Page 108 of Major Penalty

“There he is!” Langley’s voice booms from down the hall. “Where the fuck did you go, man?” He shoves at Ares’ shoulder, but Ares doesn’t budge, his eyes locked on my father in a death match.

“We’re about to get called out,” Davidson barks. “Come on, you diva!”

Damien’s laugh cuts through.

“Did you get cold feet, man?” he teases, slapping his stick against Ares. “You ghost us for two weeks, and now you wanna hide behind the Zamboni?”

Then Rowan steps into view, his eyes immediately going to me, then Ares, then my father. I can see it happen. That flicker of realization, that slow, sinkingoh, crap.

Dad turns to Rowan with fire in his voice.

“Get Black to the damn tunnel.” He’s looking at Ares like he’s the last person on earth who deserves to be near me.

Rowan hesitates just for a breath, then he steps forward.

“Come on,” he says to Ares, grabbing his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Ares growls.

“Not now, man.” Rowan’s grip tightens, and he shoots Damien a glance. Damien immediately picks up on the silent communication and grabs Ares by the other shoulder.

“You’ll have time for this later,” Rowan says. “Not. Now.”

Ares looks at me with panic and worry in his eyes.

“I got this,” I tell him, nodding, trying my best to school my features. I have to show him that I’m going to stand up for both of us, especially before he gets out there. “I promise.” The guys are already dragging Ares down the hall, and his eyes never leave mine. I can see the conflict in them, the battle between saying ‘Screw the game’ and ‘I need to do this.’ The rest of the team follows, unaware of the hell that just detonated behind them.

And then it’s just me, my father, and the chaos I know is coming.

His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders tight like he’s holding back a thousand things.

“Dad—” I take one step toward him.

“I have to get out there,” he grits out, his voice clipped and final. He turns away from me and starts walking, following his team.

I chase him, my heart pounding, words tumbling over themselves in my throat.

“Dad, wait. Please, just listen to me,” I breathe. “We were going to tell you. After the game. Ares and I, we talked—”

“Ares and you?” he throws over his shoulder, the words sharp like knives. “We?” He whirls around. “Jesus Christ, Irene.Ares?”

He says it with disgust. Like the name alone tastes rotten in his mouth. Like it’s something vile.

And just like that, I break. I was ready for anger or disappointment, even for that tight, quiet kind of silence that lasts for days.

But I wasn’t ready forthis.

Not the venom.

Not thedisgust.

Not from the man who always spoke Ares’ name with pride. Whom I’ve heard say,“That kid plays like he’s got a storm in his chest.”Who talks about him like he was an exceptional player.

I pick up my pace, not caring if the pre-game starts in five minutes. I don’t care if the cameras are about to roll or the anthem’s about to play.

I step in front of my father, blocking his path, chest rising with every breath I fight to control.

“Listen to me,” I demand, making him halt. “We can’t leave things like this, Dad.”

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