Page 98 of Delayed Penalty

He skates down the tunnel, likely taking a break before the cameras are trained on him, ready to pick apart his game.

“Hayes! Lawson! Go!”

We jump over the boards in unison as our names are called, getting a second chance with the new goalie. The puck hits my stick, and I skate harder than I have all night, carrying it into the zone with minimal pushback from Chicago. They’re taking it easy this shift, trying to suss out what they can and can’t get away with now that there are new guys on the ice. They play it too safe, and I get my first shot of the night. I miss, but the puck soars over to Lawson, who shoots it back to me and I try again.

Still nothing.

We skate it around, taking a few checks from the Chicago players but winning the board battles. I zip it over to Lawson, who tries the same angle I did, and the lamp lights up, silencing the crowd.

“Fuck yes!” he cheers, and I skate up to him, bumping helmets. “Let’s get to work!”

We run by the bench, fist-bumping everyone, even Foxy who is looking a little happier than when we leftthe ice, then we go again. We manage to make it within a goal, but in the end, it’s not enough. We still walk back to the locker room with zero points on the night.

It’s crushing.

The room is quiet as we strip out of our gear, missing that usual banter and fun as we go through our post-game routines.

“It was a tough loss out there tonight,” Coach Smith says. “We fought back, but it wasn’t enough. I’m still proud of you. You didn’t give up when it got hard. That’s the real struggle, you know? It’s not losing. It’s being able to walk away at the end of the night and still look at yourself and know you gave it your all. You boys did. Now rest up. We got work to do.”

“Heard!” we all call out.

That’s really the last thing most of us say as we file out of the room and onto the bus back to the hotel for the night. We have two days off, so we’re not flying to Detroit until tomorrow.

When we walk into the hotel, I head for the bar instead of my room like I should so I can call Flora. It’s just been one of those nights, and a drink sounds good to take the edge off. I’m unsurprised when Hutch slides onto the stool next to me a few moments later, and I sigh. I’ve been waiting for this conversation.

“I’ll take one of whatever he’s having,” he tells thebartender of The Sinclair Chicago, who nods and pours him a cold one.

They slide it over the bar top and hurry down the stretch as a few other teammates join us on the other end. Guess tonight is a good night to drink our feelings.

“So, the nanny, huh?” Hutch says after several quiet moments.

I nod. “The nanny.”

He whistles lowly. “That’s something. Not surprising, but still something.”

I look over at him for the first time, narrowing my eyes. “Why is it not surprising? Because I’m an idiot who has no self-control and usually fucks everything up?”

“No. Because of the way you were looking at her that day Auden and I watched Flora.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean,dumbass, is it was obvious you were into her.”

I scoff. “I was not. I barely even knew her then.”

Sure, I had kissed her, but I wasn’tintoQuinn. I was just a horny idiot. I’mstilljust a horny idiot.

“How long?”

I shrug. “A while.”

“Before or after the season started?”

“Technically, the night it started. Unless you count our kiss.”

He lifts his brows. “Damn, you wasted no time, did you?”

I want so fucking badly to punch him off his barstool right now, but I know if I do, it’ll cause a scene, and there are too many people around for that.

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