Page 41 of Goalie Lessons

Three minutes later, Tampa Bay brings it down the ice, and I track the puck, watching, diving when the forward swings around and tries to slap it in.

I block it, feeling the hardcrackof the puck against the bar behind me. Scrabbling over the ice, I grab it with my glove, making sure the play is over.

We hold a two-point lead into the third period, but the Lightning starts out by scoring quick, bringing them closer than we’d like. Tampa Bay only gets one shot off before the game is done, and I barely manage to block it. The relief from my teammates is palpable, and I don’t feel proud about the save.

A weird sense of dread settles in my stomach. Am I supposed to beproudof myself for doing the bare minimum? Proud of the fact that Coach removed me, only to put me back?

Am I supposed to celebrate just doing my fucking job?

The guys hoot and holler in the locker room, even Luca taking part in the celebrations. I go through the motions, showering and dressing, smiling at them when they smile at me.

“Great job, O’Connor,” Maverick says, clapping me on the back, and I only manage to give him a nod.

Tyler Chen slides up next to me, his phone held loosely in his hand. “You coming to Hazards with us? We’ve already got a VIP section.”

“Nah,” I wave my hand at him. I’m twenty-four years old, and I have two kids waiting for me at home. “You guys have fun, though.”

The drive home is quiet. I keep the radio off, thinking. I have much, much bigger things to worry about, but what keeps returning to my head is the image of Astrid on the ice, looking up at me, looking pained.

“The sex just…wasn’t for me.”

A shudder runs down my back, a round of secondhand embarrassment for myself. When she called on Monday, I’d had the stupid thought that she could be taking it back, changing her mind.

I’d been just as grateful when she needed me to jump her vehicle.

The last thing I wanted was for things to get weird between us, and I think my nonchalance worked. Based on that performance, Astrid probably thinks nothing of the interaction. That any guy can be told he sucks in bed and be totally fine with it.

When I pull into the driveway outside my house, it’s like I can already tell that something’s off. I’d told the babysitter I’d be home by eleven, and it’s only ten fifty, so it should be fine, but there’s a definite feeling that something is wrong.

I open the front door, glancing around, my heart beating double-time. The entry way looks normal—no broken glass, no fire alarm going off. I glance into the kitchen, find it sparkling clean, not a single thing out of place.

Strangely, there’s not even the sound of Athena crying, a sound that’s become something of a background track in this house.

“Hello?”

“Mr. O’Connor!” The babysitter appears around the corner as though from thin air, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

She’s a local college student I found on a babysitting app. With years of experience, a sweet face, and a CPR certification, I figured she’d be a good choice. Young enough that Callie and Athena might think of her asfun.

The moment hits me as being particularly odd—this girl can’t be more than two or three years younger than me, but I’m Mr. O’Connor. The adult. The man in charge of children. It makes the room around me sway a bit, but I pull it together—there’s an emergency I need to attend to.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Callie,” she says, and somehow, I knew it was going to be Callie.

“Where’s Athena?” I ask, glancing around, not seeing her in the living room.

The babysitter waves her hand, like Athena is the easy one. “She fell asleep while we were watching movies. Everything was going fine, but then Callie went to the bathroom. It was…a long time. I went to check on her and it was like…” Her face goes pale, and I can practically see the flashback working through her head. “It was like a switch flipped. She won’t come out. All she does is scream at me—I have no idea what happened. Is she sick?”

“I’m…not sure. I don’t think so, but—”

“Did she hurt herself?”

The babysitter’s face goes even paler. “I don’t think so—I’m sorry, this has never happened before—”

“It’s alright,” I say, already moving forward, toward the steps. “You can head home, then.”

The babysitter comes to the landing, looking up at me, her coat in her hand. “Are you sure?”

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