Delayed Penalty by Shey Stahl

28. Five on Five

This is when both teams have five skaters and one goaltender on the ice and they are considered full strength.

Game 36 – Nashville Predators

December

Ami

As the season kicks off and we get into the groove of road trips and nightly games, our lives twist and turn, intertwining around the Chicago Blackhawks schedule. What remains the same is my relationship with Ami—strong and steady, just like her.

She’s going to counseling now and taking college classes online. I had issues with her being out late at night, so she compromised and decided online was best. You can imagine why. And believe it or not, she went back to dancing. I tried to get her to do those online too, selfish reasons on my part, but not in the ways you’d think. Hello, I want to watch!

To my pleasure, I still come back from road trips and find her dancing around our living room, in my Junior Hockey jersey she loves to wear.

And for us, we’re just us. Simple as that. A natural thing. The same as we always have been. You always hear about relationships, mostly conveyed in any romance novel or movie out there, where the couple gets together and something, maybe their mistakes, tear them apart. Then they break up. Some realize their mistakes and get back together, others don’t.

With our relationship, it was formed in the least likely way. The worst way if you ask me, but something pushed us together as a couple. Ami believes it was Andrew. I don’t argue with her because I too believe there was some kind of divine intervention at play there.

Nothing can tear us apart.

I keep waiting, thinking something will, telling myself that even if it does, it’s natural. Everybody gets in fights. But it hasn’t come yet, and I’m perfectly fine with that.

It’s quickly approaching the one-year mark of that night, and with that, Christmas.

It takes me a long time to decide what to get Ami, for the simple fact that nothing will express what she means to me or what we’d been through—two things I want portray in any gift I give her. I’m not the type of guy to flash around how much money I make. I’m more of a simple-gesture kind of guy.

So I pick out a nice sterling silver bracelet and then add charms to it. One is, of course, two hockey sticks crossed over each other. The other is of a guy taking a slap shot—the number five for two reasons. Next to that is a ballerina, a baseball glove, and a piston and a shovel for her mom and dad.

I’m not sure how she’ll feel about it, but I want something that comes from the heart and tells her just how much our lives are intertwined now and always have been.

After the game in Nashville, I’m flying home to Pittsburgh where Ami is waiting for me with my family to celebrate Christmas.

Before I can get there, we have a game to win.

“Who’s that?” I ask Leo during warm-ups, watching a large bull-shouldered man stretch his stick over his arms. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Their new D-man from Australia, Beckham Lapanta.” Leo draws out his name longer than necessary. “He’s lookin’ for you, baby,” Leo taunts, circling me.

“Mase, he’ll kick your ass,” Remy warns me, cracking a smile, pacing my other side. “I wouldn’t exactly send a message right now.”

I grin. “I didn’t say I was gonna start anything.”

And I’m not, but their words make it seem almost like a challenge. Some of the other guys come over and tell me the same thing.

“He’s a big motherfucker,” Ryan notes, grinning at Leo.

It’s like the bastards are taunting me, trying to push a little. I haven’t spent nearly as much time in the penalty box this year as I did last year. Unfortunately for me, anytime someone tells me I can’t do something, my brain wants to prove them wrong, and it gets my body thinking I can. Bad idea.

So I check the new guy into the boards sometime between the first and second period just to see what he might do.

Turns out, I do get my ass kicked by that Lapanta guy. But you know what? He has a nice shiner from me, too. That guy isn’t overly large, but what he lacks in size he makes up for in orneriness—orneriness I spend the entire game fighting off.

With a towel held to my face on the bench, Leo chuckles. “Want me to lay him out for you?”

“Yeah, right.” I blow it off, and he seems concerned that I don’t think he’s serious.

“Listen, Mase, I will fight anyone for you.” He looks up at the play in front of us when Remy slams their center off his feet. “Well, not Remy or Travis. Or Tyler. But maybe Ryan?” He nods, as if he’s convincing himself. “Fuckin’ eh, I’d definitely fight that son of a bitch for you.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, tossing the towel aside and barreling over the wall for my shift.

The Predators start out quickly, moving the puck into our zone and keeping it there for the first few minutes of the second period. Then, with commitment, we stiffen and push back. The game turns and moves to center zone. Play is sloppy on both parts, possession changes with every pass, but it seems scoring chances are given up to things like off-sides and penalties. The game remains scoreless until well into the third period.

With an extra man on after the Predators are called on a hooking penalty, we find the coordination we’re missing. Leo finds an opening and manages to put one on the board for us.

The Predators tie the game quickly, scoring after I’m called on a penalty against checking their right wing into the goalie. He tripped. I’m standing my ground on that one.

Late in the third period, we score again. That’s when the game feels like it stalls. As the defending Stanley Cup champions, we’re in control and push the puck. I can feel the anticipation in the crowd. They know their chance at victory is over when we’re lining up one play after another.

“Watch this,” Leo tells me. “I’m gonna shove it right up that goalie’s cunt.”

I grin. He’s still a nasty motherfucker.

Leo is an animal, lurking in the back, unnoticed until you least expect it. As the puck enters the Predators’ zone, he accelerates to the net with quick chopping strides and cracks one in the top corner.

Because of his style, because of the way he plays the game, the moment we’re under control is the moment he shoves that victory down their throats. It’s the way he is.

We end up scoring three more goals in the last eight minutes of play.

Leo’s style, much like mine, was learned in street hockey in South Philly where he grew up with neighborhood kids. Quick shots that offer no room for second chances. That style is why he was the number one draft pick the year he entered and the captain of the team his first season. He leads us.

After the win, we spread out on the plane, sitting with our respective partners we always sit with. Remember, we’re all about routine. It’s always the same for us: checking phones, Instagram, Twitter, TikTok if you’re Remy, stretching out looking like anyone else on a plane. But we aren’t like everyone else. We are the Chicago Blackhawks defending our Cup title.

Leo, Remy, and Callie end up coming with me to my parents’ house. My parents, always welcoming, love the added guests for the holidays, and Ami does too. Last Christmas, she had no family. This Christmas, she has a lot of people who care about her.

I love the look on her face when we all walk through the door and the ruckus that follows in its path. Thank you, Leo.

I watch Ami closely Christmas morning. She smiles a lot. Leo is teasing her and she’s taking it all in good humor. I’m not sure what he’s saying to her, but she’s entertained and I’m consumed by her smile.

I sit next to her and listen. “That’s the thing about hockey players, Ami...” Leo bumps his shoulder into hers. “We’re nasty motherfuckers and think with our sticks.”

I roll my eyes. “Not all of us are.”

“Bullshit.” Remy coughs. “You ar—”

He doesn’t finish before my fist is in his gut.

I play rough sometimes. Not only has he been flirting with my sixteen-year-old sister, but he’s making me out to be just as nasty as him and Leo. I can be, at times, but I also don’t want to admit it in front of my girl or my mother. In the locker room, that’s one thing, in my parents’ home, no way. They don’t need to know that between plays, when my mind isn’t on hockey, it’s on the one next to me and memories of being inside her.

Conversation twists again, and Callie and Leo are with my sister drinking beer. Yes, they convinced my parents to allow their sixteen-year-old daughter to drink beer with a bunch of hockey players. Pretty much the worst idea ever.

Flashes of my night when I ended up in Orlando, alone, and had to take a bus home resurface. Thankfully she’s at home and has a big brother to keep an eye on her.

Leo is going on and on about something, exaggerating as always, and the obvious disgust in Callie’s face makes me laugh. “She fuckin’ hates you,” I tell him.

Callie punches Leo. “None of what you’re saying is true. Get your facts together.”

“I’m in a very vulnerable state right now,” he expresses to Callie, his words slurring as he whines, his bottom lip jutting out as he tries to rub his head against her shoulder. “I need comforting.”

“Fuck off” is Callie’s reply, putting her palm in his face. “You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass right now for spilling that beer on me earlier.”

With all this going on, I keep my arm around Ami, her rapt attention on them entertaining her.

“Ma-an,” Leo groans, folding his arms over his chest and sticking out his bottom lip again, looking every bit the part of a pouty child. “Why you so mean to me?”

“Because you speak with your dick,” Callie drawls in a disinterested voice that tells me she’s used to dealing with Leo’s whining just as much as we are.

My mom laughs, which surprises the hell out of me. “They’re too funny.”

“Ouch,” Leo snaps, clutching his hand over his heart as he stands. “That really hurts.” He steps over, closer to Callie, taking her beer from her. For a moment he looks like he’s going to apologize, but then his smirk grows and he chugs her beer.

Leo, and Remy for that matter, have this quality about them where they purposely try to piss you off. And just when they think they’ve succeeded, they up their game. Like chugging your beer.

“You fucking jerk!”

I try not to smile, but these two are entertaining to be around. Some of the shit that usually comes out of Callie’s mouth can make Leo blush. And if you know Leo at all, you’ll understand he’s about as reserved as a fucking, well, hockey player.

It isn’t lost on me that Callie and Leo are kind of perfect for each other. I mentioned that to him the other day and he smiled. I have a feeling he’ll eventually make another move on her.

Watching them, I toy with the box for a minute and then place it on Ami’s lap.

“What’s this?” She grins, gently taking the box in her hands and carefully removing the wrapping. She looks down at the bracelet with the charms of a stick and hockey player and then the one of a ballerina. When her hands get to the baseball glove and then the piston and shovel for her parents, she gasps. “Mase, it’s perfect.” Then she starts crying. Slow, quiet tears that would go unnoticed to anyone but me.

I see them. I see her. “I love you,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Even with my family there with us, her lips suddenly find mine with an unexpected fervor. That’s until my dad clears his throat. “All right, kids, keep it under wraps until we at least eat dinner.”

Ami giggles, settling back to my side, her laughter shaking her body against mine.

“So, I take it you like it?” I ask, not bothering to move my mouth from her skin and kiss her neck. All I want to do is take her to my room.

She shivers, and then glares. “I love it, and you need to stop kissing me like that or we’ll be testing out those Transformer sheets. I wouldn’t mind setting my ass right on Optimus Prime’s power sword.”

“Optimus Prime doesn’t have a power sword.” I smirk. “You feel that?” I groan, grinding against her slightly as my family and friends move from the living room to the dining room for dinner. Yep. I’m hard in my parents’ living room. Picking her up, I carry her down the hall but I only make it to my bedroom door, not inside it before I stop.

Ami chokes out a breathy laugh and tightens her grip, gnawing at my lower lip. “It’s kind of hard to miss.”

I set her on her feet in front of the door, reaching for the handle behind her. “Then stop teasing me,” I growl, pushing into her hard. “You did that, so what are you going to do about it?” I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“Take care of it?”

“Bet your ass you are.” I lift her up and take her into my room to show her Optimus Prime doesn’t have a power sword.

I do.

I’ll never be anything more than what I am right now, what I’ve always been. A hockey player playing with his heart and soul.

My point? In hockey, we don’t give up. It doesn’t matter if we’re tied, winning, or down by three. Hockey players are in it no matter what, giving their heart to the game. Being with a woman, being in love, same deal for me. Every goal you snag at the crease, there’s two ways of getting it: the easy way, when the goalie isn’t paying attention, and the hard way, when he’s playing the fucking pipes for all he’s worth.

I play the pipes. I cross the line and stand up for what I believe is worth it—the goal I want. This girl. The one beneath me, so in love, so… everything I never knew I needed.

There are times when you never want to cross a line. Maybe fear holds you back, but there’s something important about crossing a line. You’ll never know what’s waiting on the other side until you cross it.

The End