever.”

I sit down and stare at the mirror in front of me. I grab the bar and lift, grinding my teeth down. One. Two. Three. Four…

I don’t know what I’m searching for. Maybe it’s some relic of the past, like Bronson is suggesting. Or maybe it’s just for the new thing that will push me higher into the air. Maybe there’s not just one defining moment in a man’s life. Why can’t there be a handful along the way?

I don’t know where I’m going, but I know that I’m acting on impulses. It doesn’t matter to me, though. I’ve got a week here. I have to make the most of it.