Page 3 of Penalty Zone

Leo

Caleb’s different from what I expected. It’s been years since I’ve seen him without hockey pads, so although he’s broad and muscular, he’s not as wide as I thought. He’s almost as tall as I am, a full-grown man, no longer a wide-eyed, eager kid.

Undeniably beautiful, his body’s honed for competition and able to withstand punishment, igniting an interest beyond professional that isn’t appropriate toward my son’s best friend. But my pants grow tight in the crotch, and I shift to hide my bulge.

I make the mistake of staring into his big green eyes. So intent on pleasing me earlier that he seemed ready to sit on the floor. The way he almost gave in to my command stirred something buried deep inside.

“Mr. Benz, let me introduce you to our new goalie consultant, Mr. Griffin.” Ari flourishes his arm as if I’m a prize the organization has acquired.

His reaction catches me off guard. His round eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, turning him from a boyish cherub into a worthy opponent.

This is the Caleb Benz the Enforcers need on the ice.

“Why don’t you dress for practice, and Coach Griffin will meet you on the ice,” Ari says to him.

Caleb’s body twitches as his head jerks in agreement, exiting the office swiftly yet clumsily.

Ari sighs, staring at the empty space left behind by an intriguing and confusing man. “Now do you have a better idea of why I’m worried? His stats are incredible, the team loves him, but sometimes”—he waves his hand—“that guy shows up, and I get nervous. My gut tells me he’s the future of the Enforcers, but I could use a second opinion. Benz’s off-ice wackiness doesn’t matter, but on the ice, I need his focus.”

Watching game tape, I didn’t understand Ari’s concern, but seeing two very different aspects of Benz’s personality makes it clearer. But it’s not everything.

“Why now? The season has started, and Liska’s healthy.” I sit with my knees wide and rest my elbows on them. Patrik Liska, the team’s starting goalie, is playing incredible hockey and has been named an All-Star more times than I can remember.

“Benz proved himself last year, and we plan to give him more ice time. He needs to play consistently all season,” he says, and I stay quiet, waiting for the real reason.

Ari stares out the window, tapping his fingers. “This stays in this room. Liska’s as good as ever…but…we were discussing investments and he said, and I quote, ‘After I retire.’ I’m unsure what he said after that because everything went hazy.” His grave gaze meets mine.

My elbows slip, and I grip my knees. “He said that?” Hockey players don’t speak the word retirement. It’s a superstition. Talking about retirement means you’re retiring.

“He did. Realistically, he has a few great years left. Is Benz mentally tough enough to carry this team, or is a trade a better option? That’s why you’re here. And to spend time with your son. Everyone wins.”

“I rented an apartment to make the commute easier.” I spent my entire career in Montreal and am loyal to their organization. The team brokered a deal for me to be the televised play-by-play announcer for their games.

But if I can help my son’s team win, I will. Mason’s extremely busy, and all my efforts to connect with him have fallen through. Now, we’ll be in the same place. Problem solved.

Caleb’s using the RapidShot and easily saves the pucks it flings at him. Since everything echoes in the empty arena, I approach quietly so I don’t disturb him.

He has immense potential, and I’ll take him to the next level. He hasn’t seen me, so it’s the perfect opportunity to watch his natural instincts, not the moves he thinks a coach wants to see.

I’m impressed with his concentration and the laser focus of his green eyes.

The pucks shoot out faster and closer together. There’s a fury in his movements that holds him back. I open the gate and walk onto the ice with my shoes.

Today, nothing has gone as planned, but that’s life in the NHL.

As soon as Caleb notices me, he misses a puck, becoming out of sync and letting in a few more.

I glide over, turning off the machine, and Caleb skates out of the goal to meet me.

“What did Mason say when you asked him about working here?” His question surprises me.

“I don’t normally ask my son’s permission when I take a job.” The arena is cold, and I fight off a shiver since I’m not dressed for the temperature.

Caleb snorts, but then his eyes widen as if he can’t believe he’s being disrespectful. There’s an undercurrent of unease and possibly anger. The man cannot hide his emotions.

“He’s fine with it. But I’m not here to talk about Mason. Let’s work on your timing, eh?” I ask.

“Fine.”

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