Page 41 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

Whether we can pay the full bill for the meal this year is still Frankie’s biggest worry. As pissed as her brother may be at me—at us—he still loves his sister. He loves her enough to put the petty shit to the side for at least two hours tonight so we can play a charity scrimmage with a few of the AHL guys still using our ice.

“Should I coach as Santa?” Mr. Bardot asks me as he stands from the chair and dusts off his pants. He’s been candy-caned twice tonight. Somehow, I managed to make it through my tenure without having a single sticky peppermint glued to the suit or beard. I did have a fewotherunfortunate incidents, but I’m blocking those from my memory. All I know is Frankie’s mom, Kate, is a miracle worker with cleaning velvet.

“I mean, who can’t use a little Christmas magic in their corner? Can I play for Santa’s team?”

Really, though, the thought of playing for him again, even something so low-stakes and for fun, gives me a huge thrill. I just need to make sure word doesn’t get back to Tiff. They don’t like me risking injury.

“Santa it is, then,” he says, patting my shoulder with his heavy hand as he moves past me.

I wouldn’t say Coach Bardot is as excited about the idea of Frankie and me as a couple as his wife and my mom are, but he’s warmer to the idea than Anthony.

I’ve switched my skating to nights, letting my angry best friend take the mornings to get in his sprints and work out with the other guys. I’m used to working alone. And since Coach Bardot has been home, he’s shown up every night to take shots at me. He can only handle maybe an hour on the ice, though. He says his legs aren’t quite as conditioned as they once were, so when he’s done, I usually do sprints on my own while Frankie times me on her phone.

This scrimmage is all Anthony’s handiwork, and I made sure Frankie knew it. He planned the entire thing, and he’s the one who had the idea in the first place. I’m not sure why I want her to soften to him so much, especially since his names for me in the past few days have varied fromselfish prick assholetofamily wrecker, a term I don’t think he fully understands. I guess I don’t like the idea of our trio breaking up. And part of the reason I fell in love with Frankie in the first place is because I met her brother first. They need to be whole.

Frankie helps me box up the food for pickup, and I kiss her when her dad’s back is turned. He sneers when he catches us touching, again, not because he hates me, but rather, he hates the idea of any punk with his little girl. It’s fair. I’m sure one day when I’m a dad, I’ll feel the same way if I have a girl.

“You’ll be there for the game, right?”

She lifts on her toes to nuzzle her nose against mine.

“Right up on the glass.”

I take a mental picture of her excited, rosy face as I back away. I parked by the arena earlier today when I moved my gear to the locker room, so I jog to the arena to dress out and hit the ice a little early.

The locker room is empty, and the arena seems quiet on the other side of the door. I expect to be the only one on the ice when I head down the hallway in my skates. Anthony is the last person I expect and the precise person I want to avoid, at least until we have the comfort of others around to help us avoid talking to one another. But maybe this is the Christmas spirit at work, forcing us together. Alone.

“Hey,” I say, getting his attention before skating onto the ice. His head pops up from his stretch, and it’s obvious he’s been crying. I stare a little longer than I probably should. I can tell he’s trying to mask his emotions by the way he suddenly tucks his head and fakes the most ridiculous sounding sneeze I’ve everheard. l glide so my back is to him to give him a moment. When he clears his throat, I move to the ice to stretch out my groin.

“I didn’t think you’d be so early,” he says. His eyes meet mine briefly, the hard line I’ve grown accustomed to on his mouth back in place.

“Funny, that’s what I assumed with you,” I say.

A short laugh slips out, and I almost catch a smile on his lips. Anthony is notoriously late to practice. It doesn’t help his case for more playing time, but at this point, being late is sort of baked into his personality. His dad has tried to get him to be punctual his entire life. At Tiff, we have a standing joke about him—everyone is told to report at a certain time, and then Anthony gets Ant Time, with an automatic five-minute buffer built in.

“So, how do you want to set this up? Random assignments or team captains pick teams?” I assume he’ll want to be a captain. I’m not sure I’d be on his recruitment list today.

“We could both be captains, split up, and maybe work out some aggression?” He quirks a brow, clearly amused by his suggestion. I suspect he’s only half being funny.

I fall back to sit on my ass and spread my legs to stretch my hamstrings, mulling over his suggestion.

“You gonna play fair? If you take shots at me?” The thought of him lowering a shoulder and blasting right through me has crossed my mind. I’m running thin on self-control, and my temper on the ice might not stay in check.

“Since when don’t I play fair?” He gets to his feet and works his blades on the ice, chuckling as he skates side to side.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I’m the cheater.” My sarcastic tone is thick.

Anthony slides to a hard stop, kicking up enough ice in my direction to make a point. I bite my tongue and give him a sideways look.Keep your shit together, Noah.

“You know you aren’t exactly the monogamous type. You like your . . . variety. I’ve watched you turn on your charm at Patty’s. What, is that suddenly going to stop when we go back? It’s not like Frankie will be around to monitor you.”

I get to my feet, keeping my gaze on the ice as I clear my throat and remind myself where his hostility is coming from. I close the gap between us but make sure we’re both out of easy reach. No sucker punches, either way.

“You ever stop to think maybe I really,reallylike your sister? And maybe thisisdifferent? Maybe I’ve felt like this for a long time and just kept shit to myself because I didn’t want to hurt my best friend. But man, the thought of not going for it and trying to have something special with someone I lo?—”

“Don’t you dare,” he interrupts.

He swivels back a few feet, his chin dropping as his eyes narrow on me, and he points with his glove.

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