Page 69 of Penalty Box

I wasn’t anywhere close to fine.

Grayson was off without me. I could see it right away.

He missed two clean setups in the first period alone, both times looking for a pass that never came. Without me to cycle back on the right, he kept getting trapped along the boards, forcing turnovers.

“His timing’s off tonight,” my dad said, taking the words right out of my mouth.

Cass and I shared a look. She tried to reassure me with a squeeze to my shoulder, but I shrugged her off and sat forward, knees on elbows. I didn’t need comforting. This was the worst possible scenario this close to playoffs.

The Surge were down by two before the second intermission.

Hallie let out a low whistle. “Yikes. Grayson looks like someone swapped his stick for a pool noodle.”

“Should’ve scratched the game,” Dad said. “No legs left.”

Cass said nothing. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes sharp on the screen. That is,when they weren’t glancing in my direction every few minutes to gauge my reaction.

The camera cut to the bench, right where I should’ve been. Just an empty space. The commentators didn’t seem to run out of things to say about that.

My hands balled into fists.

“Why do they keep cutting to the bench like that?” Hallie asked. “It’s weird. You would’ve been there if you could. They keep saying you’re absent, but never once mentioned Coach Landry. He’s the reason you’re not there.”

The look Cass gave me said everything: I should’ve been out there tonight.

Even though she’d told me there’d be other games, and this was more important. She wasn’t wrong. But sitting here, watching my team fall apart while I was miles away and couldn’t help… It felt like watching my own heartbeat stutter on a screen I couldn’t reach.

Grayson flubbed another shot in the third. Wide open. He slammed his stick against the glass and cursed loud enough that even the home mics picked it up.

“Dude needs a juice box and a hug,” Hallie quipped.

Dad stood up and walked to the kitchen as if he’d seen enough. “He needs your brother,” he muttered on his way out.

“It’s just one game,” Cass said, shifting beside me on the couch. “One loss won’t change much.”

I knew she meant well, but all I could think about was how I’d let them down.

My suspicions were confirmed back at the arena the next day. I got in early before practice, and went to get my stuff from my locker. I saw it when I reached for my hoodie.

A note. Folded once.

You were missed. Hope it was worth it.

No signature. No explanation. Just enough to twist something in my gut.

21

Cass

My dad didn’t so much as look at me. Not once. Not when I passed him on the loading dock, or when I crossed in front of his office with the busted skate sharpener part I was hauling to storage. I’d even waved that time. But he just turned his back and went on talking to one of the assistant coaches like I wasn’t there.

I didn’t need a memo. I was being iced out.

The air in the arena was tighter than usual, even for a post-loss vibe. Everyone felt it. Guys stalking through the hallways like they wanted to hit something. Equipment slamming harder into bins. Raised voices in the locker room. Frank, who usually had a smart ass comment for everything, barely looked up when I passed him by the vending machines.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Carter said when I went fishing for information. “The new policy we all had to sign?”

Reinforcement of Conduct Guidelines. That’s what he was talking about. All staff. All departments.