Penalty Kill

Jake

"You know we're just trying to play smart hockey, there's been a lot of good things happening on and off the ice, so it makes coming in and being focused a lot easier, so we'll take the points and look forward to trying to win our next game."

I give the reporter a smile as she starts asking me the next question, but as I try to focus on the words coming out of her lips while working to calm my still-heaving breathing from busting my absolute ass out on the ice, a blur of motion distracts me out of the corner of my eye.

Jumping up and down to get my attention, her arms waving frantically over her head that's full of tight, bouncy golden brown curls, is none other than Felicia. My eyebrows furrow quizzically as I take her in, and I have to reach up with my towel to brush more sweat out of my eyes to make sure I'm not seeing things.

Yep, that's her alright. First off, how the hell did she manage to make her way this far down into the tunnel, secondly, where's Harper, and thirdly why does she look so—fuck. Why does it look like she's panicked out of her mind and ready to burst into tears?

"Sorry, Melissa," I gently place a hand on the local hometown reporter's shoulder before walking past. "If you'll excuse me for just a sec. Thank you."

She looks put off for only a split second before she spots one of our defensemen trying to scoot past unseen. I hear the two of them launch into conversation as I work my way through the small crowd of media that's gathered for post game, and when I finally manage to get to Felicia without stepping on anyone with my skates, I silently thank god for a small miracle.

"What the hell is going on? How did you get down here? Is everything alr—"

"Something's wrong, really, really wrong with Harper, Jake. I don't know what, but she left, and I couldn't keep up with her." One of her hands flies to her forehead while her words come out in a frantic rush. Her breathing is fast and shaky, and my heart sinks to my skates as I try to make sense out of what she's saying.

"What happened? Where is she?"

She struggles to swallow down some of her anxiety, and I reach out a still-sweaty hand to try and steady her by lightly grasping her shoulder. Leaning down, I do my best to block out the rest of her vision and fill it with just me and my body. If I can get her to focus, hopefully I can get her talking.

"Felicia, take a big, deep breath, and tell me what happened."

She does just that, and with a hand still on her forehead and her eyes closed, she speaks at a volume that's not much more than a whisper. Her voice is so hushed that I have to lean in closer, making sure I catch every word.

"She got a call near the end of the third. I thought it was her mom, but then she started asking who it was, and then she got all quiet, got up and started pushing her way up and out of the arena." I stare at her, my eyes searching her face to see if there's anything else before I rush into the locker room and try to get a hold of her.

As she finally opens her eyes, blinking madly against the onslaught of light, I watch as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She's on the verge of tears as she thumbs through screens to find what she's looking for.

"I've got her tracked, on my phone. We both track each other, just in case, you know," she gestures with her hand back and forth. "Men are the fucking worst and we need to find one another." With a few more presses of her thumb, she finally holds up the screen to a map with a glowing blue dot that's labeled Sexy Ass Bitch. Harper's only a few blocks away.

I've got to get out of here and get to her. It's as easy as that.

Giving each of Felicia's shoulders a light squeeze, I look into her eyes and get her to focus her own watery ones on mine. Her forehead is creased with worry, and even with my own heart beating right out of my fucking chest with how anxious I feel, I try and imbue a sense of calm into her as I speak in a low, even, and what I hope is a confident voice.