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Penn

E dmonton’s visitors’ locker room is a cacophony of banter, Velcro ripping from pads, and the various other noises of pre-game routines. Sounds I’ve heard hundreds and hundreds of times before.

But today it feels… different. Not because anything is technically out of the ordinary. We’re about to face off against the Grizzlies in their backyard, and everyone’s locked in. Focused. Sharp.

Still, something’s shifted—and I know what it is.

It’s me.

I’m no longer on the outside. Not exactly in the center, but I’m not hanging around the perimeter anymore either.

I feel like I belong for the first time in my professional career, and that’s because I am now choosing to be a part of a team.

For the first time in my professional career, I look around at my teammates and I see them as more than just the cogs in the machine that generates wins.

I really take the time to see my teammates as they gear up.

Foster and King are jawing over music. Rafferty’s lacing his skates with intense concentration, while North taps his stick rhythmically against the bench.

Atlas has earbuds in, head bopping, and I wonder what type of music he likes.

I never cared before, but now… I do. I’ll ask him at some point.

I take in the new guy. Lucky’s propped up on the bench across from me, grinning like he’s up to no good.

I’m thinking this might be a typical look on the dude.

Mila is somewhere in the arena with Jackson, as he’s the one who will sit with her during the game.

Greer and Ladd are rotating in shifts with him so they all stay fresh.

They’ve got her covered at all times, but I still have to force myself not to check my phone to make sure she’s okay.

This is where I need to be—here, on the ice, doing my job.

Still, my head’s not entirely in the game yet.

Since the article dropped this morning, my phone has been blowing up. Not with hate. With support. My teammates. Former coaches. Even a few guys from other teams. Fans.

Even fucking McLendon, and that’s a world of difference from him trying to take my head off a few weeks ago.

Everyone rallying behind me and Mila, a woman they don’t even know, but they’re bringing her into the fold because she’s mine.

Yup… she is most definitely mine and there’s a whole lot of stuff to figure out there. None of this was something I expected—this tidal wave of goodwill—but I’m not going to lie, it feels fucking incredible.

Even though the organization sent out a team-wide email before the flight, explaining everything in more detail—my past, Mila’s role, the threats—I’ve still had guys asking questions, and that’s okay. I’m determined to be open with everyone.

I’ve never felt more like part of a team.

I lean down to tighten the strap on my shin pad when I see Lucky setting up his phone on a small portable tripod. He catches me gawking and says, “What’s up, Captain Vengeance?”

I smirk and shake my head. “What’s up with me?” I nod at the phone. “What’s up with you?”

He winks. “Just a little magic.” Lucky’s voice then rises over the locker room noise. “All right, fellas,” he announces theatrically. “Time for my pre-game TikTok ritual. And today, I give you… the Sexy Skate!”

I watch with almost morbid curiosity as Lucky—fully geared minus his helmet—sliding in his socks across the slick tile floor, doing exaggerated body rolls and pelvic thrusts like some kind of deranged male model on ice.

He nearly wipes out trying to spin, but catches himself dramatically, arms flared like a peacock.

Then he does a full-body shimmy and drops into the splits.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, wincing at what should be dislocated hips.

The locker room erupts in cheers and before I know it, I’m clapping right along with them.

Boone’s practically choking with laughter. Rafferty is filming it, howling. King mutters something about needing bleach for his eyes. Even Coach West—who walked in mid-thrust—freezes in place, one eyebrow raised so high it practically vanishes into his hairline.

Lucky just points a finger gun at him. “Don’t worry, Coach. That one’s for the algorithm.”

West stares at him, completely deadpan. “The only algorithm I care about is the one that calculates your ass getting benched if we lose tonight.”

More laughter and Lucky is still chuckling as he packs away his phone and tripod, taking a seat on the bench where his expression morphs into one of fierce competitiveness.

He glances at me. “Ready to kick ass, Captain Vengeance?”

I don’t even mind the nickname. “Ready,” I affirm.

West steps into the center of the room, planting his feet shoulder-width apart and clapping his hands once.

“Bring it in.”

The team gathers around him, energy buzzing. My heart rate kicks up, part nerves, part adrenaline.

“We’re on the road. That means we’ve got distractions.

Travel fatigue. Hostile crowd. But you know what else we’ve got?

” He pauses, lets the moment hang. “Each other. And momentum we’ve been building on during every shift, every period, every game.

I like what I’m seeing—tight formations, communication, discipline. ”

He looks around the circle, eyes locking with each of us.

“This is where we keep pushing. Stay smart. Stay physical. Keep that pressure high. Penn, Stone, Boone—I want you setting the tone on that first shift. Fast. Hard. Clean.” He points to us individually, and I give a tight nod.

“Defense—don’t overcommit. Stay between the puck and the net. You know how Edmonton likes to cycle in deep. Don’t get cute, just get it out.”

We all nod, murmurs of agreement rippling through the room.

“And one more thing,” West says, glancing my way. “I don’t think I need to say this, but I will. We’ve got a brother in here who put it all on the line this week—for justice, for what’s right, and for the people he cares about. That takes guts. And that’s the kind of character I want on this team.”

It’s quiet for a beat. Then Stone clears his throat and steps away from the huddle. “Speaking of that…”

We all watch as he walks to his stall and pulls out something purple and shiny. He unfolds it, shakes it out, and I tilt my head, confused as to what it is.

It looks like… a cape?

“Penn,” Stone says, and I jolt as he looks at me directly.

“This isn’t the snazziest thing and Harlow worked hard on it last night to get it ready, but we…

” He motions around to indicate the team.

“We wanted to let you know how much we respect what you’re doing.

And how grateful we are that you’ve decided to open up to us. ”

With a flourish, he turns the cape around and I read the words crudely cut out of what looks like felt: Hero Status: Unlocked.

My mouth drops open. I’m speechless. It’s so fucking ridiculous and ugly, and yet… I know deep in my gut I’ll cherish it for the rest of my life.

Several of the guys whoop and Lucky yells out, “Captain Vengeance! It’s about damn time someone got a cape around here!”

Stone steps over, holding it out to me. “Not all heroes wear capes, my man. But we all think you should.”

The whole room cheers. I actually have to rub a hand down my face to keep from grinning like an idiot. I take the cape, shake my head in disbelief, and drape it over my shoulders.

“Feel free to make fun of me later,” I say dryly.

“Nope,” King says. “We’re making this a thing.”

It’s just so fucking ludicrous. And also one of the best fucking moments I’ve ever had in a locker room.

And just like that, it’s game time.

We tap gloves, bump fists. My line heads for the tunnel and I pull my helmet on, adrenaline spiking. Mila’s safe. My team has my back. The past is behind me.

And now?

Now we play some damn hockey.