Page 9 of Major Penalty

I recognized his name the moment he said it in that impossibly deep voice. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard it, and it only makes things worse.

I’ve heard my father talk about Ares more than the other guys. It’s not just that he mentions him; he talks about him like he’s his own son. Dad would go on about a player named Ares—his progress, about how well he was doing on the ice. He talks about the other players, too, but there was always a different tone when he spoke of Ares, something that made me feel like he was more than just a player to Dad. Like hewasa part of the family in some way. I always wondered why.

And now, I’ve finally met the elusive player I’ve heard so much about. Though, he’s not a guy on my dads team anymore. No, what I saw—what I felt for Ares isn’t something I’ve felt for anyone. The man is a walking adrenaline rush, and I’m trying to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest every time I think of him. Maybe it’s because I’ve heard Dad talk about him so much that I already feel like I know him. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.

“Hey, Coach!” I call out jokingly as I reach my father.

He looks up, a smile stretching across his face. “Morning, sweetheart. Mathews is waiting for you. Said he wants to give you the schedule.”

“I was just headed there. I wanted to give you some fuel first.” I hand him a cup of black coffee from the coffee shop across the street. I don’t know how he drinks that. I need my coffee sweet and tasting like caramel.

“Ah, thanks!” He takes it and sips on it with a wince.

“It’s hot,” I say apologetically.

“Yeah.” He nods and wipes his mouth with a laugh. “How are you, pumpkin? Not having any second thoughts about working with your old man, are you?”

I smile at him, my heart swelling a little. My dad. The best person I know. He’s the reason I chose to spend my summer working here. Getting to see him every day, to work with him and see how he cares for his players like sons, is everything to me.

“Come on, it’s only day two,” I say with a dramatic roll of my eyes. “I’ll tell you by the end of the week.”

He chuckles, ruffling my hair like I’m still twelve. “Just keep your head on straight. The guys can be a lot, but they’re all good people.”

I wave my hand dismissively, but inside, I’m a bundle of nerves. Especially after yesterday.Ares. Just thinking about him makes my pulse trip over itself.

“Seriously,” Dad says, leaning closer. “If any of them mess with you, just tell me. I’ll have them doing laps until they can’t skate straight.”

“Thanks, Dad, but I think I’ll take them on in a verbal sparring match instead,” I say, grinning. It’s the only match I think I can win against people three times my size. Even if half of my thoughts are consumed by the huge, broody player with the killer tattoos and that look that makes my insides melt.

“Yeah, you’re good at those.” He laughs again and nudges me.

“Alright, I’m heading to see Dr. Mathews. See you at lunch.”

With one last wave to Dad, I head to the elevator.

The rink is alive with the sounds of blades cutting through the ice and the thud of sticks against pucks. My dad stands at the edge, his voice booming over the chaos, barking orders like a general commanding his troops.

“Come on, boys! Move it. I want to see some hustle today!” His eyes are fierce as he paces back and forth. Mine are glued to the swirl of players. Particularly one very tall, very intimidating player.

Ares is on the ice, of course. His gear makes him even larger, which makes his agility even more impressive. No one his size should be this fast and nimble.

Every time he skates past, my stomach flips. His focus is razor-sharp, eyes scanning the rink, and I catch myself anticipating his gaze on me. I try to pretend I’m not staring, but my eyes are glued to him. It’s like I’m watching a predator in its natural habitat—powerful, untamed, and captivating. You know you shouldn’t get close, but you still inch forward to see just how close the animal will allow you to come before it pounces.

“Keep your heads up! Communicate!” Dad calls, and the players respond, but I can barely process his words. Ares maneuvers effortlessly, weaving in and out of defenders. His movements are fluid, each shot he takes sending the puck flying with precision.

The net shakes as the puck slams into it, and I clap along with the rest of the team, but my heart is thumping for an entirely different reason.

Damn.

That’s when I see a tiny wince on his face as he skates back to the center. It’s there for a split second, and I would’ve missed it if I wasn’t already staring at him, but it’s there.

Interesting.

I type notes into my tablet, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism while my mind races with thoughts of him. I lift my gaze and look for him again. My cheeks flush as I realize I’m watching him like he’s the only player on the ice, completely mesmerized and a little scared of him. And honestly? I kind of like it.

“Focus, Irene!” I mutter, shaking my head. But it’s impossible. I steal another glance, and he catches my eye, holding my gaze as he glides away.

Ugh.

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