The Penalty Box

Jaxson

The locker room of the Eastern University arena was usually a sanctuary of loud music, terrible hygiene, and aggressive banter.

But tonight, forty-eight hours before the season opener, the atmosphere was as tense as a wire.

"Hey, Reed," Miller, one of our junior forwards, called out as he taped his stick.

“Saw the preview for the show on TikTok. Nice kiss in the courtyard. Didn't know you liked the nerdy ones."

A few guys chuckled, but it was hollow. Everyone knew the stakes.

"Leave it alone, Miller," I said, pulling my shoulder pads over my head. "It’s a PR assignment. Focus on your power play."

"Is it an assignment?" A voice sneered from the corner of the room.

I didn't need to look up to know it was Derek Vance—the athletic director’s nephew and the team’s backup defenseman.

Derek had been gunning for my starting spot since freshman year, and he had been dropping subtle hints to the coaches that my "legal troubles" made me unfit to wear the Captain's C.

"Because it looks to me like you're using a scholarship girl as a human shield," Derek continued, standing up and slamming his locker door shut.

“We all saw the video from the diner. You lost your mind over some townie. Now we’re all getting dragged into a reality TV circus because you can't keep your fists to yourself."

I froze.

The locker room went dead silent.

The only sound was the low hum of the industrial ventilation system.

I slowly stood up, stepping out of my stall.

I was a full three inches taller than Derek, and I used every bit of it, looming over him until he had to tilt his chin up.

"If you have something to say about my play on the ice, Vance, say it to the coach," I said, my voice dangerously low, vibrating with the anger I’d been suppressing for days.

“But if you mention Summer Brooks again, or if you imply she’s a shield, we’re going to have an entirely different conversation in the parking lot. And your uncle won't be there to protect you."

Derek’s face flushed red, but he backed down, sliding back onto his bench with a muttered curse.

"That’s enough!" Coach Miller’s voice boomed as he walked into the room, holding a whiteboard.

"Lineup changes for Friday night. Listen up."

I sat back down, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The anger wasn't just about Derek; it was about the claustrophobia of my entire life right now.

I was trapped between an NHL dream that was slipping through my fingers, a reality show that felt like a permanent noose, and a fake girlfriend who looked at me like I was a criminal.

An hour later, after a brutal, high-intensity practice that left my lungs burning, I walked out to the parking lot.

The sun had already set, leaving the campus draped in a chilly, violet twilight.

Standing under the flickering halogen light of the athletic center entrance was Summer.

She was wearing her oversized denim jacket, her arms crossed, shivering slightly as she checked her phone.

"What are you still doing here, Brooks?" I asked, throwing my heavy gear bag over my shoulder.

"Filming ended three hours ago."

She looked up, her expression guarded. "Sarah wanted me to wait for you. They need a 'candid paparazzi' shot of us leaving the facility together for the morning sports blog update. Apparently, we need to show the world we’re inseparable."

"Right," I muttered, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion hit me. "The script never sleeps."

I started walking toward my beat-up sedan, expecting her to follow at a distance. Instead, she fell into step right beside me, her small boots matching my longer strides.

"You look tired, Reed," she said quietly.

"I just spent two hours getting checked into the boards by guys who want my job, Brooks. I'm not exactly feeling like a cover model."

"I heard about your sister," she said, her voice dropping to a level that was entirely devoid of her usual journalistic edge.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My grip on my gear bag tightened until my knuckles turned white.

“Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter," Summer said, stopping too.

She turned to face me, her dark eyes reflecting the amber glow of the parking lot lights.

“I just... I didn't know. I thought you were doing this show because you loved the attention. I didn't realize what was actually on the line for you."

"I don't need your pity, Brooks," I snapped, the defensive walls slamming back up around my chest.

“I don't need you writing some human-interest piece about my family to make yourself feel better about selling out for tuition."

Summer didn't flinch.

She just looked at me, her expression remarkably steady.

“It's not pity, Jaxson. It’s perspective. We’re both trapped in this room. We might as well stop pretending the other person is the monster."

For the first time since I’d met her, I didn't have a comeback.

I just stared at her, the cold wind whipping between us, realizing that beneath the sharp words and the cynical armor,

Summer Brooks was the only person on this entire campus who was actually looking at me—not the jersey, not the scandal, and not the ratings.