Page 12 of Penalty Zone
It’s absurd that I can fly back and forth for a consulting job, but I couldn’t find the time to watch my son play.
I mistakenly thought I could mend our rift by being in the same place. That proximity would magically heal our issues.
A few veteran players have kids, and they coach youth hockey. The Enforcers encourage family involvement so the organization’s an extended family. It emphasizes how much I let Mason down.
He’s an adult, and there isn’t a way to make up for the past. I can’t go back in time and attend his games or his award ceremonies.
The truth is…I’m a terrible father, and my son rightfully resents me.
Chapter 7
Caleb
My boys are killing it out there, and the stadium is on fire. The other team’s getting chippy and chirpy. Drake’s fuming, and Lucky successfully talks him down, which is good for the team because we don’t want him in the sin bin.
King comes back from his shift, whips off his helmet, and shakes out his braids as sweat trickles down his brown skin. “If their taunts were more creative than a middle schooler’s, maybe they’d play like adults.”
Huh. King is the epitome of reserve and a cool head. He’s not easily rattled and lets insults roll off him like rainwater. They’re getting personal because, for King, his statement is the same as someone else swearing.
Now isn’t the time for questions. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter if it’s one idiot or the entire team. It ain’t cool.
My team is textbook amazing. We’re up by two, and my guys are getting slashed every play. Lucky has spent half the gameshoved against the boards. Drake miraculously keeps his temper in check.
Liska has been snowed three times in this period, and I can tell from his aura he’s furious. There’s nothing worse than being trapped between the pipes and forced to endure the snow shower from the opposing team’s skates. It’s a sign of disrespect, and the refs have done nothing. Where’s the hometown help? The New York refs should’ve called it after the second time. A little snow here and there is one thing, but Liska’s gotten showered by them.
The first line comes in for a break, and Lucky pushes Drake to the bench and sits on him, speaking in his ear.
An overwhelming sense of dread hits me.
“Mercy, I’m playing tonight.” There’s no doubt in my mind. Something will happen, and I’ll be thrown into the mayhem. Leo makes his way over to me as I stretch.
“Are you good?” he asks, and I nod but don’t speak.
I close my eyes and clear my mind, visualizing a fire burning up all the negative energy. But my vision turns to a fireball, and I switch images. I picture myself in a boat on a pond with water so calm it’s clear as glass. Nothing and no one can touch me here. My energy resets itself, and I mentally prepare to play.
“You’re meditating? Did Coach say you’re playing?” Leo asks as I hum.
“You’re messing with my routine.” There isn’t enough space for me to step away from him. I wish I’d chosen a stronger crystal for the game, but bench warming doesn’t require agility and clarity.
“But—” Leo cuts himself off as Mason’s slammed into the boards and lands on his back. He’s slow to get up, and I hear Leo’s booming intake of breath and his large hand settles on my shoulder. The heat of it seeps past my pads, and I imagine it on my skin.
Mason shakes his head as he gets up and skates on unsteady legs toward the play.
The puck crosses center ice, and Leo mutters, “Come on. Get off the ice.” Leo doesn’t know his son very well. Mason won’t leave the ice unless it’s necessary.
He hangs back in a great position when King strips the puck and passes it to him. Mason’s not as fast as usual, but he outpaces the defender and dishes it to King, who scores again.
King takes a late hit, and Mason jumps in. The refs separate them before it turns into a brawl and sends the opposing defender to the sin bin.
Once Mason has exited the ice, Leo regains his senses and removes his hand from my shoulder. My body reels at the loss of touch.
Our third line barely hangs on against their first, even though we’ve got an extra player. Ordinarily, Coach sends the first line in for a power play, but he’s avoiding injuries and penalties. Coach talks to Drake while Lucky continues to sit on him.
I have one eye on the game and the other on Coach, who’s beet red. There’s only ten minutes left in the game and that should bring me relief, but unease pools in my gut and spreads as quickly as poison.
To cut it off, I brace my arms on the wall and drop my head, whispering a chant from my childhood. The guys can hear me, but the alternative is a mess in my head. Chanting is way better than letting goals in.
Leo places himself between me and the other players to give me privacy because I told him it’s easier when I’m by myself.
