Page 34 of Penalty Zone

Gray’s walking the length of the bench, checking in with all the players, asking about hits and aches and pains. He crouches next to Mason. “How are the stretches working out? Is the pain the same, more, or less?” He assesses Mason.

“A little less.”

“Perfect.” He slaps Mace’s knee and moves on, tending to the players as if he’s solely responsible for their well-being.

The game ends, and our fans’ cheers are deafening. Beating Boston is a cause for a citywide celebration. Mason gets up to meet Caleb on the ice. He jumps into Mason’s arms, and they twirl around. It fills my heart that they have each other and can experience the NHL together.

Caleb showers quickly and takes his seat at the table in the press room. Mason stands next to me, and I can’t help my smile.

“Don’t look so happy. You’re not forgiven yet.” He bumps his shoulder with mine, and his words are light.

I hold up my hands, palms facing him. “I’m happy you chose to stand here and talk to me.” It’s so much more than that.

“You’ve helped him.” Mason nods to Caleb, who’s joking with the media.

“I haven’t done much. He deserves all the credit,” I say truthfully.

“It’s more than hockey. He’s…” He pauses. “High-strung, and you’ve been a calming influence. That makes his life better.”

I turn sideways to face Mason. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you. You support each other, and there’s no competition, which can be rare in pro sports.”

“I don’t think I would’ve kept playing if it weren’t for him,” he admits.

It takes longer than it should to form a proper response because I know I’m the reason he would’ve quit. “Hockey and the Enforcers would miss you if you’d stopped playing, eh.”

He nods with a sheepish look and ducks his head.

“I’m so proud of you,” I declare, knowing I should say it more often.

Caleb charms the room with his cheeky answers, wide green eyes, and infectious grin.

When he stands at the end, he spots me and comes directly to where I’m waiting near the doorway.

“Excellent interview.” I reach out to shake his hand and pull him in for a buddy hug. His amber scent engulfs me, and I push away before I tug him closer. To anyone watching, we’re just a coach and player congratulating each other after a game. Because that’s what we are. The only thing we’ll ever be.

“Let’s talk.” I propel him forward with a hand on his back. I prepare to explain all the reasons we can’t kiss again so he’ll understand. The one thing we have in common is that we care about Mason. He won’t want to hurt him, and we can come to an agreement from there.

“Uh-oh. That’s ominous,” he mutters.

I laugh and lead him to an empty room. “About the other day at practice…”

He backs away, turning whiter than normal. “Nope. Not talking about it. You said sorry and it was a mistake and we don’t ever need to speak of it. We can pretend I didn’t attack your lips and act like it never happened.”

“You didn’t attack my lips.” I’m confused, since I obviously initiated the kiss.

“See”—he points at me—“now you’re getting it.” He closes his mouth and mimes locking it with a key. “Never speak of it again.”

I’m about to argue, which is stupid because he’s essentially giving me exactly what I want. I’m acting like a great kiss means a commitment. As far as I can tell, Caleb has no interest in a relationship.

But deep in my gut, I’m disappointed.

“What are you guys doing in here?” Mason stands in the open door.

“Goalie stuff.” Caleb waves his hand.

“Hurry up. You’re the one who wants to go out and celebrate.” Mason beckons him.

“Heck ya. Let’s do it.” Caleb races out, leaving me alone and stunned.

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