Page 33 of Penalty Box

Coach ripped off his headset. “Hunter! Get your pads. You’re in. PK unit, move!”

We were scrambling. Two minutes left in the third. Predators pressing. Hunter made a save he’d write poetry about, then another, sprawling across the crease.

Then came the rebound.

The Predators capitalized, the puck slipping past him glove-side before he could reset.

The goal horn sounded. We were tied.

I sat on the bench, breathing hard, my ribs protesting every time I moved. Cass’ face flashed in my head, and I was suddenly happy she couldn’t make the game. She was better off studying than witnessing this fuck up.

Coach turned to look at me, face red, thirty seconds left. “You want this, Calder?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Then go get it.”

My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the whistle. We lined up at center ice, and Grayson won the faceoff clean. He chipped it to Tucker, who passed it back to him.

And our captain was off, zigzagging through two defenders before flipping it across to me. I caught it, my vision narrowing through the pain to find a single point behind the goalie’s shoulder.

That was about all the thought I put into it.

The puck sang off my blade, bar-down, past the goalie’s blocker and into the net. Horn.

The stadium erupted in glorious pandemonium.

Grayson tackled me at the waist, Tucker shouted something I didn’t catch over the roar of the crowd, and I gave a howling laugh as the rest of the team descended on me.

*

The locker room had emptied out hours ago. The press was long gone, and the ice was freshly cut, glowing under the lights like a frozen altar. I should’ve been home, but I wasn’t ready to come down from it yet.

I’d scored the game-winner, but instead of feeling like a king, I felt like a balloon still floating just after the helium’s gone. Sagging from the inside out.

My shoulder burned like hell. Every breath stabbed between my ribs. But I still laced up.

A few minutes into drills, I heard the scrape of skates behind me.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Cass said.

She looked worn out from studying, but still breathtaking. Her dark leggings pulled my attention to her calves, the delicious curve of her thighs as they snuck up under her dress. It wasn’t every day I saw her in one of those. My pulse spiked.

“Miss me too much?” I tugged the edge of her beanie over her eyes.

She laughed and nudged it back up, settling easily into the lazy hold I had around her waist. Like we’d done this dance a thousand times. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes dancing.

“Missed my Zamboni,” she said. “It was my night off, but I wanted to make sure she was put to bed alright.”

“You don’t fool me. I know a stalker when I see one.”

She pushed up on the toes of her skates, and gave me a quick kiss. Her lips were surprisingly warm.

Is that what we’re doing? Still playing this game in spite of all the roadblocks?

“You played like a beast tonight.” Her voice was a breathy caress against my mouth.

“What happened to cramming?” I asked, poking her in the side until she wriggled away. But then I quickly pulled her back into my arms again.