Penalty Kill

Jake

I've just laid down on my bed, content to fall asleep while mindlessly watching ESPN after getting my fill of socialization for the day, when three quick knocks land on my door. Coach was just here doing his nightly round, so that means it's either someone legitimately needing something, or one of my teammates acting a fool for no goddamn reason at all besides to irk me.

God knows I've irked myself enough over our loss. I could've played harder, could've played smarter. I did my damnedest to make every shift count. I threw my weight around when needed, chased down pucks and skated with every molecule of oxygen my lungs had to offer.

None of it was enough. Too many mistakes, too much inconsistency. It was fucking killing me to watch from the bench. I did my best to keep my emotions in check, not let my anger boil over to stay out of the box and play smart five on five. But when the writing was on the wall with minutes left to go in the third, I was ready to fucking throw someone down.

But all the screaming and fighting I somehow managed to contain this last game isn't just going to go away. The first thing to go wrong during tomorrow's game will be all it takes for me to unleash the anger gnawing at every part of me. We played like shit, and there's no excuse for it.

And that's why whoever is knocking on my door right now better have a damn good fucking reason for it. Because if they don't, they might just get a preview of what I've got bottled up for the next sorry fuck who messes with me on the ice.

Sighing heavily, I swing my legs over the bed and grumble loudly the whole way to the door. Checking the peephole, I'm shocked to see Goolie, Dusty and two of our wingers standing outside my room. Certainly not what I expected. Either someone has done something idiotic that they shouldn't have, or I'm being dragged into colluding with them for some half-baked scheme.

Bracing myself for the worst, I unlatch locks and pull open the door, blinking against the bright lights of the hallway that are a stark contrast to the near darkness of the room behind me.

"What the hell are you guys doing? It's curfew, you numbnuts." I survey them all with wariness—every single one of them is smirking, looking between one another as they raise eyebrows and chuckle like little boys on the playground pulling pigtails.

"We've got something that belongs to you," Goolie says very matter of factly, like he's returning a sock I've lost. He steps aside, and standing behind him is none other than Chirpy. My jaw drops as I take her in, arms out at her sides, her fingers doing jazz hands. The smile plastered across her face is huge, her mouth open as she embodies the very essence of happiness and excitement.

I take her in from head to toe, and it instantly becomes clear to me that she's made this a whole fucking occasion. She's more done up than she usually is, and at the very bottom of her jacket, I can make out the dark blue and gold fabric of something very familiar to me. Is she only wearing nude tights? Is she not wearing pants at all?

I'm smiling so hard it hurts, all teeth as I let out a shocked laugh of disbelief.

"Harper fucking Clark, you little schemer. Get over here."

Reaching out for her still wiggling fingers, I tug her towards me, wrapping her up in my arms for a tight bear hug. The feeling of her hands on the bare skin of my back sends a thrill through me, and I can't help but let out a sigh that's borderline a moan into the long, loose waves of her hair by her neck.

"You better harbor this fugitive carefully there, Bry. Mums the word from us, just get her inside and don't be too fucking loud, you two kids." With Harper still in my arms, I give Goolie a nod, not bothering to look up from her beaming face, her cheeks flushed with a blush and eyes bright with pure joy.