Train Wreck

I crossed the car quickly, scanning the overhead compartments until I spotted the red emergency sticker. I snapped it open and pulled out a fat stack of barf bags, crinkly and pale blue. Exactly what I needed.

“Here!” I said, tossing a few to the nearest players. “Hold it right under your mouth. Breathe through your nose. Do not lean back.”

One of the rookies was trembling so badly he couldn't open the seal. I crouched next to him, peeled the top open for him, and placed it in his hands.

“If it’s coming, don’t fight it. Just aim and breathe.”

Another wave of gagging came from the left side of the car. Someone had missed the bag. The smell was everywhere now—pungent, thick, heavy with seafood and bile.

I stood up fast and shouted over the chaos. “Can someone get Bryson some water?”

“I got it,” Noah said behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder. He was moving with calm, controlled energy, a tray of water bottles tucked under one arm. He crouched beside Bryson and handed one over, his voice low and even.

“Easy, buddy. Sip this slowly.”

Bryson nodded, pale as milk.

Noah passed the rest of the bottles out to those still upright. Wesley slid in from the opposite aisle, stepping over a discarded helmet as he checked on the others.

“This is what dreams are made of,” he said, swapping out one full bag for an empty. “Cleaning up my new team’s puke. This is what I signed up for.”

His voice was light but his hands were steady. I could see it in the way he moved. Focused. Quick. No hesitation.

I stepped over another bag and looked around. At least seven players were down. A few others had their heads back against the windows, breathing through their mouths, eyes glassy.

My heart beat fast, but my mind was already organizing the next step.

Coach Dennis stepped into the middle of the car like a tank, legs braced, arms crossed, voice low but carrying.

“Hang in there, boys,” he said. “We’re gonna get through this.”

Then he marched to the front of the car and ripped open the panel hiding the train intercom. His finger jabbed the button. The speaker crackled.

“This is Coach Dennis Cooper from car twelve. We’ve got a medical emergency. Possible food poisoning, multiple players down. We need a team on standby at the next stop. This train has to halt immediately.”

His tone didn’t leave room for debate. Not even from a train conductor.

I dropped to my knees beside one of the rookies who was folded in half, face slick with sweat. His pulse was fast beneath my fingers. I pulled a thermometer from my pocket and slid it into place under his tongue.

“Keep breathing through your nose. Sips of water, not gulps,” I said, handing him a bottle. “We’ve got you.”

The train doors hissed open with a mechanical sigh. Cold air rushed in, cutting through the stench and sweat like a blade.

Outside, red and white lights flashed against the stillness of the mountains. At least three ambulances lined the platform. Medics stood waiting in bright vests, gripping stretchers, masks already in place.

One of them climbed aboard and stopped short, eyes wide.

“Wait… a whole team?” he said, stunned. “This is your whole team?”

“They’re mine,” I said, stepping forward. “And yes. It’s bad.”

He blinked, then nodded, already switching into go-mode. “We’ll need to triage quickly.”

I didn’t hesitate. I crouched beside Bryson again, checked his vitals, then waved two EMTs over. “Start with him. He was wheezing earlier.”

I moved through the car like I had worked here my entire life. One by one, I pointed out the worst cases. I gave names. Symptoms. Fluid levels. I directed stretchers, steadied shoulders, translated groans into actual medical notes. When one guy vomited again mid-lift, I was there with a towel and a bucket before the medic could even ask.

Noah helped too. Quiet, steady. He lifted Bryson with ease, one hand under his back, one under his knees. Wesley followed close behind, cracking jokes to keep spirits up, his energy lighter but his eyes serious.

After the last of them had been wheeled out, I stood in the middle of the car, surrounded by silence.

The cabin looked like a war zone.

Open water bottles rolled across the floor. Used barf bags sat bloated in the corner. Blankets and jackets were strewn across the seats. The air still hung heavy with the sour stench of vomit and disinfectant.

I grabbed a clean towel and began wiping down a row of seats. I wasn’t on staff. It wasn’t my job. But I needed to do something.

Coach Dennis appeared behind me, his presence heavy, arms folded across his chest.

I didn’t look at him. I just kept cleaning.

When I finally straightened, I realized it wasn’t just him.

Noah stood beside the door, leaning against the frame. Wesley slouched near the back, arms crossed, mouth pressed into something halfway between a grin and a grimace.

Wesley broke the silence first.

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, voice lazy.

“So… does this mean the retreat’s cancelled?”

I looked at Coach Dennis.

He turned toward me, brows lifted, expression unreadable. Then he nodded once.

“You decide,” he said. “You’re the hero here.”

The title caught me off guard. Hero. I didn’t feel like one. I felt like I’d barely kept it together. Like I’d been holding a cracked dam with my bare hands.

Still, I squared my shoulders.

“They still need it,” I said. “By all means necessary.”

The coach's mouth tugged into something faintly resembling a smile. “The weekend’s already paid for.”

Wesley let out a low whistle. “Looks like it’s just the four of us then.”

He pushed off the wall and took a few steps forward. His gaze landed on me—lingered there, slow and steady, like he was studying something he didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to.

My stomach flipped.

Just a little.

Was he… flirting?

His smirk said yes. The heat in his eyes confirmed it. But I couldn’t be sure. Not really.

Still, the question slipped through my mind before I could stop it.

Can I date a hockey star?

I brushed the thought away, but the air between us had already shifted. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either.

Hours later, the sky had softened into the pale hues of morning.

The sun was rising behind the mountains by the time we reached the retreat facility. Golden light spilled across the jagged peaks, painting the lodge ahead of us in warm tones that didn’t quite match the chill in my chest.

The vehicle crunched to a stop in the gravel lot.

The doors opened. I stepped out, stretching the stiffness from my back just as someone walked out of the building to greet us.

My stomach turned, tight and fast.

I stared for a second too long, then found my voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”