Page 69 of King

“I’m good,” I assure him, though my thoughts are racing. “Just thinking about something.”

As the guys continue to joke around and make plans for the night, I pull out my phone, deciding to dig a little deeper. I google Jacob McLendon and scroll through the results until I find a detailed article.

Jacob McLendon is a professional ice hockey defenseman currently playing for the Winnipeg Rebels. Born on March 15, 1997, in Toronto, Ontario, McLendon began his junior hockey career with the Muskogee Wraiths in the United States Youth Hockey League, where he played for two seasons. Known for his physical style of play, McLendon quickly made a name for himself and was drafted by the Chicago Bobcats.

I skim the rest of the article and see he went from the Bobcats to the Montreal Wizards before landing with the Rebels lastyear. I skip over the personal details as they’re irrelevant, but it’s clear he and Navarro never played together in the professionals.

I quickly search for Penn Navarro and skim through the first article that comes up.

Penn Navarro is a professional ice hockey center currently playing for the Pittsburgh Titans. Born on October 10, 1996, in Denver, Colorado, Navarro began his junior hockey career with the Muskogee Wraiths in the United States Youth Hockey League. A standout player, Navarro led the league in points during his tenure with the Wraiths and was instrumental in their push for the championship his first year.

I stop reading, having found the connection. McLendon and Navarro were in junior hockey with the Wraiths at the same time. But what could have happened back then that still fuels such animosity?

Determined to find out directly from the source, I hurriedly get dressed and say goodbye to everyone. “See you guys later,” I call out, heading toward the exit.

“Have fun, King!” Rafferty shouts after me, but I’m already halfway down the hall, making my way to the Rebels’ locker room. As I approach, two of the Rebels are exiting and they look surprised to see me there. Visits to enemy territory don’t often happen and I’m met with a glare.

“Where’s McLendon?” I ask.

“What’s it fucking to you?” one asks with clear hostility. I did, after all, drop my gloves and bloody his lip.

I lie through my teeth. “I want to apologize to him.”

There’s a degree of skepticism on their faces but one throws his thumb toward the doorway. “He’s still inside.”

“Thanks,” I say and lean against the wall to wait. The two Rebels walk down the hall that leads to an exit where their bus awaits.

It doesn’t take long before McLendon emerges, his head bowed over his phone with both thumbs moving quickly on the screen.

I step in front of him, blocking his path, and his head pops up in surprise. “We need to talk,” I say.

McLendon’s eyes narrow. “About what?”

“What was that dirty play about?” I demand, my voice low but firm. “Penn didn’t deserve that.”

McLendon scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “He deserved it and more.”

“You say that,” I murmur as I step closer, refusing to back down, “but I’d like to know what it means.”

The man looks me dead in the eye, his expression hard. “I won’t waste my breath. I’d tell you to go ask your teammate, but that would be futile. You can’t trust Penn Navarro because only lies come out of him.”

Jesus fuck. His words are laced with poison and I hear utter hatred in his voice. Sure, Penn’s standoffish, but by all accounts, he’s a decent dude.

At least I think he is, but how can I really know? He never talks to us about anything other than hockey.

McLendon pushes past, leaving me standing there, more confused than ever. Something dark from Penn’s past is haunting him, and I’m going to find out what it is.

I glance at my watch and know that Willa’s waiting for me in the family lounge, but there are significant others who will keep her company.

I head back to the Titans’ locker room and straight for Penn’s cubby. He’s not there but his gear is, meaning he’s in the shower. I sit on the bench and I wait.

Luckily, Rafferty, North and Atlas have already headed out so they won’t be nosy and interfere. I want Penn to myself when I ask him what the hell is going on.

By the time he emerges, towel wrapped around his waist, most everyone has cleared out. I always suspected Penn takes longer than average showers to avoid the invitations to come party with the rest of us.

He blinks in surprise but then his expression slackens into disinterest. Still, he asks, “What’s up?”

“I want to know why McLendon went after you,” I say.

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