Page 2 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

Sitting back in my chair, I tap my mouth with the edge of my pen. Try to determine what—orwhoexactly—this call might be about.

“Coach Aldine,” I say, voice low, wondering for a moment if he might be calling me about potentially going for a coaching spot with a different team. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I know you’re a busy woman,” he says, that familiar crinkly laugh in his voice, “but I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

In an instant, I realize this isn’t about him. Aldine would never leave Burlington anyway—he’s hard at work building himself a little family. Little later in life than what I’d consider to be best, but to each her own.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Grey.”

“Well,” he says, and I recognize that he’s winding up in the way he does before a long speech. I’ve watched this man on TV, and met him in person.

We met during a conference for sports leadership and hit it off. I was pleased to meet his wife and daughters, who were verypleasant. Even if seeing his wife holding theirthirdbaby made me ache with a deep, unsettled longing.

“As you know, I’m in a position to win the Vipers their fourth Stanley Cup,” he says. “But we just lost Devon.”

Devon Chambers, former amazing right-hand man turned superstar front-runner. Two seasons ago, he went on an outstanding run, single-handedly bringing the Vipers to the championship. I click onto my computer quickly. I’ve been working with basketball players, so I’m not as caught up on the hockey world as I should be.

The moment I GoogleDevon Chambers, I see article after article about his recently announced retirement. Not only is the internet working up a storm over this, but it looks like Grey called me mere hours after the news broke. Which means he’s feeling some kind of pressure about this. I tap my pen against my lips again and wonder if this was a last-minute decision.

“My,” I cluck, leaning back in my chair again, “people just keep getting older, it seems.”

“Right,” Grey says. “Well, team is weaker without him. We have Ratcliff, but shitty prospects. No room for trades at the moment.”

“Well, I certainly don’t have any great hockey players for you, Aldine.”

“Ah, but you couldmakeone for me. Got this guy—Sammy Braun. Kid wants to be great, still early enough in his career that he could turn it around. I saw what you did for Greggors. I think you could do that for this one, too.”

Typing quickly, I look up this new name—Sammy Braun. An attractive young man pops up. I scroll through his page, scanning over his stats, his achievements—nothing special.

“What makes you think he’s worth my time?” I ask, still scrolling. Without meaning to, I click over to this Instagram, blinking when I see an image of him on his back in the grass, an Australian Shepard curled into his side.

There’s a wide, goofy smile spread over his face, and I stop scrolling for a moment, just staring at it. At him. I don’t realize I’m spacing out before Aldine speaks again, making me jump slightly.

“Just come out here,” Aldine says. And before I can protest, he adds, “I knowyou don’t like to leave the coast. But the team will pay for it. And besides, the mountains might do you some good.”

“California has mountains.”

“Not like in Vermont.”

I realize I’m chewing on the end of my pen and scowl, tossing it into the waste basket. That is the last of my bad habits, and it’s been a bitch to break it.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just name your price, Asher,” Grey says. “We could breakleaguerecords here. We have sponsorships rolling in on all sides. The administration is throwing money at me, practicallybeggingme to spend it. I want to pay you to make this goalie amazing.”

“You want a fourth cup, don’t you?” I ask, hastily scrolling to another photo on Sammy Braun’s Instagram. It’s him and a young woman standing together at what looks like a syrup factory. I shudder when I think about all the cutesy stuff that will surely be going on in Vermont this fall, with the maple syrup and the mountains.

“I’d be a liar if I said no,” Aldine says, which draws me out of my shudder and makes me smile. Of course I was right. This is something I’m good at—pushing aside the curtains and getting into the heart of what it is a person truly wants. In the past, it’s been a break-through moment for clients, when they realize what they’ve been saying they want isn’t exactly the full truth.

Aldine continues, “But Idothink this kid is worth it. I think he’s got exactly the kind of potential you’re looking for.”

I take a breath, staring that the hockey player motionless on the screen, his dark green eyes peering back at me. There’s something about the set of his shoulders, the curve of his mouth. If I’m taking this case, I’ll have to start researchingimmediately.

It’s usually a months-long process to prepare myself for a client. Ihaveworked with hockey players before, but it’s been a minute. Besides just updating myself on the current information for the league, I also need to learn everything there is to know about Sammy Braun. I’ll have to observe him, discover what his diet and exercise routines look like. Meet with his doctors and trainers. Evaluate and update his plans and schedules, and implement them where they don’t exist.

Sammy Braun still stares at me from the screen.

To do this job right, I’ll have to get to know him the way I do with all my clients. I’ll meet his family, learn about his past issues, talk to his therapist—with permission from him, of course. By the end of our time together, I’ll be an expert on him. I’ll know his friends and family, I’ll know who the young woman in this picture is to him. Sister, friend, cousin—or something more.

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