Penalty Box Hearts

Now!

Before I could say anything else, the door swung open. Priya, breathless and with a clipboard in her hand, entered the room, and as soon as I pulled back, I almost knocked over a tray of supplies.

I was tensed. My heart was hammering, and my face was hot.

Priya said, ''sorry.'' She looked between Ronan and I, flashing an obnoxious expression that suggested that she had walked into more than she was currently seeing.

''Coach said everyone should report to the film room. Now!''

''Right!'' I replied and grabbed my folder. I was just happy about the excuse to leave. I was grateful for the interruption.

I just wanted anything that would create distance between me and the warmth that still lingered on my knuckles.

''Coming.''

Ronan didn't move immediately. When I looked back at him from the doorway, he was still watching me with that same calm and unhurried confidence he always carried.

But, there was something about his eyes. They held something far more real and less certain.

He called after me, ''Callahan..''

''What?'' I stopped.

''Thank you for telling me the truth.'' He said and paused. ''And about proving it, I meant what I said.''

I didn't answer him. I was not sure that if I said anything, my voice wouldn't give me away.

But while I was walking down the hallway to the film room, my rules started to seem like a joke with every second that passed.

I found out that I didn't want him to completely stop trying.

By the time I slid into the backseat of the film room, it was already dark.

Priya was beside me, and the projector was displaying grainy footage of the power play from last night.

Coach Doyle was at the front, holding a laser pointer. He was dissecting a missed zone entry, and he took it so seriously, like a

personal betrayal.

Ronan sat three rows away from me. He was close enough, so that I could still see the tension that his good shoulder carried.

He didn't turn around to look at me, and something inside me felt disappointed at that.

Doyle barked, ''Voss.'' Then he froze the frame of the projector on a shot of Ronan, cutting through to the net.

''Why are you still finishing checks as if it is the cup final in back-to-back March? Can you explain to me?''

''We need the points, that's why.''

''What we need more than those points is for you to be healthy.'' There was silence, and then a look that lingered a bit too long.

My heart dropped to my stomach. Did he know?

''Ease up. That's not a request.''

''Copy that, coach.''

For another forty minutes, the meeting dragged on. By the time we were done, my neck was paining me from hanging it up and looking at Ronan's back while pretending I wasn't.

I had walked half-way to the parking lot when I heard his voice catch up with me.

''Hey!''

He stepped in beside me with his jacket hanging over his good shoulder. ''You disappeared.''

''My job does not revolve around your sessions.''

''Ouch!'' Even though he was smiling, there was something searching underneath. ''Are we going to pretend this morning didn't happen?''

''What are we pretending about? There's nothing. You asked a question, and I answered it. Just like therapists do.''

''Oh, so that's what we are calling it?''

I stopped walking.

The garage was practically empty with fluorescent lights buzzing over head, and for a split second, the noise from the arena seemed very far away.''

''I need this job, Roman. I need it to go well. And you know what that means. I don't want you to make it complicated for me.''

''I'm not trying to complicate anything for you.''

''You are. You held my hand on the treatment table.''

''You allowed me to do it.''

Those words from Ronan landed harder than I thought they would. And that was because he had said the truth.

I couldn't stop thinking about his thumb gliding against my knuckles throughout the night, following me home uninvited.

''It was a mistake.''

''Was it?'' Ronana asked as he stepped closer to me, not crowding me. He moved just close enough that I had to tip my head back a

bit to meet his eyes.

''Because it didn't feel like a mistake.''

''You can't rely on feelings.''

''No, you can't.'' He agreed. ''But feelings, most of the time, are the only honest thing in a room.''

He adjusted his bag on his good shoulder and winced. Some of the intensity trickled out of him, replaced by something that was softer.

''Callahan, I am not asking you to break your rules tonight. I am just trying to tell you that I have noticed them, and I would love the opportunity to change your mind.''

Before I could say anything else, he left. His footsteps echoed on the concrete, and I stood alone in the garage for long.

I was mad at myself because of the way my pulse was beating nonstop the entire time.

The game on Friday went in the very wrong direction. The Ironclads were down, 3–0 by the second intermission, causing the mood of the bench to fall into perpetual misery.

They knew they were better than what the scoreboard was displaying.

I was across from the tunnel watching Ronan take a hit along the boards. I was on my feet at once as I saw the hit send visible jolts across his body.

At the sound of the next whistle, Ronan came off. His jaw was tight, and he was nursing his bad arm so tightly and slightly, just enough for only those who had spent the last two weeks treating him to notice.

As soon as he was in range, I said, ''bench. Now.'' I spoke quietly, but sternly.

''I'm fine...''

''You are not going to play the third period in this state.''

''What you can feel does not matter to me. I care about only what's true. And guess what is true? That hit you took just now compressed your joint. You will be done for the season, and maybe next, if you go out there, and it tears fully.

Is that how you want to make your trade?''