Page 17 of Penalty to the Heart

“What else?” I ask.

“Counseling,” Nate chimes in, making me snarl.

With one word, I feel like he just managed to stab me in the back.

Fucker.

He’s supposed to be my friend, and here he is, giving Trent ideas on how to punish me.

I don’t even look at him.

“No.”

“Yes,” Trent says. “I agree with Wilder. You need to talk to someone. Someone who can help you during this time. To make sense of what happened. Maybe a grief counselor.”

“Fuck no.” I shake my head.

“Caleb,” Piper pleads. “You need this. Not for the team but for you. You can’t go on like this.”

“Like what?” I snap.

“Like a bomb ready to explode,” Nate answers for her.

Again, I stare at the man who I consider to be like my own flesh and blood.

And again… I hate him for his betrayal.

“I’m not talking to a grief counselor,” I sneer at him.

“He can see Dr. Seymour,” Nate says to the others while staring me down. “She’ll know how to handle him.”

“I’m right here, motherfucker. Don’t talk about my life like I’m not even here.”

“Because you’re not,” Nate rebukes coldly. “My friend… my brother is not in the room with us. He’s gone. And until he comes back, we’re done here.”

And with those parting words, Nate leaves.

I don’t even turn around to watch him go.

Fucker blames me.

Blames me for what happened.

But then again, that makes two of us.

“Damn it, Caleb,” Piper mutters under her breath as she follows Nate out the door.

I try not to think about how her crestfallen expression hurts just as much as Nate’s contempt.

“Pretty soon, you’ll run out of friends, kid,” Rex throws in his own two cents.

“Do I look bothered?” I reply without care while getting up from my seat. “So is that all? Do you have any more hoops you want me to jump through, or are we good?”

“I believe we are,” Trent retorts as he rises from his own seat to extend his hand for me to shake. “Show us that you have your head on right, and I promise you that a Donovan will lift that Stanley Cup.”

I take his hand in mine and shake it before surprising him by pulling him to me.

“You can say it, Trent. It won’t be the right Donovan up there. The one who should be there got totaled with your car. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right? One Donovan is as good as the next.”

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