Page 67 of Shots on Net

“Carter,” his mom breaks in, smoothly, before he can pick up too much steam. She dabs carefully at the corner of her mouth, even though I didn’t see her eat anything. “We’ve never gone to one of your games, because we didn’t want to see you get hurt. Hockey is a dangerous sport.”

Carter stands, tossing his napkin down onto his still-full plate of food. It occurs to me that he is probably starving. Cucumber sandwiches at lunch time is not enough of a caloric intake for an athlete. I rise as well, placing my napkin on my chair and waiting to see what Carter wants to do.

“I’m the goalie, Mom. Which—if you’d ever bothered to watch—you would know means I’m pretty much untouchable. I don’t get hurt,” he says, holding his arms wide in frustration. “We’re leaving early tomorrow, so I think we’ll call it a night and go to bed.”

She nods and Carter needs no further permission. He swings around, jaw clenched tight, and gestures for me to proceed him through the doorway. His hand is gentle on my lower back.

“Carter,” Mrs. Morgan’s soft voice has us turning back around. She’s still seated at the table, somehow looking cool and collected despite the tumultuous evening. Perhaps she’s used to it, after living with the Morgan men for so long. “I’ll speak to your father.”

He inhales, deeply, and lets it out slowly. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight. It was nice to meet you, Zeke.”

I murmur a response and allow Carter to lead me from the room. We don’t speak as we walk through the equally silent house, but it’s a comfortable silence. I can tell he’s mad, but it’s not directed at me. His hand has left my lower back and crept around to my hip, hugging me to his side. I can’t tell if he’s comforting me or himself. When we get to the pool house, he squeezes me to his side and presses kisses the top of my head.

“Thank you,” he says into my hair.

“For what?”

“Everything you said to my dad. That was…it was a nice thing to say, that’s all,” he says, stiffly. “I just wanted you to know that I appreciated it.”

“It was true. And, you’re welcome.” I sit down on the end of the bed and scrub my hands over my face. I’m exhausted. “That did not go as I thought it would go.”

“Went exactly how I thought it would go,” he mumbles, undoing half of the buttons on his shirt before giving up and pulling it over his head. He strips out of his pants and stands there in briefs and an undershirt, looking at me. Despite myself, I remember his suggestion from earlier about the walk-in shower. He holds a hand out to me, pulling me to my feet.

“What do you need? We could go to sleep or you could strip and lay there,” I say, pointing at the massive bed, “and I could just…lick you all over. Whatever will make you feel better.”

“Oh my god,” he laughs. I beam, happy to hear that noise and see that look on his face. “While that does sound like a good time, let’s put a pin in that one. I want to leave as early as humanly possible tomorrow, so we should probably get some sleep.”

Nodding, I change into pajamas and join him in the bed. He’s quiet and it’s dark in the room; I’m unable to see him. Reaching out, I place my palm on his chest. His worry feels like a third person in the room. After a few moments, he puts his hand on top of mine and sighs.

“What should I do?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. It was easier to convince him to pursue a hockey career when I thought his parents wouldn’t pull the rug out from under his feet. “What are the chances that you’ll get picked up by a team before next year?”

“I have no idea. I mean…there’s no guarantee that any team will sign me, let alone when.”

“So, essentially, you’re good through the rest of this school year, but if you weren’t signed by the next term, you’d be on your own. You’d either have to cover tuition yourself or drop out,” I summarize, feeling sick to my stomach. “That’s not a forgiving timeline.”

“No. But you don’t have to worry,” he says, suddenly, and increases the pressure on my hand, “Dad owns our house, it’s not like he’s paying a mortgage. So, you’ll still have a place to live next year, no matter what.”

This is, quite literally, the last thing I was worrying about. I move closer to him and kiss the first part of his body I can find in the dark—his shoulder. “Carter, I wasn’t worried about that.”

“I was. I don’t want to cause problems for you. But he won’t make us leave, Mom would never let him.”

“I like your mom,” I tell him. She’s clearly the softer of the two, though not by much.

“Me, too,” he says, and I chuckle. “I didn’t know about the gardening thing. Do you even remember seeing fucking rose bushes when we went for a walk?”

“Not a single one,” I answer, and we devolve into laughter.

“I can’t wait to go home,” Carter says, after catching his breath. “I have some ideas about how we can spend our spring break.”

“Homework and studying,” I put in and he groans, dramatically.

“Okay, sure,” a pause, and I can hear the smile even though I can’t see it, “but we’re also going to do that licking thing.”

Carter

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