Page 39 of King

King

The referee positionshimself, 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. TheWolves’ 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.

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