Page 1 of Goaltender Interference

I. SUMMER

Chapter One

July

Sometimes it felt like Aiden Campbell had closed his eyes at twenty-six and woke up thirty-six. One day he’d been a kid with a kid’s body and energy and recovery time. And then the next, he had to be even more religious than he used to about stretching and yoga, or his body tied itself up in knots and ached when he lowered himself into bed.

Sometimes it did that anyway.

Normally, at this point in the offseason, Aiden would be headed to the gym, the same way he had done for countless mornings over the course of almost two decades. Or he’d be driving to Tarrytown to get some work in on the ice. Even in the summer, there was never much of a break.

Today, Aiden had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nothing to do.

It was the first day of the offseason after the New York Liberty had been eliminated from the playoffs, but he couldn’t even accurately call it the offseason anymore.

With the season over, Aiden was officially retired.

The decision hadn’t really been deliberate. He’d been getting hurt a little more often these last few years, a groin pull here, a tear or a sprained ankle and a knee surgery there, the kinds of betrayals his body never used to make. When he’d have to wake up for morning skate, instead of feeling the thrum of excitement in his veins, he just felt tired.

Gabe Walker, his backup, took over the bulk of the starts.

When the last year of his contract came up and talks should have started, he’d put off reaching out to his agent for longenough that it started to get uncomfortable. He’d put it off until Caroline, because she was used to him, called and asked, “So do you want to make a decision, or is this your way of telling me you’ve done it already?”

Aiden thought about it. The pause went on longer than it should have. Finally he said, “Caroline, I think I’m done.”

He didn’t have many regrets. He’d brought two Cups back to New York. His home was decorated with individual awards. He’d been the backbone of the team for years. He was a lock for the Hall of Fame, first ballot or otherwise.

He’d known, in the very back of his mind, that it would be a good idea to make plans for the rest of his life. Consider the direction he wanted to take. Figure out where he was going from here. It had been too much. Instead, Aiden had boxed the thought up and put it away. The same way he boxed up every thought that he didn’t want to consider, the things that were out of his control, the messy, unpleasant aspects of life he couldn’t ignore. It was easier not to look at them.

He’d focused on the things hecouldcontrol, which in this case turned out to be shepherding a team full of playoff virgins through the postseason. That had taken a lot of time and mental energy, and it had worked.

But now the playoffs were over.

It wasn’t working anymore.

Aiden went downstairs to make himself breakfast in his white and shining kitchen. He had eaten basically the same thing every day for fifteen years, but he still took care in preparing it. The Routine was important, even if most of the Routine had been ripped away from him along with hockey itself.

Aiden took the toast out of the toaster.

Mom had been asking when he was coming home, but he didn’t know when he wanted to do it.Ifhe wanted to do it. He’d stopped going back to Winnipeg in the offseason about fiveyears ago, after his last long-term boyfriend had broken up with him. That had been when his parents really started pressing him about whether he was happy, whether he was going to meet anyone, if he thought maybe one day he’d like a family of his own.

Instead of answering, he’d quietly shelved his plans to buy an offseason residence in Manitoba and went all in on New York.

Aiden spread cashew butter on the toast and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Today was the first day of the rest of his life.

These days, Aiden’s phone notifications were full of missed calls, voice mail and passive-aggressive text messages from his family.

A voice mail from his mother:Give me a call, beta, I’m worried about you.Even the childhood endearment, in his mother’s comfortingly warm, brisk voice, didn’t make him feel any better. A text message from his sister:You’re really not coming home?That was more aggressive than passive-aggressive; Aiden hadn’t been answering his sister’s calls for a reason. He didn’t knowhowto answer. So he didn’t.

Hannah meant well, but she worried, the same way his parents worried. Aiden didn’t have an explanation or anything to say about what his future held. He didn’t want to spend his time reassuring the family that he would be okay. He would probably be okay, but he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when.

Mostly he just wanted to be alone.

Aiden locked the door to his empty house and went for a walk.

New York City in the summer always felt bittersweet. This time of year, his mind wandered to the past. Running usedto help, but the older he got, the harder it was to deal with the brutal heat and humidity. By the time he had gone a few miles, his shirt stuck sweaty to his back and he wished he’d remembered a water bottle.

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