Page 83 of Penalty Box

Hunter grinned, one shoulder propped against the doorframe. His hands were deep in the pockets of his Surge hoodie.

“If you have to ask, then I’d have to assume you’ve never watched me play,” he said, with all the swagger of a backwards baseball cap. “Or is it that you’ve seen the games, but only had eyes for another player?”

Wow. He wasted exactly no time at all.

“What do you want, Hunter?”

He sauntered inside, sweeping the space with a curious gaze that was somehow also bored. “Nice setup. I thought I’d missed you. Didn’t your shift end an hour ago?”

“That’s Wednesdays,” I replied. “Although I will be working late tonight. Need something?”

He picked up a broken gear set, turned it over in his hand, then put it back down again. “Bagging the overtime, huh?”

“The way you say that lets me know you have no idea how shitty the pay is,” I said with a light laugh. It was unforced, and all the more surprising for it. “Anyway, busy hands keep me out of trouble, and it sure beats sitting at home thinking about…”

I trailed off, returning to the workbench. I didn’t want to talk about Mason. Or think about him, for that matter.

Hunter, of course, had other ideas.

He rummaged through a crate of outcast nuts and bolts, and without looking up, said, “He’s a wreck, you know.”

“Don’t,” I warned.

“I’m not trying to stir up anything,” he said, inspecting a rusted bolt a little too closely. “Just figured someone should tell you.”

My hand stilled on the pipe. “Mason Calder is none of my business.”

“He’s down bad.” He met my eyes, all joking gone. “The guy’s doing pressers like a robot and winning games like a man possessed. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“You’re mad that he’s winning?”

Hunter shook his head. “I’m worried that hethinkshe’s winning.”

“Did your mother never teach you not to circle the point of your story? Some of us are working here.”

“Look, on paper, he’s killing it,” Hunter said, coming over to the workbench. “But off the ice? He’s a ghost.”

“Luckily for your type, people only care about the win on the ice.” I didn’t mean to come off that harsh, but there was no avoiding the edge in my voice.

What was he expecting from me? To wave a magic wand and right all the wrongs in Hockey World?

He pursed his lips and stared at me.

Sighing, I asked, “Why are you really here, Hunter?”

“Mason thinks he’s doing the right thing,” he said, and for the first time since he walked in, it looked like he was dead serious.“He thinks it’s helping his game, but it’s the thing that’ll end up ruining him.”

“Have you told him this?” I asked, wiping my hands on my jeans. “I’m not Mason’s keeper, you know.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Hunter rested both hands on the shelving to his left and stretched his back. It looked like he was thinking too hard about this, but again, not my problem. “He’s just scared, Cass. It’s not like he doesn’t care.”

“So am I,” I said before I could stop myself. Before I even knew those words were on their way out of my mouth.

“Yeah, that’s the thing about guys like us,” he said with a nod. “We get scared, and run straight into the one thing we understand. Hockey. There’s nothing complicated about that puck on ice.”

I exhaled slowly, watching the steam rise off the pipe as it cooled. “He made his choice.”

“No,” Hunter said. “He made a guess. You don’t have to agree with it, but don’t let him make it for both of you.”