Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
King
T he on-ice atmosphere crackles with intensity as we line up for the face-off. The Winnipeg Rebels are a tough team, and tonight we’ve battled our guts out. My eyes lock onto defenseman Jacob McLendon who’s been shadowing Penn Navarro like a hawk. We’re on high alert and I can sense trouble brewing.
Penn’s not oblivious to it either and has shot a wary look or two McLendon’s way. Not in a way that says he’s fearful, but more like he expects something to happen and is waiting for the inevitable.
We’re deep into the third period, up by one goal. We need clean, defensive play which means the Rebels are going to do whatever they can to force mistakes. They’re desperate and desperation breeds dirty play.
The puck drops, and Penn, with his lightning-fast reflexes, easily wins the face-off. He passes to Boone, who’s ready to advance it up the ice. McLendon immediately zeroes in on Penn, checking him hard into the boards. He pushes McLendon away, skating off to get into position. The play continues, but I’m watching closely, knowing this won’t be the last of McLendon’s antics.
Boone sends the puck to Stone, who shoots, but the Rebels’ goalie makes a save, freezing the puck. The referee blows the whistle, and the play is dead. I skate up to McLendon, getting in his face to render fair warning. “Watch yourself. You’re very close to getting your head knocked off.”
McLendon sneers, his eyes cold. “Better keep a close eye on your boy, Kingston. Bad things happen to bad people.”
What the fuck? He skates away and I look over to Penn who’s lining up to take the face-off again. He doesn’t spare a glance anywhere else, focused on his job.
The ref drops the puck, and we’re back in action. Penn flies down the ice, stickhandling with precision. McLendon shadows him and I stay close by, ready to intervene if he even looks like he’s going to touch my boy.
Just as Penn slips a pass over to Stone, McLendon turns his back on the play and hurtles toward Penn. I’m close behind but before I can do anything, he cross-checks Penn right in the back, sending him sprawling to the ice. He slides ten feet, crashing into the boards and the home crowd roars in disapproval. The referee’s hand goes in the air, signaling the penalty but before Drake can get off the ice for a man advantage, a Rebel player intercepts a pass and the play is whistled dead.
I’m barely aware of Penn trying to push himself up off the ice as I launch for McLendon. That was beyond a dirty play. It was personal and could have caused serious injury.
He turns just as I’m throwing my gloves off and I push him hard in the chest. “Want to hit someone, motherfucker? Hit me.”
McLendon gladly obliges, shaking off his gloves and pulling up his sleeves. He motions with his hand and I don’t wait for him to make the first move. I land a hard right to his jaw and then it’s on. We exchange blows, the sound of our punches and the roar of the crowd blending together. His fist connects with the side of my head, but I barely feel it. Adrenaline courses through me, driving me to land another hard right hook to his cheek. He stumbles but retaliates with a punch that glances off my helmet.
We grapple, pulling each other’s sweaters, each trying to gain the upper hand. McLendon’s skates go out from underneath him and I get in one more solid punch to his face before the referees rush in to break us up. “All right… that’s enough,” one of them barks, but I struggle against them. The slight trickle of blood from McLendon’s lip isn’t nearly enough.
We’re eventually yanked apart, both of us sent to the box while the ref hands out penalties. As I unhook my helmet strap, still seething, I glance over at McLendon skating not five feet from me on the way to his punishment. “What’s your problem, asshole? That was a dirty fucking play.”
McLendon’s eyes are filled with malice. “Your buddy Penn deserved it and more. Some things you just don’t forgive.”
I’m stunned by the hatred in his voice as I pull off my helmet and sit on the bench in the penalty box. I grab a bottle of water, squirt some in my mouth and spit it out. I flex my right hand, noting the bruises already forming on my knuckles.
I think about what McLendon just did and said, even as the play resumes on the ice.
His words echo in my mind, connecting with the incident with that man in the crowd a week and a half ago.
Traitor is what he called Penn. Said he couldn’t be trusted. I had chalked it up to a disgruntled, drunk Spartans fan, but this type of enmity toward a fairly popular player doesn’t make sense.
What in the hell does Penn deserve? And why isn’t there forgiveness for it?
I try to fit the pieces together, but the picture is muddy. I glance at Penn on the bench across the ice, watching the game with focused intensity. He seems completely unfazed by what happened, but I can tell there’s a storm brewing.
?
The mood in the locker room is electric after the win. Laughter, high fives and the tapping of sticks against the floor fill the space. The guys are jubilant, riding the high of holding on to the lead and securing the victory. Amid the celebration, my eyes keep drifting to Penn, who sits silently in his cubby, removing his gear methodically. He’s as disconnected and aloof as ever, seemingly unaffected by the adrenaline and camaraderie buzzing around him.
Rafferty, in high spirits, slaps me on the back. “You coming out with us tonight, King?”
“Nah, not tonight,” I reply, shaking my head. “Willa came to the game, and we’re going to head to my place to hang out.”
Atlas joins in, grinning as he rests an arm against my cubby. “Serious business, huh? King’s getting all domesticated on us.”
I chuckle, but my mind is elsewhere, still trying to put together the puzzle of what went down with McLendon. “Yeah, something like that.”
Rafferty raises an eyebrow. “You okay, man? You seem a bit distracted.”
“I’m good,” I assure him, though my thoughts are racing. “Just thinking about something.”
As the guys continue to joke around and make plans for the night, I pull out my phone, deciding to dig a little deeper. I google Jacob McLendon and scroll through the results until I find a detailed article.
Jacob McLendon is a professional ice hockey defenseman currently playing for the Winnipeg Rebels. Born on March 15, 1997, in Toronto, Ontario, McLendon began his junior hockey career with the Muskogee Wraiths in the United States Youth Hockey League, where he played for two seasons. Known for his physical style of play, McLendon quickly made a name for himself and was drafted by the Chicago Bobcats.
I skim the rest of the article and see he went from the Bobcats to the Montreal Wizards before landing with the Rebels last year. I skip over the personal details as they’re irrelevant, but it’s clear he and Navarro never played together in the professionals.
I quickly search for Penn Navarro and skim through the first article that comes up.
Penn Navarro is a professional ice hockey center currently playing for the Pittsburgh Titans. Born on October 10, 1996, in Denver, Colorado, Navarro began his junior hockey career with the Muskogee Wraiths in the United States Youth Hockey League. A standout player, Navarro led the league in points during his tenure with the Wraiths and was instrumental in their push for the championship his first year.
I stop reading, having found the connection. McLendon and Navarro were in junior hockey with the Wraiths at the same time. But what could have happened back then that still fuels such animosity?
Determined to find out directly from the source, I hurriedly get dressed and say goodbye to everyone. “See you guys later,” I call out, heading toward the exit.
“Have fun, King!” Rafferty shouts after me, but I’m already halfway down the hall, making my way to the Rebels’ locker room. As I approach, two of the Rebels are exiting and they look surprised to see me there. Visits to enemy territory don’t often happen and I’m met with a glare.
“Where’s McLendon?” I ask.
“What’s it fucking to you?” one asks with clear hostility. I did, after all, drop my gloves and bloody his lip.
I lie through my teeth. “I want to apologize to him.”
There’s a degree of skepticism on their faces but one throws his thumb toward the doorway. “He’s still inside.”
“Thanks,” I say and lean against the wall to wait. The two Rebels walk down the hall that leads to an exit where their bus awaits.
It doesn’t take long before McLendon emerges, his head bowed over his phone with both thumbs moving quickly on the screen.
I step in front of him, blocking his path, and his head pops up in surprise. “We need to talk,” I say.
McLendon’s eyes narrow. “About what?”
“What was that dirty play about?” I demand, my voice low but firm. “Penn didn’t deserve that.”
McLendon scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “He deserved it and more.”
“You say that,” I murmur as I step closer, refusing to back down, “but I’d like to know what it means.”
The man looks me dead in the eye, his expression hard. “I won’t waste my breath. I’d tell you to go ask your teammate, but that would be futile. You can’t trust Penn Navarro because only lies come out of him.”
Jesus fuck. His words are laced with poison and I hear utter hatred in his voice. Sure, Penn’s standoffish, but by all accounts, he’s a decent dude.
At least I think he is, but how can I really know? He never talks to us about anything other than hockey.
McLendon pushes past, leaving me standing there, more confused than ever. Something dark from Penn’s past is haunting him, and I’m going to find out what it is.
I glance at my watch and know that Willa’s waiting for me in the family lounge, but there are significant others who will keep her company.
I head back to the Titans’ locker room and straight for Penn’s cubby. He’s not there but his gear is, meaning he’s in the shower. I sit on the bench and I wait.
Luckily, Rafferty, North and Atlas have already headed out so they won’t be nosy and interfere. I want Penn to myself when I ask him what the hell is going on.
By the time he emerges, towel wrapped around his waist, most everyone has cleared out. I always suspected Penn takes longer than average showers to avoid the invitations to come party with the rest of us.
He blinks in surprise but then his expression slackens into disinterest. Still, he asks, “What’s up?”
“I want to know why McLendon went after you,” I say.
Penn shrugs, dropping his towel and slipping into a pair of boxer briefs. “He’s a dick. Simple as that.”
“True,” I reply, standing from the bench and moving closer to Penn. I lower my voice so that the remaining stragglers can’t hear. “You two played on the Wraiths together and I’m guessing that has something to do with it, but he wasn’t all that forthcoming when I approached him.”
Penn wheels on me and I’m stunned when he grabs my shirt and pushes me back into the locker. His face is rageful as he hisses, “What did he say?”
“Nothing,” I growl, pushing him off me. “He said to ask you.”
Penn takes a step back, brushes his fingers through his hair in agitation as he stares at the floor. Finally, he looks up to me before turning back to his cubby. “It’s nothing. Personal beef. Let it go.”
“I’m not going to let it go,” I say, once again stepping in closer. “Whatever happened just caused you to flip the fuck out when I asked you about it. Someone in the crowd called you a traitor and threw a bottle at you. Said you couldn’t be trusted. McLendon said you deserved the cross-check because there are some things he just won’t forgive. He called you a liar. I’m guessing whatever happened is why you don’t interact with your teammates and dude… I’m sick of it. So I want to know.”
I expect Penn to get angry again, but instead, his shoulders sag and he lets out a frustrated sigh. Lifting his eyes to me, he says, “I’m going to tell you but first you have to swear to me that you won’t tell another soul, and that you won’t ever mention it to me again.”
I weigh the compromise, but it only takes me a second to realize I’d rather have his trust and the truth, so I easily agree to his demand. “I swear it.”
“Not even Willa,” he says, lips pressed flat. “You can’t even tell her.”
“I promise,” I say, hating that I just put a handcuff on our relationship. I’m of the belief that you should have no secrets from the person you love, and it hits me with a hard punch to the chest… I think I’m falling in love with Willa. I shake my head and reiterate, “I won’t tell another soul.”
Penn looks around, sees that we’re relatively alone but lowers his voice so much, I strain to hear. “Back when we played on the Wraiths together, something really bad happened…”
?
Sitting on the couch with Willa, a glass of wine in hand, I cannot seem to connect with the romantic atmosphere. I have my girl by my side, the lights are dimmed, my team won tonight and music plays in the background. Willa is cuddled next to me and this is a moment I’ve been striving for in this relationship.
But my mind is still stuck on what Penn told me. The story was brutal, horrific and unbearably sad. Each word he spoke replays in my head, painting vivid, haunting images that refuse to fade. I feel an overwhelming sense of sympathy for Penn, a deep ache knowing what he carries with him every single day. I can’t imagine living with that kind of weight, the constant reminder of what happened. Now, everything makes sense—the man in the crowd, McLendon’s actions. Their hatred isn’t random; it’s rooted in a painful past Penn can’t escape.
Willa interrupts my thoughts, her voice gentle. “You’re quiet tonight. What’s wrong?”
I don’t even think to lie to her, shifting us a little so I can turn to face her. “I learned something tonight about Penn, and I made a promise I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Willa nods, her eyes soft with understanding. “Then you shouldn’t tell me. If you promised, you have to keep that promise.”
“I will, and thank you for understanding that. But without telling you the details, I can just say that Penn has been through something really bad. It explains why he holds himself away from the rest of the team, but I think I could help him. I just don’t know what to do. He’s also forbidden me from bringing it up again.”
“I’m so sorry, babe.” Willa takes my hand, thinking. “I guess the main thing is that Penn’s wishes have to be respected. All you can do is be a supportive teammate and friend. Maybe make an overture after some time passes or offer to talk if he ever wants. But otherwise, you’re going to have to hold that knowledge and the frustration that you can’t fix it.”
Her words make sense, and I let out a sigh, leaning back into the couch. “You’re right. It’s just hard, you know?”
She nods, cuddling back into me. “I know. But sometimes, being there for someone, even silently, can be the most powerful support you can give.”
“Smart advice,” I murmur, and then lean over to press my lips to the top of her head. “Thank you for that.”
I drain the rest of my wine, noting that hers is almost empty. “You want some more?”
Willa sits up, tips the glass back and drains it. She then stands from the couch and takes my glass, turning to set them both on the coffee table. “I want something other than wine.”
Her voice is husky and promising.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she affirms, moving to push my legs apart. She puts her hand to my chest and pushes me back into the couch.
Willa drops to her knees, reaches for my belt buckle and whispers, “I’m going to make you forget about Penn for a while, okay?”
I about swallow my tongue, looking at her kneeling there before me and I know exactly what she’s about to do to make me forget.
Suddenly, Penn seems like a problem that can sit on the back burner for a while.