Page 9 of Penalty to the Heart

Before I have time to kick the wailing dog when he’s down, a pair of strong hands pull me away from him, only to spin me around and sucker punch me in the gut. I smile at the pain of it all, thankful it lessens the ache in my crippled soul. My new opponent throws two more punches into my stomach, my still-bruised ribs unhappy with his assault. But just as he’s about to punch me again, I loosen my visor and pull it off, bashing it against the left side of his helmet and plummeting into the ground.

“Caleb! Watch out!” I hear Nate call out a few feet away from me.

It’s enough to coax me into action, so I turn around to my blind side just in time to see another Blackhawks motherfucker ready to take a piece out of me. But before he gets the chance, I swing my helmet hard under his chin, making him fly back and land on his ass. Full chaos only ensues when one of our rival team players throws a punch at Nate, preventing him from getting any closer to me, to which he retributes without mercy or hesitation. That’s all the encouragement the rest of my teammates need to create total and utter anarchy on the ice.

Fuck referee whistles.

Fuck the loud cries from the Floridian fans.

Fuck it all.

I laugh as unknown knuckles split my lip open one second and then beat my face black and blue the next. I sing and dance as my own fists collide with flesh and bone, uncaring of the consequences.

It’s only when I find myself sitting on the ice, my legs sprawled wide apart as blood pours down my face, that I fully take in the scene before me. Sticks, helmets, and fists are used against their opponents, but the image of it all quickly bores me all of a sudden.

A second ago, I felt fucking exhilarated by the havoc that I created.

But now… I feel nothing.

No pain.

No sorrow.

Not even guilt.

Nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

And I doubt I’ll ever truly feel anything ever again.

The plane ride home is tense at best.

No one talks with anyone, preferring to be stuck in their own private thoughts, trying to make sense of the clusterfuck we’ve found ourselves in. There is no question in my mind that the National Hockey League will fine every single player here for their misconduct. If we’re lucky, that’s all they’ll do. But if we’re not… then the NHL might take harsher disciplinary measures to keep us in check.

The only silver lining is that the game was played in Florida.

Tampa Bay can’t lose more points or risk having their best players suspended, just as the Eastern Conference is ten games away from calling its victor.

Boston could survive and play with their B team.

Florida… not so much.

It wouldn’t come as a shock to see the game garnering headlines for a few days, with discussions of hefty fines and suspensions dominating every sports news broadcast, only to fade into obscurity a week later.

There’s always an ugly side to every sport—greasing palms and under-the-table bribes are just one of them.

Still, from the way everyone is acting, it’s like we lost or something.

We didn’t.

We beat the Blackhawks, fair and square.

Usually, after a win, the Guardians’ private plane would be buzzing with electric energy. Guys celebrating in the rows, dancing to the loud hip-hop music playing in the background, laughing as they congratulate each other for a game well won.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the silence is so deafening that you could hear a pin drop.

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