Page 21 of Penalty Box
“You’re a good player, and you’ve been doing well,” he started, keeping his voice low enough so only I could hear. “Don’t let anything distract you from your game. Coach is always going on about it, so I know it probably sounds like repetitive bullshit by now. But it isn’t. Bullshit, I mean. You’re skating like you belong on the top line. Play like it.”
His words landed with a weight that couldn’t be shaken off.
“Thanks, Grayson. I will.” And I meant it.
It wasn’t every day my captain acknowledged my ability, let alone gave me advice about it. Hell, I could count on one hand how many times he complimented me when we were living together during my rookie season.
Coach made it to the locker room, barked a command, and we started lining up in the tunnel. The bass of the warm-up music was already vibrating through the walls. I flexed my fingers inside my gloves, adrenaline starting to thrum in my chest.
“Wait!” Josie pushed through the crowd, phone in hand. “Just a quick one before you boys go on.”
Grayson groaned as though he didn’t see it coming. We all knew Josie couldn't resist a viral moment, though. And after everything we’d gone through last season, she felt like part of the team.
“You too, Mason,” she said, waving me over to where she’d cornered our captain. “I want you in this one too.”
Coach scowled as he walked to the front of our line, but let her have her moment. The silent warning worked to rush her along, though, and Josie hurriedly gave us our instructions.
“Either side of me, like that.” She nestled between Grayson and me, phone held up to get all three of us in frame. “Cross your sticks behind me, like swords, and look menacing.” We did as we were told, and Josie hit record: “Los Angeles, you’re about to feel the Surge! Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
We smacked our sticks together, and growled into her phone before she ended it. Josie turned and kissed Grayson quick, sweet and clean.
“Good luck out there.”
The squeeze on my chest hit out of nowhere. Like a sideline tackle that went unchecked, and I looked away, almost embarrassed for having watched. She was his girlfriend. She was allowed to wish him luck before the game.
We started down the hall, the guys hyping each other up, and me wondering what it would feel like to have what Grayson did.
Warmups should’ve been routine, just a blur of pucks, blades, and laser focus. But the second we skated out and the music blared through the speakers—I Love Rock ‘n Roll—I felt it like a jab to the ribs. I whipped my head toward the sound booth, scanning for the culprit, and sure enough…
Cass.
She stood at her seat, that smug little smile playing on her mouth like she’d already won the Stanley. My whole chest lit up, and before I could stop myself, I was grinning like a moron.
“The poem worked. I told you!” Hunter skated by while giving me the most ridiculous heart eyes.
“I never texted her,” I replied.
“She could sense my charm through the phone!” he shot back.
I shook my head and laughed, but the adrenaline was already flooding in, and mixing with something else entirely. Surprise that she flew out to an away game; excitement that she’d get to see me play; and wanting to take her some place nice to celebrate the win after.
She didn’t say she was coming. How was she here?
And why the hell did seeing her make me want to play the shit out of this game?
*
The crowd roared as the puck dropped, and Los Angeles came out like they were shot from a cannon. They were fast, mean, and absolutely relentless. Their top line wasn’t just aggressive, they were strategic. No wasted motion. No mercy.
But I had fire in my blood, and Cass watching from up in the stands only threw fuel on it.
I tore down the wing in the first, burning past their left D like he was skating through molasses. Shawn caught my pass and swung it right back. Clean, hard, right on my tape. I faked glove side, dropped my shoulder, and roofed it over their goalie’s blocker.
Goal horn.
My head was still catching up with the early goal when my team slammed me into the glass, whooping, helmets knocking. I looked up and found her again. She gave me a polite little golf clap. Sarcastic. But proud, I could tell. Maybe. I wasn’t sure. But fuck it. She’d seen what I had wanted her to.
Second period was chaos. Hits rained down like hailstones. Grayson shouted orders from the top line. I’d been riding thathigh from the goal for the last ten minutes and didn’t realize I was about half a beat late on a defensive rotation.
