Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

King

T he referee positions himself, puck in hand, as my line moves into place around the circle near our opponent's net. There's nineteen seconds on the clock and we're down by a goal against the Buffalo Wolves. The pressure is immense to make something happen and we've already pulled Drake from the goal to give us an extra-man advantage. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. The clang of sticks against the boards from my fellow players is a familiar chorus and the home crowd roars their need for us to score.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand.

Penn lines up for the face-off, his intense gaze locked on his opponent. I take my spot on the circle along with my line mates Stone, Boone and Bain, as well as Foster who is our extra man with Drake now on the bench. I'm positioned near the blue line, my stick ready to intercept and shoot if the opportunity arises.

The referee steps in. Time stands still as blades kiss the ice and then the puck drops. Penn reacts with lightning speed, his stick clashing with the Wolves' center. He wins the face-off cleanly, sending the puck back to Boone. Boone immediately passes to Stone, who cradles it for a nanosecond while looking for an opening. The Wolves' defense closes in, but Stone manages to slip the puck over to me.

I take a quick snap shot, aiming for the top corner, but the Wolves' goalie knocks it away with his glove. The puck rebounds, bounces, and Bain crashes the net, battling for position. The Wolves' defense is relentless, blocking his attempts and shoving him away from the crease.

Foster swoops in, collecting the puck and passing it back to me at the blue line. I wind up for a slap shot, but at the last second, I see an opening and pass to Penn, who's positioned perfectly near the goal. He takes a quick shot, but the goalie deflects it with his pad.

The puck rebounds once more, this time to Boone, who desperately flicks it toward the net. The Wolves' goalie sprawls to make the save, but the puck skitters to the side. Stone charges, trying to poke it in, but a Wolves' defenseman gets his stick in the way, sending the puck back to the corner.

I glance at the clock and there's only five seconds left as I chase the puck down and send it back toward the net one last time. Penn manages to deflect it, but it hits the goalpost and ricochets away. The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game.

My shoulders collapse in frustration and exhaustion. Despite our relentless effort in those final nineteen seconds, we didn't do what we needed to do during the rest of the game. Our play was lackluster and it's a bitter loss going on the balance sheet. The crowd is mostly silent with a smattering of applause from that last-ditch battle.

While the Wolves celebrate with their own fans cheering, our team makes its way to the gate that leads to the tunnel. We bottleneck as each player steps through. Diehard fans hang over the rails, attempting to bump fists, but none of us react. Our heads are hanging.

Penn is in front of me and just as he steps through the gate, a water bottle comes flying from the stands and hits him squarely in the shoulder. It's full and makes a resounding thwack before clattering to the ground.

I immediately think it's a Wolves fan but I'm stunned when a loud voice rings out, filled with venom. "Navarro… you're a traitorous bastard!"

A Florida Spartans fan—Penn's last team.

"Do your teammates know you can't be trusted?" the voice calls out and my eyes scan the crowd for the offender, intent on identifying the asshole who just assaulted my teammate. I see security moving in on a man and he's not wearing a jersey. He's in his late twenties and while I can't hear the conversation, he's arguing with the security professionals who take him by the arms. His face is red with anger and his eyes remain locked on Penn as he screams, "You know what you did, Navarro. Karma is a bitch and it's coming for you."

What in the ever-loving fuck? This isn't some disgruntled Spartans fan who's pissed his team lost the best player in the league. The spite in those words sounds very personal.

Penn's face is pale, his jaw locked hard. For a brief moment, he's frozen in place, staring back at the man. Then, he just shakes his head slightly and moves into the tunnel, out of sight of the fans.

I watch the security guys drag the man out of the bleachers, many of the fans booing him for throwing the water bottle.

"Move it, King," Stone says from behind me and I realize I'm holding up traffic.

I hustle into the tunnel and when I catch up to Penn, I ask, "Hey, do you know that guy?"

He doesn't bother to look over his shoulder at me and his voice is flat and without emotion. "No, just some drunken fool. Probably pissed off that I left the Spartans to come here."

I frown, not entirely convinced, but decide to let it go for now. "Well, screw him. You made the right choice joining the Titans."

Penn nods but doesn't respond as we enter the locker room. He moves straight to his cubby to grab his shower gear. I head to my own locker, lost in thought as Rafferty steps up beside me. Pulling his shower bag out, he says, "That was some bullshit."

I shrug, looking over to see Penn has already left for the showers. When I look back to Rafferty, I say, "Did you hear what was said?"

Rafferty shakes his head. "Nah… I wasn't paying attention. Just saw the bottle hit him."

"That dude yelled that Penn was a traitorous bastard, that his teammates can't trust him and that karma is a bitch and would be coming after him."

Considering those words, Rafferty lifts a shoulder. "Disgruntled Spartans fan."

"Most likely, but he also said, You know what you did , implying that Penn did something nefarious. At least by the tone of his voice and you should have seen his face… he was livid with fury. I asked Penn if he knew the guy and he brushed it off, said it was a crazy fan."

"Probably what it was," Rafferty says as he sits on the bench to unlace his skates.

"I suppose." But I'm dubious. I perch next to my teammate and start on my own laces.

"You going to Stevie's tonight?" He nudges my shoulder and grins mischievously. "Or perhaps you're seeing Willa?" Rafferty then reverts to a twelve-year-old and makes kissy faces.

"Grow up," I growl, which is ironic given that Willa is weirded out by the age gap and I'm obviously more mature than Rafferty who is also older than me. "But yes, I'm going to Stevie's."

Hendrix had posted on the team thread asking everyone to come hang at Stevie's bar tonight after the game. He didn't say why and there doesn't seem to be a special occasion, but he's never formally requested the team show up en masse. Usually he invites a handful of us since much of the team does their own thing after a game. Some go to Mario's, some go home to their families and others go out to meet their honeys. I asked Willa to come as my date, but she has some medical function to attend tonight, so it's just me and the guys.

?

It's a laid-back atmosphere as almost the entire team fills Jerry's Lounge, but most notably absent and without surprise is Penn. I appreciate the general chill vibe in this place, because although there are many hockey fans in here, they tend to treat us like regular patrons and don't make a big deal about our presence. The mood is slightly somber since we lost, but that doesn't stop us from having a good time with our fellowship.

The familiar clatter of pool balls and the low hum of conversation diverts our attention from the sting of defeat and smiles and laughs are still happening. I'm hanging with Rafferty, North and Atlas near the pool tables, watching Stevie school yet another challenger. She's the undisputed queen of billiards around here, and no one's been able to beat her that I've ever seen. She's whipped my ass more than once, but I guess that comes with the territory when you were essentially raised in a bar.

Hendrix has been hanging with Bear up at the bar talking but now walks our way, a determined look on his face. Stevie's standing, her back to him, talking to Lilly and Mazzy and doesn't see when he pulls a black velvet box out of his pocket and places it on the pool table. There's a tradition that you place quarters on the ledge when you want to issue a challenge, but anyone who's watching knows that this box represents something far deeper. I elbow Rafferty in the ribs as he's caught up in conversation with Atlas and they both turn to watch. Someone mutes the jukebox—I'm sure by design—and the bar falls silent.

"Stevie," Hendrix announces loudly, drawing everyone's attention. "I challenge you to a game of nine ball."

Stevie turns around to face her boyfriend, her eyes rolling due to his audacity to issue a challenge he'll never win. But her dismissal freezes as she spots the box.

With a frown, her gaze lifts to Hendrix. "What the hell is that?" she asks, which is classic Stevie. She then cocks a suspicious eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"

"Drunk on love," he says with a mischievous grin. "I'm challenging you and the stakes are as follows. If I win, you have to marry me."

A murmur of excitement runs through the crowd, and Rafferty elbows me back, grinning. "This is going to be interesting," he says.

Stevie places her hands on her hips, lips pursed in amusement. "And what happens if I win?"

"What do you want?" Hendrix asks.

Stevie puts a finger to her lips as she ponders. Finally, she says, "You have to do laundry for a month."

"Fair enough—"

"And," she continues, "clean the toilets here at the bar for six months."

Hendrix flinches, his face scrunching up in disgust. "Fine, but—"

"And," she drawls impishly, "you have to wear a pink leotard and tutu to the next team workout."

Everyone roars with laughter and Hendrix tightens his jaw. "Fine," he growls. "Now, can we play?"

Stevie sweeps her arm toward the table. "Let's do it."

The game begins, and it's clear from the start that Stevie is holding back. Hendrix takes his first shot, sinking the one ball with a lucky ricochet. Everyone cheers, completely invested in Hendrix winning so an engagement will happen.

Atlas gives a shrill whistle. "Nice shot, Hendrix! Didn't know you had it in you!"

Stevie's turn comes, and she misses an easy shot, clearly letting Hendrix gain the upper hand. North leans over to me, whispering, "She's letting him win, isn't she?"

I nod, grinning. "Definitely. Although I'd love to see him in that pink leotard and tutu."

As the game progresses, Stevie hits a good shot here and there but it's Hendrix sinking more balls than his girlfriend, each one greeted with enthusiastic cheers from the crowd. When he makes a particularly tricky shot, Rafferty whistles. "Maybe he's got some hidden talent after all!"

Despite being loved by the crowd as a whole, Stevie gets booed every time she sinks one but it rolls off her back as she keeps a knowing smirk on her face the entire time.

Finally, it's down to the nine ball and Hendrix has the opportunity to win it right here, right now. Stevie steps in close to him and whispers something in his ear, her fingers playing delicately on his forearm. Hendrix's eyes flare and he puts a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a hard kiss that reddens her cheeks.

He lets her go, takes a deep breath, lines up his shot and with a gentle nudge, the ball rolls into the pocket. The bar erupts into applause and cheers. Hendrix grabs Stevie and swings her around, yelling, "Thank you for letting me win, babe!"

When he sets her down, he grabs the velvet box and drops to one knee. The room again falls silent as he opens the small black cube, revealing a stunning engagement ring. "Stevie, will you marry me?"

Tears fill Stevie's eyes as she nods. "You bet your ass, I will."

A roar of cheers and congratulations rips through the tiny bar. Bear materializes and shakes Hendrix's hand and it's clear he was in on the plan. Waitresses circulate with trays of celebratory champagne. Stevie is pulled off by the women to look at her ring and the team congregates around Hendrix.

I slap him on the back. "Well played, and I mean that literally."

The smile on my boy's face is as bright as the sun and I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone look happier, except maybe Van when Bea was born, but not by much. I'm thrilled for him, because I'm a romantic at heart and believe in the power of love and living your life with someone who keeps a smile on your face.

My thoughts immediately drift to Willa and while we've only had one superb date, I already know she'd be the type of woman who could offer me that. I understand I still need to get to know her, but the one thing that has been clear from the start is that I'm looking for something special. I don't want one-night stands or hot hookups. I want a partner in life and as young as I may be, I'm ready for it.

The only problem is, Willa clearly isn't.