Page 54 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Your…self.” He shakes his head. “Come with me to Brett’s cabin. For the holidays.”

“What part ofnobody can knowdo you not understand?”

“Why would anyone know? We’ll get separate rooms—I’ll just tell them you’re lonely during Christmas and I wanted to invite you. He and Fallon wouldn’t want anyone to spend the holidays alone.”

“I don’t—”

“Just say yes,” he insists, stepping in closer to me, and I think he must know how much he affects me. How much the scent of him, his bare skin, and his heat swirl around me, creating a thick, unthinking fog.

“I won’t be able to relax if I know you’re here on your own for Christmas,” Sammy says, “and if I don’t relax, I’ll play worse. And that won’t reflect well on either of us.

It’s a load of bullshit, but he knows that I know that. His eyes are wide, flicking between mine, and looking right at him makes it hard to breathe.

Without meaning to, I sigh. “Fine.”

“Perfect,” Sammy says, his eyes skipping to my lips again. He starts to lean in, but at that exact moment, we both hear the slow churn of the elevator in the lobby. I glance at the clock as Sammy scrambles to help me down from the desk, hastily wiping at my thigh and the wooden top.

It’s nearly noon, and Penny is back with lunch.

Sammy

Each year, the NHL goes on pause for a few days over the holiday season. No trades during the break, and then at least Christmas day off. This year, the Vipers are getting a whopping four-day vacation with the way our schedule falls.

I visit my dad in the hospital on the twenty-third, before we head to Detroit for an away game. The hospital smells like it always does: alcohol and cleaning agents and the sweet, stale scent of whatever they’re cooking in the cafeteria.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy,” Madeline, the nurse says, passing me as I walk into the room. I smile at her, and at the little drawing of Santa someone left of my dad’s whiteboard, rightnext to the squares where they track his intake, output, and medicine cycles.

“Merry Christmas,” I say back. She nods and walks into the hallway, so I turn to Dad.

It seems like he’s thinner every time I visit him, though the weight tracked on the white board shows that he’s only gone down ten pounds thanks to the feeding tube.

His head is propped on a pillow, his eyes closed. As always, I start working my way around the room, replacing the old flowers with a Christmas bouquet. I turn on a football game on the TV—the Packers are playing, and their familiar green and yellow jerseys fill the screen.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, voice low. I glance out to the hallway to make sure nobody’s paying attention. “Wish I could talk to you about something—some weird stuff going on right now.”

Letting out a low chuckle, I continue moving around the room, fixing things up and making sure he’s comfortable before I sink into the chair by his bed.

“You know that elite athlete coach?” I go on, voice just above a whisper. “Well…I think I’m really starting to like her. And not just because she’s single-handedly improved my game. But she’s this like, weird kind of intense. Maybe—maybe a little like Mom, you know? Knows what she wants. Doesn’t take any shit.”

I let out a laugh and glance at the screen where several Dallas players are piling onto a Packer, stopping him just outside the goal. If Dad were watching, he might stand and throw his hands onto his head, muttering something about a foul. Henevershouted about sports, but he would pace, shaking his head like a disappointed father instead of a frustrated fan.

“Anyway, we’re getting involved. I know you would tell me that’s stupid. But there’s just…something about her. Like I can’t stop myself.”

I pause for a moment, glancing over my shoulder again, heart thudding. Finn wanted this to stay a secret, but I had to tell someone. And the one thing about my dad is that he couldn’t tell a soul even if he wanted to.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to him. I have an hour before I have to get to the airport, so I might as well fill him in on what’s going on.

“It kind of started on Halloween…”

***

We beat the Red Wings 4-2. Brett and Fallon fly right out of Detroit to the cabin, but Finn and I head back to the hotel, walking in at different times and going to our separate rooms before rendezvousing later.

“You were sloppy tonight,” she says, while I give up on her blouse buttons and grab the hem, pulling it off right over the top instead. “I’m worried what kind of example I’d be setting if—”

“I was sloppy because I didn’t get to have you in your office,” I growl, hands tightening on her hips. “And I didn’t see you at all the day after that.”

We’re in her hotel room, which is, in true Finn fashion, perfectly tidy. Brett was surprised but excited about the news that she’d be coming with us, and didn’t press when I said absolutely nothing was going on between us. Fallon said the more the merrier.

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