Page 50 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“So—the problem is that my adoptive parents got me when I was really little. I was the first foster kid they were assigned, and they decided they wanted to keep me. But apparently there were some complications in my case and the legal stuff was messy. They told me over and over again that they wanted me, that they were doing everything they could. We had a date set for my official adoption. My adoptive mother ordered a cake and everything. But they never actually,formallycompleted the process. I was ten when everything went to shit.”

Sammy is quiet, and it feels strange, to be remembering my childhood, thinking about all this, and telling him the story while people scream and the smell of cotton candy drifts around our table.

I go on anyway.

“Basically, my birth father—he finds out that I exist. My birth mother died shortly after having me. She was an addict. Because the adoption hadn’t been legalized yet, he was able to claim me. Take me back.”

A little noise comes out of Sammy’s throat, and I realize I’m crying, a single tear on my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it away. This is so far in my past that it shouldn’t matter.

“I moved in with him and his wife, and seven other kids. We lived in a trailer park. It was…not great. Finally, when I was sixteen, I had two jobs, and I sought emancipation. Thought that if I did that, I could return to the right family. But when I showed up on their doorstep—a little malnourished and worse for the wear—my adoptive mother opened the door holding a little toddler. They thought they couldn’t have their own kids. I guess they could.”

“Finn,” Sammy says, voice low. He’s leaning in close over the table, and his hand lands on mine. I should pull away. “This is…so much worse than anything I thought you were going to say.”

“It’s fine now,” I hurry to say, but he clearly doesn’t buy it. “It definitely sucked at the time. I’ve always felt a little like…like I don’t belong anywhere, you know? After sixteen, I went straight to college, worked to put myself through, then stumbled into an internship with the university baseball team. Realized that’s what I wanted to do when I got older. Worked for it. Got it.” I stop myself from saying,“At the expense of having my own family.”

By the time I turned twenty-seven and realized I was ready to have a child of my own, to use my money and resources to give them the life they deserved, it was too late. I needed fertility treatments for a shot at it happening.

“Okay,” Sammy says, his voice thick. He stands abruptly and holds his hand out to me, forcing a smile. I wonder if he can tell I need a distraction. “Come on. I know what you need—we’re getting meat on a stick.”

Sammy

One week after I get to make Finn come for the first time, we’re back in Vermont, and I’m on my way to her office. Downtown Burlington this time of year is my favorite—it hasn’t snowed yet, but all the storefronts are lined with garland and twinkling lights, advertising holiday drinks and decorations.

The air has a noticeable bite to it, but people are taking it in stride, breaking out their coats and boots with a gusto. The Santa and elf village is already set up in the square with a line of parents and kids bundled up stretching around the park.

With my hat on and hood pulled up, nobody notices me as I make my way down the street, and I take the walk as an opportunity to think about the past week. In the first game afterFinn and I had sex, I didn't allow a single score. We beat the Dallas Stars by an embarrassing sum, and the sports channels went crazy.

After our trip to the amusement park, Finn sat with me in a hotel meeting room, forcing me to review the tape. She focused on the breakaway—the one I almost let in. It took everything in me not to stare at her lips the entire time. To think about what it would feel like to bring her back to my room again.

My second game after having Finn was in Vegas, against the Golden Knights, and I made a save so legendary I saw it playing on the jumbotron still the next day. After that, Finn pulled me away from the other guys and forbade me from going gambling. Instead, I soaked in Epsom salts, then did an ice bath, then met with a hypnotist who worked on me for two hours.

In the third game, our first time home after a long string of being away, Brett went nuts when I rocketed the puck so hard across the ice that it ricocheted off the net on the other side, nearly putting me on the board with him.

“I'm telling you, man,” Brett said, later that night, hanging off me. “We need you to get goalie goal this season. Epic cap to an epic run.”

“Don't you think winning the cup would be the epic cap?”

“Been there, done that," he joked, to which Coach Aldine cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Eye on the prize,” Coach said, but there was the sliver of a smile on his face.

“Hey, one sec Sammy.” As the rest of the guys continued to the locker room, Brett pulled me to the side, patting me on the shoulder pads. “Fallon and I bought a cabin up north. If you're interested, we're heading out there for the winter break. You should come. If you want.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, man,” I said, scratching the back of my head, thinking about my dad in the hospital. Already knowing that's where I'd spend Christmas. "But really—thank you.”

Now, I turn the corner toward Finn’s office. It’s in one of the historical buildings downtown, and when I step through the original stonework doorway, it takes me back to my first meeting here. When I tried to quit and Finn practically forced me to sit back down.

I decide to take the stairs, and when I step into the little lobby outside her office, Penny’s on the phone.

“Yes, that’s right. Round trip to Los Angeles. No—well, yes, an upgrade would be great. Thank you.”

I wait patiently until she hangs up the phone, my stomach twisting when I realize what she’s doing—likely booking Finn a ticket back to California for the holidays. I wonder how long she’ll be gone, but I don’t ask.

“Good morning,” Penny greets, standing and walking toward me.

“Good morning.”

She grabs a green scarf from the coat rack and starts to wrap it around her neck, lifting up her copper curls to tuck it in. “Finn is ready for you—she’ll be happy you’re on time.”

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