Page 30 of Delayed Penalty

“You got it, Kells.” Our goalie slides by Lawson and adds another twenty pounds to the bar.

Once again, Keller lifts it with ease. He keeps going, adding ten pounds at a time until he hits 250, then he slams the bar back down, and this time when he sits up and begins sucking in deep breaths, it’s genuine.

He smirks over at Lawson, who is standing there with his hands on his hips and his brows pulled tightly together. “Did I win?”

“You played me,” Lawson accuses.

The team grump shrugs. “It’s not playing you if I just know my own strength.” He nods to us. “Should have listened to the guys when they started betting against you.”

Lawson points to each of us. “Betrayal! Betrayal! Betrayal!”

He gives us all a glare, and we just laugh at him.

Keller stands, clapping him on the back. “Poor, poor, stupid Lawsy. I think I’ll take that drink now.”

Lawson grumbles, shaking Keller’s hand off him, then stomping out of the gym to the showers. Eventually we all follow him, rinsing off and heading to our cars, promising to meet at Top Shelf, the local sports bar we tend to frequent. With the game being so new in Seattle, it’s nice to have a place to go where we’re welcome and feel at home.

After fighting for street parking—and Lawson cutting me off to steal my spot—I stumble into the bar and am immediately greeted by the bartender behind the counter.

“Hayesy!” Chaz calls out. “Where the hell have you been, man?”

Before Flora came to live with me, I used to spend a lot of evenings here. And by a lot, I meaneveryevening. Nothing beats cheap beer and women who will do anything to say they slept with a hockey player.

“Chaz,” I say, bumping my fist against his as I approach the counter. “Good to see you, man. How’s business?”

“Be even better with you hanging around. Where have you been?” he asks again.

“Busy,” I tell him, which isn’t entirely untrue. “But now that I’m here, I’d love a cold beer.”

“You got it.”

“Put it on Lawson’s tab!” I holler as he moves to pour my usual IPA, a local hazy brew I love.

Hutch walks in with Fox, then Locke, Keller trailing after them. The captain sits to my left, Keller to my right, and Locke on his other side.

“Keller, you fucker!” Lawson calls as he comes barreling through the door two seconds later.

“What’d I do?” the man in question asks, Lawson shoving him right off the stool and stealing it.

“That’sfor putting the sign on the back of my car.”

Keller laughs. “Oh, you mean the one that saysHonk If You Swallow Too? How many beeps did you get?”

Lawson just glares at him, then turns to Chaz. “Unfortunately, I’m buying everyone’s drinks tonight. Give them all light beer, will you?”

The bartender laughs, used to our shit, and takes everyone else’s order, then sets about pouring our drinks. When he slides them over to us, Lawson immediately lifts his into the air.

“Serpents Singles, baby! We’re back!” But nobody lifts their glass along with him, and he pouts. “Aw, come on. This is our reunion. Why isn’t everyone jazzed?”

“First of all, nobody says jazzed except old people. No offense, Locke,” Fox says.

“I’m not old,” the old man grumbles. “And you’re not even single anymore, Lawsy.”

“So? Neither is Hutchy.”

“Hutchy who didn’t even want to be part of this stupid club in the first place,” Hutch says with a scowl.

“But is still so, so happy he is.” Lawson grins at him, then takes a swig of his lager.

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