The Penalty Box

by Teagan Kade

  EPILOGUE

  NOLAN

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  I check the clock. There’s thirty seconds left in this game and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hand it over to the Blackhawks.

  The crowd starts to chant as I move into position, sweeping long and left, calling for the puck.

  There’s no time to hesitate. It arrives and I dodge an attacker, swinging around the perimeter of the rink and lining up a slapshot.

  Five seconds.

  I’ve got all kinds of heat on me, but it’s too late to consider self-preservation now.

  I draw the stick back and fire.

  It’s a belter, sinks long and deep into the net.

  A second later I’m charged hard into the glass by two Blackhawks, a stick driven into my side.

  The buzzer goes and the place erupts.

  The Blackhawks release and I go slumping to the ice. My fellow Bruins arrive to help me up. There’s a minor twinge from where I was stabbed, the scar tissue looking less and less gnarly each day. I try not to let it show as the boys help me up and the crowd gets to their feet. It’s taken Boston a while to come around to a country boy like me, but I’m making progress.

  I have a word with Coach, sign a few autographs on my way over to where Linnea is waiting. I don’t know why she’s wearing earmuffs, she’s never really been good with the cold.

  I open the gate and step through, security arriving to give us space. I take her in my arms and kiss her, never get tired of the taste of her lips, the feel of her against me.

  The stabbing never slowed me down. I wasn’t going to let that bitch Rex get the better of me.

  “You didn’t have to skate over here,” she tells me, smiling.

  “And miss my post-game kiss? Hell, no.”

  She looks around. “It’s a pity there’s a crowd. I’m not big into these public displays of affection.”

  “You’d prefer something a bit more private?” I tease.

  She nuzzles into my neck. “I would, but that can wait. Your fans need you.”

  My cock’s starting to swell, pressing against the cup I’m wearing. It reminds me of our morning session at The Turtle six months ago, though it feels like a lifetime away now. It’s going to be awkward if I stay much longer. “You know I can’t be without you,” I tell her.

  “I know.”

  I pull in a breath and let go, start out onto the ice when she calls my name.

  “Nolan.”

  I turn and skate back.

  She invites me closer and lowers her voice. “I heard from the commissioner this afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I make sure my tone says curiosity, not criticism.

  “I didn’t want it to affect your game, but they got an indictment. Rex is done for.”

  I don’t know what to do. It’s been six months. I thought he was going to get away with it, that we’d always have this shadow looming over us. To say it’s a relief is an understatement.

  “The commissioner is confident they’ve got enough evidence to make all charges stick and ensure he goes away for a long time. That’s even more likely thanks to that boneheaded goon of his testifying Rex ordered him to kill you.”

  I bring my hand to my side where my wound has suddenly lit up.

  “The list of charges expanded considerably from kidnapping and attempted murder once they started digging,” Linnea says. “He’s finished, baby.”

  I’ll feel better about it when he’s actually behind bars, but I know this is a win, that for Linnea’s sake I need to show her what it means to me. “Honestly,” I tell her, “the guy is barely a blip of my radar these days.”

  She smiles knowingly and kisses me once more before I skate off towards the other side of the rink and make my way for the locker rooms.

  I wasn’t lying. I don’t think about Rex much, about what happened all those months ago. I’m busy doing what I love with the woman I love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Of course, Linnea’s got her own deal going on. Whatever she decides, we’ve already agreed we’ll make it work.

  It’s funny. I can’t picture Linnea as a housewife leafing through catalogues and catching up for coffee, settling for anything other than playing ball and being the very best she can be. We share that competitive spirit, and it’s not just in sports, but life, too. We want the best for ourselves and our family, whatever form that may take.

  I think about the first time we met at that ABC party, that crazy flower dress she was wearing and how surprisingly easy it came off. That forward, go-get-’em girl I met is still there, but now I’m lucky enough to call her not just my wife, but my better half.

  My lover for life.

  EPILOGUE II

  NOLAN

  SEVEN YEARS LATER

  Titus and Phoenix whistle in tandem, standing beside me with their hands on their hips.

  “Who did you say owns this again?” asks Phoenix. The two of them are wearing matching check flannel, looking like a pair of fucking lumberjacks.

  “Cayden Beckett,” Peyton replies, taking in the hunting cabin himself, though it’s more of a lodge given its size. “He was with the Patriots for a while. Asshole brothers, asshole father—we shared a lot in common.”

  “Including your love of cock?” adds Titus, pretending to deep-throat said appendage. All that’s happened and these two still act like they’re horny teenagers. I guess some things don’t change.

  “You want me to tell them about the strap-on you like?”

  I hadn’t noticed Maya creeping up on him. She wraps her arms around his neck, can’t get a good grip considering she’s heavily pregnant with number three.

  Titus flails. “Hey, I don’t know what she’s talking about. She’s crazy.”

  All of the King kids are active, but Amelie, Titus and Maya’s first, is particularly energetic. She’s been here less than five minutes and already she’s halfway up a tree. She calls down. “Dad, look at me!”

  Titus sighs, smiling and giving her the thumbs up. “That’s great, kiddo. Try not to fall and break your other leg, hey?”

  He’s referring to the time last year Amelie decided she could hit the skate ramp like the rest of the boys…without having ever set foot on an actual skateboard. She’s fearless, that kid, and I have no doubt her sister April, now four, will be just the same. In fact, she’s headed right for the same tree determined to be just like her big sister.

  As for number three, I warned Titus there’s a fifty-fifty chance it could be another girl. He didn’t seem to mind. I think he’s come around to his feminine side living with so much estrogen. He even took up baking recently after Phoenix bet him a grand he couldn’t make a cake that was actually edible.

  I still remember Titus and Maya in Vegas, the crazy elopement. I remember flying out to see his first game at Fenway Park, the call of astonishment I received when he realized their first-born was going to have curly hair. Boston suits those two. It suited Linnea and me, too, for a while.

  Maya’s pretty busy with the girls these days, but she somehow managed to complete a PhD in mathematics from Harvard, told me once she didn’t want Titus stealing all the limelight. She’s been working at the university for the last couple of years on and off, runs a side gig helping tutor kids who can’t afford it. I don’t know how she does it, to be honest…being with Titus, that is. We still don’t miss a single opportunity to blame his head injury on any and everything.

  Maya pushes herself away and swats Titus on the butt. “Come on. I need your help getting all the crap you brought inside. Anyone would think you are the female in this relationship.”

  “I’ll help,” says Phoenix, falling into step.

  “Thank you, Phoenix,” says Maya, looking between the twins. “At least one of you still acts like a gentleman.”

  “Uncle Peyton, Uncle Nol! Look at me!”

  Amelie is still at it, now at the top of the tree. If this little family getaway doesn’t end in
a hospital trip it’s going to be a goddamn miracle.

  “So, what do you think?” asks Peyton beside me, shifting to look from the house to the lake.

  “Looks like we should watch out for Jason Vorhees,” I joke.

  Peyton checks his watch. “And holy shit, it is Friday the thirteenth.”

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him, “I left the hockey mask at home.”

  He shoves me in the side. “I don’t want to know about your kinky sex habits, bro.”

  I laugh. “Says the guy who wrote the book on sexual perversion.”

  He shrugs. “Hey, I’m a family man now. It’s missionary and lights out before nine.”

  “How the mighty have fallen,” I muse, looking at his hand adorned with, what is it now? Three Superbowl rings? I’m losing count. “You’re going to run out of fingers soon,” I tell him.

  He holds his hand up. “More than the old man.”

  Dad’s sporting luck hasn’t been doing much for him this last decade. He eventually gave it up and settled down with Alissa in Maine of all places, jets around visiting us all and the grandkids. He’s so soft and smitten these days it’s hard to believe what he once was.

  Alissa—well, she’s the wildcard. She managed to convince Dad to let her start her own event-planning business. It took off…in a big way. She organizes events nationwide, based out of New York but seems to do okay steering the ship from Maine. She’s also a kick-ass nanny, happy to lend a hand whenever one of us is looking to jump out a window because Junior wants to watch the Wiggles for the ten-thousandth time.

  “It’s going to be my last season,” confesses Peyton, looking to the lake.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “I said it was Friday the thirteenth, not April Fools.”

  He looks to me. “I’m serious. I’m already talked to Coach. Next year I’m out. That knee thing that flared up a few years ago, it’s back. Doc says I can’t keep playing, and Erin…I’m sure you get the picture.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m thinking about coaching, reckon it’s time I kicked up my heels.”

  “You’ve clearly forgotten Crestfall if you think coaches have time for rest and relaxation.”

  “I know, but I figure if Dad can do it, hell, so can I. I can’t do any worse than him, right?”

  He’s not wrong there. “No more Big Fucking Workouts then?”

  “Only with my wife.” He winks, and I really wish I had a sickness bag on me. I try to change the subject. “What does Erin think about it all? You guys going to stay in New York?”

  Another shrug. “We don’t know. Since Erin moved into the whole investigative journalism side of things she’s been pretty flat out, but she could work from anywhere. The New Yorker’s been good to her like that, being flexible and the like, especially with the charity stuff, and Evie’s about to start school, so there’s that to consider.”

  Evie—it’s hard to think of a King as an only child, but Peyton and Erin have only ever had the one. I don’t like to pry, but Erin let on one day it a biological issue that prevented them having a second.

  They sure got it right the first time, though. Evie has always been a stunner, that perfect baby everyone wanted to stop and fawn over. Even as a toddler Erin was constantly getting harassed by these kid model agencies, but she never went with any of it. She didn’t want that for her daughter.

  Unlike Titus’s two, Evie’s far quieter and more introspective. She’s down by the lake collecting things as we speak, turning to smile as we watch. Sure, she’s an only child, but when you’re a King, there’s really no such thing. There’s always more than enough family to go around.

  “How about you?” Peyton asks. “What is the mighty Nolan King, ruler of the ice planning?”

  Instantly I’m thrown back to Boston and my time with the Bruins. I loved that city, and it loved me for the next three years, but I knew it was time to move on. Tampa Bay offered me big money to move, and we did. Given the Miami Sol were keen to sign Linnea, it made sense. It feels like forever ago now. Together, we brought those teams to the top, Linnea with one of the best point averages in the game and myself with two Stanley Cups to grace the mantlepiece.

  Thinking of it brings a light, phantom pain to where the knife went in all those years ago at my side. The doctors have all told me I shouldn’t feel anything at all, but from time to time it makes itself known, a constant reminder.

  Rex is all but forgotten, both him and his goons, his company long gone. Endless legal battles all resulted in the same thing—he remains behind bars and will do so for a long time to come. Every attempt at parole has been quashed by the courts. He’s not going anywhere.

  “Good,” I reply. “MJ keeps us on our toes, though.”

  Peyton looks around. “Where is Mia?”

  “Crashed out on the drive here.” I smile, thinking of the way our baby girl looked when I checked the rear-view, the sun lighting up her perfect, cherub face. I’ll never get sick of that, of seeing the life Linnea and I created. That first Stanley win was incredible, but I knew nothing of true joy until Mia Jane came along. She’s three now, the absolute apple of my eye. It’s funny, but I can’t imagine life without her, can’t even recall a time when she wasn’t part of our lives even though I know there was this whole period before she existed.

  Peyton’s smiling. “Kids, huh? Who would have thunk it? Certainly not me banging every blonde at Crestfall, no care for the future or plans beyond football. Now here we are, a couple of dads, pussy-whipped and broken.”

  “Happily broken,” I add.

  We watch the kids for a bit and head inside to unpack with the others. The place is enormous. You could set up a hockey team in here.

  Come nightfall we rug up and head outside to the large cedar table down by the lakeside. There’s a single light at the end of the pier, a starry blanket above and the kind of air foreign to all of us city folk. It’s good to be back in nature, together for the first time.

  It’s coming into witching hour and kids have started to go crazy at the end of the table, led by Amelie, who’s proclaiming we should “definitely” have a food fight. I’ll never get sick of watching Titus trying to wrangle that one into behaving. It’s some kind of beautiful, cosmic karma he got the most spirited of them.

  Buster’s sitting patiently beside Linnea at the table, with his tail wagging and tongue hanging loose. From the girl who told me she once hated dogs, it’s still funny to see these two so attached. We picked up Buster after Boston, given we actually have a backyard in Tampa, which he makes the most of destroying. In Linnea’s eyes, though, he can do no wrong.

  It’s strange, but I still don’t know what Linnea’s birth name was, nor have I asked. I think she’s happy living in the now. I don’t want to do anything to damage that, to drag her back into the past.

  Phoenix emerges from the hill and places down the first dish, Heather on his tail with another, the plates coming and coming until the whole table is filled with the most wonderful smells and aromas, a feast for the eyes and senses. I’d expect nothing less from these two.

  Phoenix puts the last dish down and looks up the hill. “Ah, just in time.”

  Our father appears with Alissa on his arm. She’s actually dressed for the conditions for once—looks like she’s about to head off on an expedition to Everest.

  She stops with my father at the edge of the table and breathes in. “Oh, wow. This looks amazing.”

  Phoenix pulls Heather in beside himself, admiring their handiwork. “Take a seat, dig in. We’ve gone for a bit of a rustic, Crestfall kind of vibe tonight.”

  If you want a power couple, look no further than Phoenix and Heather. Together they’ve opened over twenty soup kitchens in the state, own and run one of the most awarded restaurants in all America, Empathie, and somehow find time to raise the most well-rounded kid you could ever want.

  As soon as Phoenix graduated cooking school, it was on. They found a location and got b
uilding. Word spread and soon they needed a bigger premise. I think Dad talking them up to all his NY buddies helped, but it was food, first and foremost, that brought the critics and influencers from around the country.

  Their son, Aiden, is around the same age is Evie, the two of them getting along like a house on fire whenever we have one of these family shindigs. Even now they’re down the end of the table trying to feed the smaller kids. Much to Granddad’s delight, Aiden’s got quite the arm on him too, looks set to be another King superstar—if he doesn’t wind up a chef like his dad.

  By the time dessert’s done, I plead with Linnea to drag me back to the house and put me to bed. I can barely walk I’m so stuffed, but upstairs, MJ tucked away for the night, she has other ideas.

  “When was the last time we had everyone together like this?” she asks.

  She’s naked, fresh from the shower and lying on the bed like the perfect creature she is. It’s crazy, but I worried motherhood might change her, take away some of innate spark that made her so fun to be around, and it did, but for the better. Sure, she’s got stretch marks and panda eyes, but she’s all the fiercer for it. I thought it was impossible, but I look at her now with even hungrier eyes. I cannot believe I’ve been so lucky.

  I lie at her feet, stroking her calves. “A long, long time. It’s nice, don’t you think?”

  “It is, but if every meal’s like that I’m pretty sure we’re going to need a bigger car going home.”

  I smile. “My brother, the chef…crazy.”

  “Crazy to think you all settled down, you bad boys, you. You so-called Kings of Crestfall.”

  “Hey, you’re a King too.”

  “And that’s supposed to mean what, exactly?”

  “A finer surname you will not find, my dear.”

  “What am I saying? I am honored, day and night, every waking hour, to be a King,” she replies sarcastically.

  “Babe,” I tell her, “as someone wise once said, being a King is not a pastime, not a choice, but a duty.”

  She spreads her legs and takes hold of my head. “Better get to work then, Your Majesty.”

  ###

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