Page 114 of The Penalty

I look up at him, tears threatening to fall. “I can’t play tomorrow.” I’ve never said those words. Not ever. Not one time in all the years I’ve been playing. The knot in my throat is as solid as a golf ball. “You can’t trust me.” Hearing the sentence out loud is so much worse than thinking it.

Coach comes around the desk and sits in the other chair, pulling it up next to me. I have his attention now. “Why can’t I trust you?”

Is he not listening? Is he losing his hearing? Brain damage from one-too-many pucks to the head? I’m two seconds awayfrom spilling my guts, and I don’t think they’ll ever fit right again.

“I’m fucking the enemy! I think I might love him!” I bury my face in my hands again with a sob. “Oh god, who even am I?!”

“Let me get this straight?—”

“Are you straight?” My words are muffled by my hands.

He stops mid-sentence and waits a second. I peek at him through my fingers, tears leaking through the empty space.

“Otherwise you can’t get anything straight,” I whisper.

He stares at me now, not blinking, and sucks in a deep breath through his nose, then lets it out with an audible sigh. “My sexuality is not in question here.”

“I’m not straight so I can’t get things straight,” I yell, past the knot threatening to choke me.

“I figured that out, thanks.” He covers his mouth with his hand for a minute before continuing. “You’re having sex with someone on another team. Am I understanding that correctly?”

I nod miserably.

“On the Gods?” he asks.

I nod again. “I’m a traitor. Well, my dick is a traitor. It’s his fault.” I use the knife hand gesture to point to my crotch. It’s a serious matter. A single finger isn’t enough emphasis.

Coach holds up a hand. “I do not need to know any more about your dick than I already do.”

“Lancelot should play tomorrow. You guys can’t trust me. If we lose, everyone will wonder if I did it on purpose.”

“Tell me something?—”

I open my mouth to tell him about breeding, but he covers my mouth.

“Let me finish.” He waits until I nod to continue. “When we played the Gods earlier, did you let them win?”

“I don’t know!” I throw my arms in the air and stand, pacing the small space. “I blocked everyone else like normal, but did Ilet Rhys score on me? Not every time, but that winning shot? Did I let him have that?”

Coach watches me from the chair as I lose my mind. “Rhys, as in Godfrey?”

I nod but keep talking. “What if the world is my guy-stir, but he’s the spec of sand that will annoy me to the point I make him a pearl? Huh? What then?”

He blinks at me, looking confused, but doesn’t say anything.

“My loyalties are fucked. Sometimes literally! And I’m not mad when that happens. It’s awesome! But now, I have to face him on the ice and how do I know? How do I know if I gave it my all?”

Coach stands and stops me with his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me. On that ice, you are loyal to the team colors you’re wearing. The Olympians. You’reourgoalie. If your boyfriend or fuck buddy or whatever he is, is a hockey player, he knows that. He knows you’re not going to let him have shit. And he wouldn’t want you to just give it to him.” He takes another breath and stands up tall. “Hockey players are competitive. And if I’m remembering correctly, Godfrey is a winger. Wingers arehungryfor the challenge?—”

“He’s hungry alright. For me!” I wail in agony. Why does my body betray me like this?

Coach ignores me and keeps talking. “If you made it easy, he wouldn’t want the score.” He points his finger at my chest. “Just like you.”

“Yeah but?—”

“No buts,” he cuts me off.

I snort.

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