Page 74 of Delayed Penalty

“I wasn’t. I sucked. I?—”

“Would you sad sacks knock it the fuck off?” Hutch stops at the top of the room, hands on his hips as he commands our attention. “It wasn’t any one person’s fault. We’re a team, remember? Always we, never I. We play out there together. Losing that extra point was a team effort.”

“More likenon-effort,” Lawson grumbles, then cowers back into his stall when Hutch shoots him a nasty look.

“Stop beating yourselves up. Yeah, we should have kicked their asses all day long, but we still skated away with a point, and that’s better than none. Now we regroup and play better the next game. Heard?”

There are a few mumbledHeards through the room, but they’re barely audible.

“I said,fucking heard?” our captain yells.

“Heard!” we repeat back, clapping twice.

“Good. Now, rest up tonight. We’re hitting the ice first thing tomorrow.”

He stomps over to his stall and begins removing his pads just as Coach Smith walks into the room.

“Well, I was going to come in here with a speech, but it looks like Hutchinson had a peek at my notes because he just said everything I was going to.” Coach nods at Hutch, mutual respect and understanding in the simple gesture. “Eight AM tomorrow. Tell your wives, husbands, partners and whoever else you need to tell that it’s going to be a long one. We’re running PP and PK untilI’msatisfied, got it?” We all nod. “Hayes?”

I snap my head up. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Meet me in my office whenever you’re done.”

I swallow down the bile that’s trying to work its way free. “Yes, Coach.”

He leaves without another word, and the room is unusually quiet as we all strip off our gear and hit the showers. I don’t rush through my post-game routine, but I don’t dawdle either, knowing Coach wants to talk to me. I have no doubt it’s about the piss-poor excuse of a game I just played.

Fuck, it’s only the second game of the season and I’m already being called into the office. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted this year.

“Think a few of us are going to hit up Top Shelf. Want us to save you a seat?” Fox asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. Gotta get home to the kid.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think I’m ever going to get used to hearing that.”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying it.

When there are just a few stragglers left, I make my way to Coach Smith’s office. I figure if he’s going to yell at me, might as well have as minimal an audience as I can get.

“Hayes,” he says as I step through the doorway. “Have a seat.”

He tosses his pen onto his desk, sitting back in his chair as I take the one opposite him. He runs a hand through his black and gray beard before placing it over his stomach, interlocking it with the other. The position screams relaxed, but it doesn’t make my shoulders any less tense. He notices.

“You can relax. I’m not here to chew you out for those penalties you took.”

My shoulders sink just an inch.

“We all have shit games. It happens. Of course, if this becomes a pattern like it was back in North Carolina, then we have a problem.”

He levels me with those all-knowing brown eyes of his.

I shake my head. “No pattern, Coach.”

“Good.” He nods. “Now, how are things at home? How’s it going with your niece? She adjusting okay?”

I smile just thinking of her. She was asking so many questions before I left.

“Why are you wearing funeral clothes?”

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