Page 10 of Penalty to the Heart

Not that I care.

Not anymore.

A few months ago, I would have been the first one up from their seat, trying to make everyone laugh and rejoice just to get everyone out of their funk.

But that’s not me anymore.

That version of me no longer exists. The sooner people can get on board with that, the better.

I close my eyes to block my teammates’ melancholy out and lean back into my seat, shifting the ice pack from the left side of my face to the right. I mutter a low curse and flinch when my ribs protest the sudden movement, reminding me to take it slow for their sake. My arm is also being a little bitch, often sending sharp stabs up and down the limb with every movement I make. But I refuse to take the meds the doctors gave me at the hospital to deal with the inflammation right now. They make me feel like a belligerent zombie. At the moment, I would rather have my wits about me than give my fellow teammates any more ammunition to use against me. I’ll just have to deal with the intense throbbing ache a little while longer until we land.

After a quick look at the time on my phone, I see we’re just an hour away.

I can handle an hour.

Shit. I’ve survived the worst pain for longer than that.

As I’m storing my phone away, I feel someone sit beside me.

“I need to talk to you,” Nate says somberly.

“Then talk.”

“This shit that went down tonight… could have been avoided,” he says, his gaze focused on the front of the plane, preferring to stare into the distance rather than look at my ugly mug.

Not that he looks better than me. His face is just as jacked up as mine. The only difference is that he’s got a woman at home ready to tend to his wounds and kiss the pain away.

The only thing waiting for me back at my house is a cold beer and an empty bed.

“It could have, but what would have been the fun in that?”

“I’m serious, Caleb,” he snaps. “What was that? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hate to break it to you, big guy, but I don’t usually put much thought into the stuff I do. Just not wired that way. Sorry to disappoint.”

Nate stares at me like I’ve grown a second head or something. The disappointment and critical judgment swimming in his hazel eyes compels me to close my eyes and let out a loud yawn.

“Are we done here? I’m kind of tired after having to fight off five guys on my own tonight.”

“That’s just the thing. You weren’t on your own. You took us all down with you,” he rebukes in a severe tone.

“Not how I saw it all go down. You did what you wanted to, Nate. All of you did. No one forced you. So don’t come crying to me about it. My hands are clean.”

“They are anything but clean,” he mumbles to himself, the silent insinuation of his comment tightening my chest. “But have it your way, Caleb. You always do.” I keep my eyes closed, shielding myself from the disappointment in his gaze.”FYI,” he adds after getting up from his seat beside me, “I came over here to tell you that Nichols wants to see you in his office tomorrow morning at nine sharp. Good luck with that.”

I throw him a thumbs up and listen to him walk down back to his seat.

It’s only when I’m sure he’s no longer watching me that I open my eyes.

Meeting the GM after such a fucked-up game would drive the best of men into a tailspin.

But not me.

Fuck Trent Nichols.

And while we’re at it… fuck the Boston Guardians.

Fuck all of it.

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