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It takes another official to pull him back.

“That's enough!” the referee shouts.

We get matching roughing minors. Two minutes each. Separate boxes. Thank God for small favors.

I skate toward the home penalty box with my jaw throbbing and my temper still running hot.

The official opens the door.

I sit.

And finally look toward the stands.

Delaney is on her feet.

Her hands are pressed together in front of her mouth.

Avery's beside her.

Coach is standing too, staring toward the ice.

Mrs. B has one hand on his arm.

For one awful second, I wonder what they're thinking, if they regret trusting me. If they think I've brought trouble into their family.

Then Delaney lowers her hands. Her eyes find mine.

Even from here, I can tell she's worried. Not about the score… about me.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. What the fuck am I doing? I promised her I was done letting fear make decisions for me. And here I am, sitting in the penalty box because I let Declan get under my skin.

I look toward the visitors' penalty box on the other side of the rink. Declan is sitting there, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead.

He's angry. He has a right to be. But he doesn't get to decide whether I love his sister.

Loving her isn't something I can win with my fists. It's something I have to prove by showing up, even when it's hard.

And I don't need to fight him to prove it. I need to play hockey. I need to be the captain my team expects me to be. And when the final horn sounds, I need to finish the conversation I started.

The penalty clock ticks down.

Two minutes.

Then one.

Then thirty seconds.

I roll my shoulders. My jaw aches. I barely notice.

When the door opens, I push onto the ice.

And go back to work.

We're down 3–2 with just over four minutes left in the third.

Coach has been on my ass since the penalty. Rightfully so.

“Bishop, I need you thinking out there. Not reacting.”