Page 94 of Penalty Box
There was no formal apology, but the truce was unmistakable. It was enough.
Tucker took a particularly nasty hit that rippled through the crowd with a pained groan. My dad nudged me with his elbow.
“Better get an ice pack ready,” he said.
I looked at him, the only time it felt worth it to take my eyes off the game. “I’m not the medic.”
“Well, tell the medic to get it then,” he said, but chuckled under his breath. “If you’re gonna sit in here, you might as well make yourself useful.”
It was a small step in the right direction, but it was all I needed.
The puck dropped into the zone, and Mason hustled for control. Seconds later, he drew in two defenders right before executing a precision pass to Grayson with a deadly flick of his wrists. The captain wasted no time, and buried it top shelf. Game. First of the series against Seattle Kraken, and the Surge had just set one hell of a standard.
They didn’t stop skating, choosing to launch into a pile-on celebration by the glass. Mason didn’t join right away. He looked back at me again, breath heaving, cheeks flushed red beneath his helmet.
This one was for me.
“That pass,” my dad said, letting out a low whistle. “That damn pass.”
“I know,” I said, barely able to hear myself over the explosive arena. “Had me holding my breath until the last possible second.”
The replay lit up the Jumbotron in slow motion, looking almost poetic against the sheer mania unfolding around us. Mydad stared up at it, grinning from ear to ear. The camera panned to the team still celebrating on the ice. Players hammered the glass with their gloves, waved to the fans, chucked sticks and towels up to the crowd. It felt like the whole place was on its feet. Like we’d all scored that winning goal.
I’d followed my dad through his hockey career, lived and breathed the game. But this was the first time I didn’t feel stuck on the outside looking in.
“He’s different since you came around,” he said.
It made my heart stutter to look at him, but for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. “So am I.”
We rode the high until early hours, which was just as well because Game 2 was a whole other story.
I found Mason in the tunnel after, still in partial gear and a foul mood after the loss.
“Let me see.” I tilted his head toward the harsh lighting and inspected the cut just above his eyebrow. “No blood, but it looks… fresh.”
“They were more aggressive tonight,” he said, twisting his face away from my fingers. “Nothing we can’t handle, but a sign of what the rest of this series is going to look like.”
“Like you said, it’s nothing you guys can’t handle.” I pushed up on my toes and pressed my lips to his. We were alone, so it was safe to do.
Not that we weren’t public about our relationship, but we were new enough to want the bubble to last just a little longer.
“How do you always taste so good?” He leaned his forehead against mine, breath playing warm on my lips.
My response was to kiss him again, slower this time. Drinking him in until the noise of the team leaving the locker room broke us apart.
Game 3 was on the road in Seattle, and Josie and I decided to watch it at the local bar, both of us nursing frozen margaritas while a full house screamed at the TVs. Mason scored first—a backhander off a rebound that looked effortless and mean.
“He’s insane,” she said, zooming in on the screen with her phone. “You know you’re trending right now?”
I gave her a side-eye. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly. People love a mystery.” She parted with her phone only long enough to finish the last of her drink. “It drives them crazy that you’re not chronically online like me.”
Warmth crept up my neck, but I smiled through it. Whatever this thing with Mason was turning into, it felt good. Even better that it didn’t need a spotlight to mean something.
But we couldn’t ignore that the spotlight existed, and as the series heated up, Mason and I kept our public appearances to a minimum.
“You’re not doing this just for me, are you?” I asked.
