Page 4 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Good morning, Harp,” we say, nearly in unison. Isaac turns and looks at me, raising an eyebrow. We move to skate over to her but she holds her hands out.

“No!” she calls, “don’t move a muscle! Well, move all your muscles, but keep doing what you were. I just need to take a few pictures.”

I turn to look at Isaac, and he shrugs. When I glance at Harper again, she waves her hand, likeGo on!and grins. Even from here, I can see the glitter in her lip gloss, the light pink blush over her cheeks.

Harper started a few months ago as our new social media manager, replacing Percy, who left when he started dating a guy on the Houston Astros.

“I’ve always liked baseball anyway,” Percy’d said, laughing loudly at his going-away party. He was fun, and most of us—with the exception of Devon—were sad to see him go.

Then Harper arrived. Organized, punctual, and less demanding. More interested in getting content of what we’re already doing than making us participate in trends. There’s still some of that—and Brett is always happy to gather a few of us up to do stupid dances—but Harper has slid right into the team’s dynamic easily.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous. And she laughs at everything.

“Stop mooning over her and focus on your game,” Isaac says, and I feel heat rushing to my face. When I glance at the sideline, Harper has her back turned, looking down at her phone.

“Dude,” I grumble, “I was notmooningover her. And besides, what if she heard you?”

“As if she doesn’t already know,” Isaac laughs, “half the fucking team wants her.”

Rolling my eyes, I try to shake my mind back into practice mode. I ignore the way my focus pulls in Harper’s direction, wanting to glance over and see if she’s still taking pictures of us. If she’s watching me. The awareness of her gaze makes my skin prickle.

Eventually, Harper wanders away and I fully slip back into the drills.

We’re working on the breakaway defense when Coach Aldine arrives, a steaming travel mug of coffee in his right hand.

“Good morning, fellas,” he says, whistling, as always.

I was traded to the team just one year before Grey met his wife Ellie, and the transformation has really been something. He went from being a chronic grump to constantly smiling and whistling. I think it’s kind of nice. Devon called itconcerning.That is, until he went and got married, too.

“Morning,” Isaac calls, his voice echoing throughout the rink and bouncing off the walls. “We were just finishing up.”

“You know you don’t have to get here so early,” Coach says, taking a sip of his coffee and eyeing me. “The other guys aren’t even coming in until the end of the month. Ratcliff is still in the Bahamas with Fallon and June.”

“I know,” I say, shrugging and trying not to look too obvious. Of course I’m here, practicing when nobody else is. I’m the one most at risk of being traded. Coach would never say that to me, of course, but it’s true.

Of everyone on the team, I know I’m the most likely to be replaced. Sometimes the goalie can be overlooked in hockey, but there are many fans and experts who attribute the team’s success to the goalie’s skills. The forwards need to know they can take the puck down the ice and take risks without worrying about getting back on defense. Everyone on the team needs to trust the goalie.

Sometimes, when I’m standing in front of the net, staring down the ice at them, I feel like Iliterallyhave everyone’s backs. Like I’m the one thing keeping the team from falling apart. The foundation.

A tiny trickle of anxiety settles in my heart, and I gulp, trying to push the feeling away.

“Don’t act like you didn’t do the same shit,” Isaac says, skating around the side of the rink and looking up at Aldine. “Devon told me you’d sometimes be here in the middle of the night, shooting around.”

“Sure,” Grey chuckles, “and look where that got me!”

“Coach of one of the most successful teams in hockey,” Isaac jokes, rolling his eyes. “Oh, what a cautionary tale.”

Coach grumbles something at him, then turns and comes down the stairs.

“Get over here, Braun. Need to talk to you about something.”

Swallowing again, I nod and skate across the ice, stomach uneasy.

When I get closer to him, Coach leans down and levels his eyes at me, like he needs a moment to assess me. He has this intense look that, coupled with his commanding voice, tends to intimidate people.

“Alright,” he sighs, turning his coffee cup in his hand. “I see you in here, working hard before anyone else is even back from their vacations.”

My mouth opens, and I try to figure out where this is going. Am I going to be reprimanded? Or is he complimenting me? It feels impossible to know.

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