Page 87 of Penalty Box
“I made the wrong call, okay?” I snapped. “I thought that if I just focused on the game, everything would fall into place. That I could turn the noise down. Win something. Be someone.”
“Guess that’s working out great for you, huh?”
“I never called you a mistake,” I said, desperate to make her understand.
“You didn’t have to spell it out.” She flung her hands up. “You made it clear enough. I was the thing getting in the way of your perfect game. Hockey’s the dream, the priority. Not the woman who believed in you when no one else did.”
“Stop. Just… stop.” My voice cracked, and I hated how small it sounded. “You think this is what I wanted?”
“You made a choice.”
“Your dad made it for me!” All the anger and frustration that had been simmering just beneath the surface erupted, and I swept the cup of coffee from the table. It went crashing to the floor in a shower of steaming brew and shattered ceramic.
“Feel better?” Cass asked dryly.
I didn’t. I couldn’t look at her, so I just sank back into the couch.
“While you’re cleaning that up, I suggest you think about how this was your choice, Mason. You backed down. You let him have his way. You decided you have no control.”
I lurched to my feet, still unsteady but held up by anger. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? A career built on compromise? A man who can’t decide if he wants me or justwantsto want me?”
“From a man who couldn’t give you what you deserved, which is everything.” My shoulders sagged, defeated. “The timing of it… It was just off. You’d have to put up with hours without me. Days, sometimes. I didn’t want to feel guilty about putting hockey above you. Or putting you above hockey.”
“So you chickened out.” Cass was relentless in making me see her point of view. “You decided to get rid of the choice altogether. But Mason, make no mistake, that was a choice too. And just so we’re clear, it wasn’t yours to make. You don’t decide what I deserve, or want.”
She sat there for a long time, breathing hard, like she couldn’t decide if she was going to yell again or throw something. Instead, she got up and walked to the window, talking with her back to me.
“You think you were doing something noble,” she said. Her voice was softer now, tired. “But all you did was take away my choice. I was choosing you, and you made it mean nothing.”
That cut deeper than any bullshit call from Coach McAvoy. I stared at her reflection in the glass, thinking how fragile she looked. But strong at the same time.
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
She didn’t turn around.
“I don’t know how to be with youandbe the man they want me to be.”
Cass turned slowly, her eyes misted over. “Mason, if you’re ready to fight for something, then I’m with you all the way.”
All the fight drained out of me. Well, the misdirected fight, anyway. It was replaced by something else. Something like hope.
It was enough to carry out the clean-up operation, under her watchful eye. She was still a little mad at me, but managed to pass comments about my handiwork while I was at it. When I took the last of the rags through to the kitchen, I heard her TV go on. The game.
The roar of the crowd bled through the tinny speakers as I made my way into the living room again. It was already over. The Surge had won.
Without me.
The broadcast cut to the locker room where Grayson was front and center, fist raised in triumph. Cass didn’t say anything, but I felt the weight of it between us. They didn’t need me tonight. But suddenly, I needed her more than ever.
And that scared me way more than being benched.
27
Cass
My textbooks were getting dog-eared from how often I used them. Weld joint tolerances, hydraulic circuit design, predictive maintenance schedules… all the stuff that used to blur together was finally making sense. The more time I spent with machines instead of people, the better I seemed to get. Grades going up was an obvious result, but a hidden benefit was less time at the arena. Less chance of running into my dad or Mason.
