Page 11 of The Penalty

I’m itching for it by the time I get on the ice.

Totally single minded as I handle the puck waiting for it. I don’t see anything else. Finally, I get my opportunity. My teammate takes a shot and I crash the goal, swiping to get a piece of the puck. Teddy tries to get his skate and stick in front of it, as we all scrum for the puck, but it’s moving too fast and thereare too many of us fighting over it. I finally make contact with it, shoving the puck just over the goal line.

The goal horn sounds, and I lift my hands in the air.

Teddy scowls and I skate backward, meeting his eyes. I can’t help it. It feels good. I want to do it again. I’m almost drunk off the high of it. It’s terrible, but I can’t help it.

The next time I’m on the ice, I keep waiting for an opportunity to get in his face. It doesn’t come. I can’t get close enough to him with the puck. Their defense is too good.

Finally, I get my chance. He comes out of the goal for the puck and instead of getting back on defense, I go for it. I don’t expect him to be so fast for a guy his size. We slam into each other. Before we can even get back on our skates, his team comes at me. Roughing the goalie is considered a grievous sin in hockey.

The gloves are coming off and the refs are trying to get between us, but I’m in it. If these motherfuckers want to go for something that was a fucking accident, let’s fucking go. I toss my gloves and swing at their winger, but their center decks me with a really fucking cheap shot in the middle of my punch. I connect, but not as hard as I would have had I not been hit. I turn on their center, swinging, but he ducks out of the way like a cunt, backing up. He’s playing like he wasn’t part of the fight at all.

Whatever.

I return my focus to their winger, not even getting a hit in before Teddy wraps both arms around him, dragging him away.

“It was an accident,” Teddy yells as his teammate fights to be put back down.

Why is he defending me, and why is he getting in the middle of our fight?

Now I’m pissed.

“What the fuck, bro? You can’t come in here like a yeti playing ice queen,” I yell.

Teddy’s head whips around and he looks at me before the refs get between us again, taking us to the penalty box.

We win the game by one, and I don’t even care that I didn’t score the winning goal. It felt good to score on Teddy after all the awkwardness. I’m ready to go have a few beers with my teammates but when I leave the locker room Teddy accosts me.

“What the fuck was that?” Teddy asks getting in my face.

“What?”

“Your shit!” He doesn’t back off.

“The scrum?” I ask, confused. He can’t be talking about the game, right?

“I’m not talking about the game!”

“Then maybe you should clue me in?”

He jabs a finger into my chest. “I heard what you said.”

I think back, trying to figure out what he could be talking about. Had I said anything after the goal? “What did I say?”

“I’m not going to say it.”

“I have no idea what you think I said.” I’m really at a loss.

“The y-word.”

“Do you mean yeti?”

“Don’t say it again.”

“Yeti isn’t a slur?” I can’t tell if he’s serious.

“Stop saying it!”

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