Page 12 of Delayed Penalty

The guy looks down at his foam finger, his eyes narrowed as he pulls the dart out. “What do you two even know about hockey? My guess is it’s about as much as you know about throwing darts. We’ve got a pretty boy and a dumb girl,” he says, throwing the dart down at my feet in disgust, unable to be bothered with handing it to me directly.

Eyebrows raised, I move to lean down and pick it up.

“Don’t you dare,” Harris growls, the joyous laughter I just heard from him a moment ago is nowhere to be found, replaced by pure rage, so potent I can taste it on my tongue, but I listen, freezing in place.

I move to turn toward him but he’s already stepping in front of me moving in between the big dummy and me who is now starting to look uncomfortable as his buddies just look on. But he doesn’t take the hint and smarten up, instead he just steps toward Harris.

How this “hockey fan” in New York City doesn’t know who Harris Danielson is—the best defensemen in New York, if not the entire damn country—is beyond me. I’d be willing to guess he’s not all that big of a hockey fan and is hoping to sound big and bad and not get called out on his shit.

Well, at least his friends are smart. Let this dumbass handle his own problems.

“Oh, pretty boy wants to play?” he says, turning to laugh toward his friends, cracking his knuckles like this is some cheesyaction movie before stupidly he decides to throw the first punch, clipping Harris’s lip and chin in a decent but sloppy punch.

Harris doesn’t move, though, he stands there eerily still.

“Harris, he’s not worth—” I start to move around him but am cut off when the guy starts talking again, Harris’s hand reaching behind him, finding my hip and holding me still.

“Oh, the girl’s talking again. I thought she realized it was better if she just stopped talking and let the men handle everything. Get your bitch in check.”

Unable to control myself, I lean into Harris, my body pressed against him to get a better view of the guy. “You know, for being a dumb girl who doesn’t know anything about the NHL… at least I know better than to antagonize the Cyclones best defensemen. But what do I know, I’m just a girl,” I say, winking dramatically as I watch his friends all stare, wide eyed, and excited when they realize who’s here. No one is able to react, though, because before they can, Harris has taken another step forward and has thrown a left hook right into his big fat nose.

The guy steps back, blood immediately spilling from his nose, painting his clothes crimson as we all just watch.

“What the fuck, dude,” he spits out as his friends sit there with their phones out.

“The next time you speak to a woman, I hope you have the common sense to show respect. But if your momma didn’t raise you right, we can have this conversation as many times as we need to. Now, pick up the dart and hand it to her correctly this time. And apologize, because unlike you, my girl actually knows what she’s talking about when it comes to hockey.”

His eyes widen and I think he’s going to fight Harris again, but he surprises all of us when he steps forward, napkins now at his nose as he leans down and picks up the dart and hands it to me. “Sorry,” he grunts, and without a second look he’s gone, paid and out the door faster than they came.

But I’m not actually paying attention to any of that… I’m fixated on the fact that he just called me his girl… words I didn’t think I’d ever hear again. If I’m being honest, I also didn’t think I’d ever even want to hear those words again. But now that I have, I want to hear them again and again and again.

I’d also like it to be true.

The weight of my engagement ring sits heavy on my finger as I still stand just a few steps behind Harris, whose shoulders are shaking, the adrenaline rushing through his body from the altercation settling in.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist in a hug, his whole body tensing for only a moment before his hands find mine and just hold me. We stand longer than what would probably be deemed appropriate for two friends to embrace… especially two friends who aren’t actually friends and are supposed to hate each other, but I don’t care. Plus, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also just nice to be close to him… even if only for a minute, and goddamn it didn’t disappoint. He smells like citrus and cinnamon, and some sort of woodsy cologne all intertwined in a way that’s just so perfectly him.

“Are you okay?” I ask after a few moments, the busyness of the bar still happening all around us.

“No… yes… I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I’m sorry I fucked up your birthday.”

His hands drop from mine, but I don’t let go of him. In fact, I squeeze him tighter.

Why? I can’t tell you, but at this moment in time, I’m not exactly sure I have a choice. At least, it doesn’t feel that way with the way my body responds to him.

“Why do you think that?”

“I know you hate fighting, specifically when it’s me,” Harris says quietly, like he’s ashamed.

“I hate fighting for no reason… and I hate seeing you get hurt. But there was a reason tonight, and I should thank you for standing up for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone do that for me.”

“So… I didn’t ruin anything?”

“No. In fact… you actually saved my birthday,” I say, smiling into his back.

This should feel awkward. But it’s Harris and me… we’ve never been awkward. Even our breakup wasn’t awkward… hell, we just never talked again which, I’m pretty sure, was worse. I definitely got in one last parting shot over the phone I’m not exactly proud of… but I’ve grown and I’m not that petty girl anymore.

“We’re going to talk about your birthday and your lack of support, but not tonight. Tonight, is for fun, okay?”

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