Page 18 of Penalty Zone

Caleb turns to face me with his eyebrows scrunched. He shrugs, and that makes it worse because this man has such low expectations for how he’s treated.

“I hope we can start over. They didn’t bring me in because you’re not performing well.” I tell him part of the truth.

He cocks his head in disbelief but doesn’t call me out. “There’s always more to learn and improve, so I’m open to that.”

“And you don’t want to be traded?” I ask, and watch his expression go through the process of understanding why I would ask.

“I want to play for a team that has faith in me.” His voice is strong, but the admission exposes his insecurity.

The one thing I won’t do is lie to him. “My goal is to help you succeed.” It’s what Mason wants, but beyond that, Benz draws me in when I should back away. “The other day was my fault. I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and I handled it badly.” I wrongly got caught up in his lust.

I take a step toward him with his best interest in mind, professionally. “Let me help you be the best goalie. In my experience, adding structure to your personal life, such as a nutrition plan, mealtimes, and set bedtimes can increase mental health and overall success.” It’s less a decision, more of a compulsion to be part of his exemplary career.

“I’m willing to give it a try.” He swallows and fidgets.

“Next practice, we’ll work out a schedule, and you can text me for accountability.” It’s best if I ignore my attraction and his sweet responsiveness.

Except, no matter how many times I tell myself Caleb is off-limits, I can’t stop wanting him.

“Consider this your bed check,” I say, unsure if I’m crossing a line.

“I’m into the personal treatment.”

An image flashes through my mind of going to his room and showing him how personal I can get.

Chapter 9

Leo

The game is in the second period by the time I arrive. I flew from Montreal to meet the team in Minnesota. The schedule is brutal, but I’m making it work.

The score is tied at one, and the teams are playing with urgency, as if it’s the final seconds of the game. Everyone is giving it their all.

Coach nods, and I maneuver down the bench, closer to Benz. He’s pumping up the third line as they prepare to take their shift. Benz has taken on a leadership role for the team’s morale, and I would bet he’s unaware. It’s difficult not to stare at the way his smile and humor inspire everyone.

“How are they doing?” I ask Caleb.

“They’re playing better than the score says. We got this.” He cheers for a great defensive play, then faces me. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Since I don’t have a response, I focus on helping. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m all good.” He hip-checks me to get by, and my body comes alive. To prevent my attraction from becoming public, I turn to the game.

The first line tumbles over the wall onto the bench, and Benz is there with the support staff, making sure they have water and fist-bumping them. Then he turns his attention to the second line and points out weaknesses in Minnesota’s defense that they can take advantage of.

Once Mason’s over the wall, my eyes track his every move. He’s fast, and his passes are crisp, on the mark. King’s shot is deflected, and Mace can’t get his stick on it before the defender scoops it up and clears it.

The second period ends in a tie, and the team needs the break.

During the intermission, I wonder what my purpose is here. Ari doesn’t expect me to fly from my games in Montreal to the Enforcers’ games, but I still booked a flight knowing I’d miss half the game.

Being here makes no sense unless I acknowledge the part of me I locked away. And I won’t, since it wants Caleb.

The team is rejuvenated for the third period. Drake wins the face-off and races down the ice, passing back and forth to Lucky and Ace. Their speed has taken the defense off guard, and Ace goes top shelf, scoring over the goalie’s shoulder.

Minnesota scores in the next minute, tying the game again. It’s a strange feeling to not be in control of the outcome. This isn’t my team, but I have the same desire for them to win for my son. And for Caleb, who paces, giving praise and checking on his guys.

Mason scores but is slow to get up. I hold my breath, watching his leg as he skates to the bench.

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