Page 6 of Penalty to the Heart

I don’t have it in me to open my mouth, fearing the worst, so all I do is nod.

“You can still have fun, Caleb. I’m not asking you to become a monk or anything. That’s not what I’m asking of you. But this life you’re leading, shallow and vapid, is going to get you nowhere. And it would be a goddamn waste because you have so much potential. So fucking much. It kills me that you’d rather spend your days and nights getting wasted and sleeping with the first girl you meet instead of doing something worthwhile with your gifts,” he continues with his rant, oblivious that he just ran through a red light.

I want to warn him to slow down again, but I doubt Jack’s one-track mind would even allow him to hear me out. He’s too fixed on setting me straight, even at the cost of me throwing up all over my new car.

I think he’d actually prefer it, just to prove a point.

“You don’t see what I do. You don’t see what kind of man I know you could be if only you fucking tried. Don’t waste your life, little brother. It’s fucking fleeting,” he says poignantly. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and wonder where it all went. Because this fame and notoriety of us playing for the Guardians will end one day. Our youth will end. I have my girls, Caleb. I have my family, and that has always been what I wanted for myself. What I dreamed about. But what do you want? Do you even know?”

“I know I want out of this car,” I manage to reply with a weak laugh.

Jack lets out a little chuckle of his own but doesn’t ease up on the accelerator.

“All I want is for you to think about it. Can you do that for me?”

I nod.

“Good.” He smiles warmly, finally taking his foot off the gas pedal.

But it’s too late.

A second too late.

A heartbeat…a breath…too late.

Because it’s in this fractured instant, that the blinding headlights of a truck bear down on us, brutally colliding with Jack’s side of the car and forever shattering my reality as I knew it.

Five weeks later

Chapter 1

Caleb

As the puck whizzes towards me, I see my opportunity to kick this lame-ass game up a notch. With a defiant smirk on my face, I extend my glove hand and snatch the puck out of the air, denying the opposing Blackhawks player a surefire goal. A grueling pain stabs at my arm from the effort, but I refuse to give it much thought.

As expected, the Tampa Bay crowd erupts in boos and loud slandering jeers, mirroring the simmering frustration felt by their adored home team players.

Doesn’t bother me any, though.

In fact, I revel in the moment, relishing the spike of adrenaline that comes with thwarting these assholes’ best efforts.

“Is that all you got, dipshit?” I taunt the asshole who thought he could get one past me.

As I skate back to my net and start to bypass him, I can see him seething with anger, his eyes locked on me with a mixture of disbelief and rage.

I can tell by the mad look in his eyes he’s two seconds away from using his stick to take a swing at me. But before he’s even able to try, I deftly sidestep his would-be blow and subtly nudge his stick out of his hand, sending the damn thing careening off course throughout the ice.

When I don’t hear the familiar blow of a referee whistle to call a penalty, I know I got away with one, but I don’t care.

I live for moments like these, where I can show the world not to fuck with me.

That I still got it.

That I’m not some wounded bird just because …

The referee missed the blatant interference entirely, but I can see the Tampa Bay’s coach shouting furiously on the bench. My grin just stretches further on my face as I welcome the confrontation, eager to prove that I am not only a skilled goaltender but also a force to be reckoned with on the ice.

I might be shit everywhere else, but here… I still know my worth.

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