Page 111 of Penalty Killer

“Cap,” Coach said, pointing directly at him. “Don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but fucking glad you’re turning it up right before playoffs. Great job tonight.”

The boys clapped and cheered, and Bennett ducked his head, not wanting anyone to see the answer written on his face. He knew exactly what—more like who—had gotten into him lately: a gorgeous six-foot-two-inch Italian mob boss. And Bennett was obsessed. Like wanted-Nico-around-all-the-time obsessed, even if it wasn’t for sex. He wanted to talk, to hang out. To hear every thought in Nico’s head.

It was bad.

And one-sided. Despite what Sofia had said, he knew Nico wasn’t in as deep. Which was okay. Bennett wasn’t capable of anything permanent, not right now, so he’d take what he could get for as long as he could get it. Even if hurt down the road.

Someone shoved his shoulder, catching his attention. “Cheer up, asshole,” Noah said. “You had three points tonight.”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he unwound the tape from around his socks and shin pads. “You were fucking awesome, dude. That hit on Thorn in the second? Beauty.”

“Guy’s a total dick. He had it coming.”

Thorn was a notorious shit-talker, one of the worst mouths in the league. “I always try to ignore him every time we face-off. He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, well.” Noah turned away and began busying himself with putting stuff in his stall. A warning bell clanged in Bennett’s head.

“What did Thorn say? Something personal?”

“Just the usual shit.”

Meaning what? Normally, Noah would tell him everything. So what was he holding back? “What was it, something about you? The team? About Becca? You can tell me.”

“Forget it. It’s not a big deal.”

Bennett decided, knowing Thorn, that he didn’t really want to know. The guy was homophobic as shit. He stripped down to his base layers and stepped into his slides. Had Nico watched tonight’s game?

“ . . . he’s the fucking faggot, bro.”

The word drifted into Bennett’s ears, sharp and painful, and he barely resisted the urge to cringe. Before he could even react, though, Noah was throwing himself at Pence, pushing the guy into the stalls. Then Noah was ordering Pence to shut the fuck up, while the rest of the room looked on in stunned silence.

Bennett went over to grab Noah’s shoulder. “Hey, hey. Let him go.”

Pence, wide-eyed and pale, was pinned to the wood, with Noah’s hand wrapped around his throat in a death grip. “It’s not cool to use those words, dick,” Noah growled. “What if someone in the room is queer? Or has a queer relative?”

Pence sputtered, blinking. “What?”

“Yeah,” Bergy called out. “My sister’s a lesbian.”

Noah shook Pence once. “See? Stop being homophobic.”

“Okay, okay,” Bennett said, pulling Noah away and putting himself between the two players. “That’s enough. We aren’t fighting in this room. Noah, calm down. Pence, don’t use those words. Ever.”

Noah let go and stomped away, while Pence slumped against the lockers and looked at Bennett apologetically. “But I was just repeating what Thorn said, man.”

“Well, don’t repeat it.”

“Why? Everyone says that word.”

This was true, unfortunately. On the ice, a lot of derogatory words were thrown out. Not by Bennett, of course, and hopefully not by anyone on his team. He’d made it clear to every Reign player that slurs about race, sexuality, or religion were off-limits in the locker room or in a game.

Except Pence wasn’t done. “And no one in here is gay, so who cares?”

“Statistically, that’s not true,” Cross said as he hung up his pads. “One in four dudes is gay. Look around. Do the math.”

Guys started looking around at each other, wondering, and it was literally Bennett’s worst nightmare come true. He kept his voice even by sheer strength of will. “Listen, just don’t say it, okay?”

“There are twenty-two of us on the roster,” Pence said to Cross, ignoring Bennett. “Are you saying five of us are gay?”