I sleep on the flight, gather my things with no problem, and have a car waiting for me at pick-up. I travel so often for games that it hasn’t hit me exactly where I am or what I’m doing here. Traveling to Canada is a common thing; there are plenty of teams that we play here, so leaving the country isn’t a big deal, really. Once I get to the Village though, I’m sure it’ll all hit me.
I’m in the car on the way to the Village when my phone rings.
It’s the closest person I have to a best friend—Connor McVoy, who also plays defense for the Diamonds and was selected to play in the Olympics weeks ago. He has some of the best stats in our team's history, and I am lucky enough to be his partner on the ice.
“Hey, Connor.”
“Are you here yet?”
“Sort of,” I say. “Driving to the Village now.”
“I have good news for you.”
“Is it really good news or bad news that you want me to believe is good news?”
“We’re rooming together.”
“Great… so bad news disguised as good news.”
“Fuck you, bro.”
I laugh, glancing at the driver’s GPS. “I should be there in twenty minutes. Meet me at the entrance?”
“Need your hand held already?” He chuckles.
“Forget it, McVoy.”
“See you soon!”
McVoy likes to give everyone shit. His love language is sarcasm and jokes. He’ll be waiting for me at the entrance, even if he’ll tease me about it for the entire two weeks we will be here.
I see him waiting for me the moment we pull up. He smiles and waves, pocketing his phone.
The driver gets out to help with my bags, and Connor takes one for me, so I’m only stuck carrying two.
The guard stationed at the entrance checks my credentials to make sure I’m supposed to be here, and then we’re inside and I am speechless.
“Fucking crazy, right?” Connor says, shaking his head. “This is unbelievable.”
“It really is,” I agree, looking around at the country flags everywhere and the apartment buildings a short distance away. They’re bigger than I thought they would be, at least ten floors high, with a ton of windows.
Athletes in their country’s colors and uniforms are everywhere, mingling and chatting with others. The energy is buzzing, and I don’t doubt for a second it’ll be like this the whole time I’m here.
“You eat yet?”
“Just a snack on the plane.”
“Good, because I’m starving. Let’s drop this shit in our room and go eat some good Olympic food.”
Our room is like a tiny apartment. Kitchenette, two bedrooms with full-sized beds, and a bathroom I can hardly turn around in.
“You’d think they’d make these bigger for us hockey players,” I comment as I squeeze out of it.
“Not every hockey player is as big as you,” he says.
And he’s right, of course. A lot of us are big, but my 6’4” height and 225 weight is on the higher end. Even though Connor’s smaller than me by a few inches and about thirty pounds, he’s still a big guy.
A few people have thought we’re brothers because of our matching dark hair and green eyes, but there is absolutely no relation.
