Page 71 of Penalty Shot

“Wait, I thought I’m not allowed to say thatinsidethe theater? We’re outside,” I say, hands up and out.

“True…” she edges.

“We can’t take the chance,” Marisol begs.

I stand on my feet.

“How do I curse like Shakespeare?”

“Scream:Vile worm-eaten maggot-pie!” Amber says with gusto.

“No, no, say:Thou art a boil, a plague sore!” someone calls out.

Murmurs are mixed with more suggestions because apparently Shakespeare had a ton of insults at his disposal. Before they can add to it, I get the ritual over with.

“Vile, worm, maggot, boil, plague!” I yell while jumping and turning three times. Hoots and hollers build to a collective roar when I’m finished.

“May I enter the theater, now?”

Elise is laughing so hysterically, tears fall from the corners of her eyes.

“Do it again! I didn’t get the video!” Kaden yells.

“Had your chance,” I say, shaking my head. “Shall we?” I hold my hand out for Elise, inviting her to leave.

When she relents, I give her no time to overthink the decision. Gathering her unfinished food, I help Elise out of the picnic table. She grabs her things from inside the theater on our way out.

Elise’s apartment is within walking distance, so it takes less than five minutes to drive to the building.

I’m carrying her purse as she inputs the main door’s entry code. Me, carrying a woman’s purse? If you showed this to my teammates, they’d say the picture was photoshopped. And yet holding her things and bracing her lower back while she climbs the stairs feels natural.

Turning the key to her dead bolt, she asks, “Are you ready to meet Yorick?”

I burst out laughing when the door opens to reveal the clown mannequin wearing a hockey jersey. My jersey.

“Yorick Haughland is the theater-loving brother I never realized I needed.”

Elise leads me into the tight kitchen.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No, but you can relax while I get more ice for your wrist.”

“I don’t have peas,” she says, opening her freezer door and peering inside.

“I’ll figure it out. Do you have a ziplock bag and ice?”

“You’re good at this.”

“Believe it or not, even hockey players get hurt.”

“You were great last night. Did I say that yet?” She comes closer, so we’re toe to toe in the tight kitchen.

My arms tingle with the impulse to engulf her.

“Sit down so I can take care of you, Elise,” I say instead.

The only instinct more powerful than holding her is caring for her.