The Penalty Box Read Online Free PDF

was a good boy and did what he was told by the doctors and trainers, taking it easy even though every game he missed was like a knife in his heart.
    Triumphant, he returned to the ice. Six months later he was seriously concussed again by Ottawa’s Ulf Torkelson, and Paul knew his career was over.
    Just thinking about it made Paul feel like someone had slipped a bag over his head and he couldn’t breathe. The six months following the final hit were the worst of his life. He got blinding headaches, couldn’t remember things, jumbled words, lost his balance. Just walking up a flight of stairs left him exhausted. The Blades’ trainers told him to be patient and give himself time to heal, but all Paul could think was: For what? Everyone knew he was finished, even if no one had the guts to say so. In the end, the only one with the balls to speak the truth was the neurologist, who said, “Get hit again and you’re going to wind up with shit for brains, son.” It didn’t get any blunter than that.
    And so, begrudgingly, he retired. Better to bow out at the top of his game than hang on and risk being a vegetable, right? At least that’s what he told himself. But deep down, he remained furious that his body had betrayed him.
    â€œYou sure you don’t want another Heineken, lamby?”
    The purr of Liz Flaherty’s voice brought him out of his reverie. She’d been hanging over him all night, blabbing about how it was “fate” they were both back in town. Paul wasn’t so sure. Yeah, she was still hot, but she was also a hellcat. Once she got her claws into him, he’d need a surgeon to remove them. Paul waved the beer away. “I’m fine, Liz, thanks.”
    She brushed her nose seductively against his cheek. “Want to dance again?”
    â€œI’m too drunk.”
    â€œThat never stopped you from dancing—or doing other things—before,” she whispered in his ear.
    Irritated to find himself aroused, Paul ignored her. Why couldn’t it be Katie Fisher murmuring suggestively in his ear?
    It was incredible that Katie had become a drop-dead gorgeous woman. Writing about jocks, too. What was that about? Maybe it was a form of revenge, studying the people who had been absolute and total pricks to her. In his younger years he’d been a prick to lots of people, including other athletes. He chuckled, recalling the way he’d busted on former teammate Michael Dante when he had first joined the Blades. What an arrogant little twerp he’d been. Now Michael was one of his closest friends, one of the few ex-teammates who kept in touch. He took a long sip of water, hoping to quell the nausea burbling in his stomach. He’d definitely had too much to drink.
    â€œPenny for your thoughts.” Having been unable to lure him back out onto the dance floor, Liz stayed glued to his side at the table.
    â€œActually, I was thinking about Katie Fisher.”
    Liz snorted. “What about her?”
    â€œDid you see her? She looks like an entirely different person.”
    â€œI don’t think that was really Katie. I think she hired someone to come here and play her. The real Katie is at home on a reinforced couch inhaling Oreos.”
    Paul frowned. “Why are you such a bitch?”
    â€œOh, excuse me! If I remember correctly, you were the one who thought it would be funny to nominate her for homecoming queen. And—”
    â€œPoint taken,” Paul snapped. He’d forgotten about that. No wonder Katie looked so wary when he was talking to her; she probably thought he was going to play some joke on her that would result in her humiliation. Part of him always liked Katie Fisher. People would call her names and make fun of her, but Katie always held her head high. She was like an athlete in that way: She took the abuse and showed no fear and in the end, she earned respect. He respected Katie for not giving her tormentors the