Page 80 of Penalty Box
“You said this isn’t folding,” she said with more sadness than anger. “But it looks exactly like that from where I’m standing.”
My throat was tight. I looked at her, how hard she was trying not to cry. How tired she was of all of it. How much I wanted to close the distance between us and take back everything I’d just said.
Instead, I took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But hockey’s all I’ve got. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Her head turned and for a second, I thought she might walk toward me and take a swing. But she didn’t.
She just nodded once, slowly, and said, “Right. So that’s the answer. Hockey’s all you want.”
“No, Cass, that’s not—” But she was already storming off.
I didn’t know how to explain it. That it wasn’t about choosing one over the other. It was about how I didn’t know how to have both. I couldn’t say that without sounding like a fucking coward.
Her boots echoed in the hallway until all I could hear was the distant sound of the rink, and the quiet hum of the lights.
“Where’s Calder?” I heard Grayson’s voice from down the hall. The guys must’ve been filing into the locker room, getting ready for the game.
I grabbed my skates and started moving. Game one. And I’d never felt less prepared for anything in my life.
The arena was on fire when we stepped onto the ice. The crowd going crazy, lights slicing through fog, the anthem still echoing in the rafters like a battle cry. My name had been called during the starting lineup and the roof almost blew off. But I barely registered it.
My skates touched down on the cold, slick surface and everything in my head went quiet.
No Cass. No breakup in the hallway.
Just the puck, the net, and stubborn pride building in my chest like pressure in a sealed pipe.
“This is why we play,” Grayson said as we skated into position for the opening face-off. He clapped a glove on my shoulder.“You focused?”
I nodded once.
He knew the look on my face. We all had it. That wired silence that meant something was boiling underneath. I was top linetonight, finishing power plays, but not even that call could get me amped.
Drop.
The puck slammed onto the ice and I exploded forward like something unspooled. I didn’t think, didn’t breathe. Just skated.
The Vancouver Canucks came in hard. They were chippy and aggressive, with something to prove. Those teams were always the toughest to subdue. Tough, but not impossible.
Their winger clipped my shoulder first shift in, and I got a warning for it. Second shift, I returned the favor with a puck strip so clean it made the boards rattle.
I carried it up ice, cutting between two defenders. My stick moved on instinct. One-two-deke. The goalie moved right, and I waited a beat longer before roofing it left.
Goal.
Chaos erupted at the arena. Sirens, horns, and a storm of camera flashes.
“Take a bow, you beautiful thing,” Tucker called out. He gestured for me to take a lap close to the row of news cameras focused on the game, and I did as I was told.
Back on the bench, fists thudded against my back and helmet. Coach didn’t so much as look my way, though. There was something so engrossing on his clipboard that he couldn’t. That was how I knew he was impressed.
Grayson leaned in. “You gonna pass any of those tonight, Calder, or do it all yourself?”
I almost smiled. Almost.
And when I made it back on the ice, I didn’t pass. The puck was the last of my anchors, tethered to me for dear life.
