Page 9 of Penalty Zone

“You’re hesitating,” Leo says.

No shit. “You’re too loud,” I blurt out.

Leo’s eyes narrow. “This isn’t about me; you’re indecisive.”

The whistle blows, and my face is an inferno, a five-alarm fire. Dang it. I’ve never in my life talked back. I’m the first one to agree with coaches and try to smooth out arguments.

The scrimmage restarts and honestly, if I stood immobile in the goal with my arms and legs wide, I would probably save more.

“He’s feigning right, but statistically he shoots on your left side. I bet the puck goes high,” Leo says, but a defender pokes the puck, and it’s a scramble. “Lucky’s going to shoot… Watch the pass… Your defender saved your ass there. Eyes on the puck. Watch the wings. See where everyone’s going. Take note of possible threats.”

Not only do I have my own brain running every possible scenario, I have Leo, who is not in sync with my thoughts, distracting me. It’s like trying to play two games at once.

King strikes from the outside, and it sails over my shoulder into the goal. I had plenty of time for a save, but my brain is overloaded.

My instincts have vanished. I might not dissect the plays the way Leo does, but my natural instincts guide me, and today they’re in the vault.

“What you should have done there…” Leo drones on, but I stop listening.

“Shh,” I hiss as much to myself as him.

This will get me over my crush. To see him as a fallible human, not a legend or a gorgeous naked man. That image has to be permanently scrubbed from my brain.

I compartmentalize my thoughts and tune out his voice.

My frustration fuels my focus, and by the time Coach blows the whistle to end the scrimmage, I’m back to my old self.

“See, once you started taking my direction, you played much better,” Leo hollers at my back as I skate away. “Benz.” Leo’s on the ice now. “I have some notes for you.”

Coach shoos me toward Leo, and I have no choice but to listen. My gut churns, and it’s the same feeling I had when I got sent to the principal’s office in school. I had a reputation as a talkerand frequently got in trouble. Once they blamed me on a day I wasn’t in school, and I got detention for not showing up at the principal’s office. My mom was furious.

I’m experiencing the same powerless shame that no matter what I do, it’s wrong.

Leo spouts off about angles and trajectories, and I swear the man is giving me a combined geometry and physics lesson. That isn’t how I play. I’ll never be that player.

If that’s what the Enforcers want, I might as well ask for a trade. I’m confused because they seemed happy with my performance when Liska was out last season. ESPN talked about my rookie year like I was a rock star. Not that I should listen to the hype, good or bad, but suddenly I’m so terrible I require a personal coach to tear apart every aspect of my game.

As if Leo can reteach me how to be a goalie in between his commentary gigs.

“Benz, are you listening?” Leo snaps.

I nod, but I’m very clearly and purposefully not listening. If I let his black energy in my head, it will infect me. My game will be tainted, and I’ll be a catastrophe.

There’s no backup plan for hockey. If he fucks up my game, I don’t have enough money saved. I’ll have to go back to Vermont and live with my parents. That’s unacceptable.

“Your focus is terrible. Have you considered medication?” Leo asks.

And that does it. My last shred of self-confidence breaks. It doesn’t matter that I blocked out his voice to focus onmystrengths as a pro goalie. I’m the kid who has something wrong with him. I’m the kid the teachers say is a disruption. I’m the outsider. I’m broken.

“Fuck off,” I yell so loud practice stops and everyone turns to stare.

There’s no coming back from this. My career is over. I skate toward the locker room, putting a nail in my coffin. I throw double middle fingers in the air at Leo.

Mr. Dimon can decide my fate because I’m not putting up with this treatment. Part of my brain knows I have to rein in my impulses. That I’m making the situation worse.

If I was smart, I’d find a quiet place to center myself and meditate until I calm down.

My smarts left the building and aren’t coming back.

---