Page 70 of Goalie Lessons

I want to watch him, to see how well he does with a sport that’s not his, but Sloane clears her throat in front of me, arms crossed over her chests, eyes narrowed in on my face like she can read the truth there if only she tries hard enough.

“What?” I finally say, aiming for casual, but probably not achieving it.

“Oh, nothing,” she breezes, spinning and dropping onto the bench next to me. Together, we watch as Grayson moves fluidly toward the line at the front of the lane, extending his arm and releasing the ball perfectly, spinning it straight down the center and getting an easy strike.

When Sloane looks back at me, she says, her voice low. “Just, you know what they say about big feet…”

“Shutup,” I say, feeling like a teenager. Sloane laughs maniacally, and I push against her shoulder, and eventually it’s my turn to bowl. I feel Grayson’s eyes on me as I do, and I feel his eyes on me for the rest of the night. Every time we pass, he finds an inconspicuous reason to touch me, fingers grazing as we pass a pitcher of water, his hand carefully on my back as he scoots behind me. And each time he does, it sends hot, vibrant electricity crackling out through my body.

Despite the fact that Sloane is watching me like a hawk, I only have one objective in mind: find a way to sneak into Grayson O’Connor’s room the second we get back to the hotel.

Grayson

Mymindisstillbuzzing from last night. Being around Astrid, and yet not being able to touch her. When we got back, Sloane insisted the two of them have a sleepover in her room.

So, I went to bed alone. Then I woke up this morning, ate a quick breakfast with the girls, and waved goodbye to them. We’ll be flying out tomorrow for the next away game, so they’re headed home.

“This is Grayson O’Connor.”

I answer my phone as I walk toward the exercise room in the hotel. Inside, I see one woman walking at a brisk pace on the treadmill, but otherwise, it’s empty.

“Hello, Mr. O’Connor,” a woman’s voice on the phone says, startling me out of my daze. It’s official sounding and somewhat familiar, but I can’t place it. I pull the phone away from my cheek for a moment, realizing I didn’t even look at it before I answered. The area code is for Denver, Colorado.

When I place the phone back to my ear, she’s in the middle of a new sentence, “…if you have the time.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, stopping short of the doors into the gym, wheeling around, and lowering my voice. Anxiety has already started to bubble in the pit of my stomach, and I try to ignore the sickly sweet roil. “You cut out a bit. What was that?”

“This is Jade Clearing, family attorney for the Welches. I’m calling from Denver, regarding Calliope and Athena. ThisisGrayson O’Connor?”

I’m pretty sure that’s what I said when I answered the phone, but I can’t remember now. I feel my throat going dry, so I nod, realize she can’t see me, then lean against the wall behind me and suck in a deep breath. I bring myself back to that hike with Astrid, feeling the cool air on my skin, the warm sun at my back.

Some of the anxiety ebbs.

“Yeah, sorry, you’ve got me. What’s up?” It’s not the most professional way to talk, but she’s the lawyer, not me.

“I’m so glad I was able to catch you. I was hoping to discuss some matters of custody regarding Calliope and Athena Welch.”

“…Matters of custody?”

“Yes. This morning, I received an appeal for custody from Kayla Welch.”

“Josh’s sister?” Black dots start to swim around the edges of my vision, and for the first time since I went to the airport and picked up Athena and Callie, I start to realize that I might not be okay if I lost them.

For the first couple of nights, when Athena was crying herself to sleep and Callie hated every molecule of air that even came in contact with me, I’d laid in bed, unable to sleep, wondering if there was someone else who could take them. Someone else who might be better suited for the position.

But now?

I feel a surge of protectiveness for the girls—admittedly, less like a father and more like an older brother, but still. It’s there, and it’s strong, and it wants nothing to do with Kayla Welch.

“Isn’t she in jail?” I press, feeling anger rise up in my voice. “How can she take the girls back if she’s incarcerated?”

“The charges against her were dropped,” Ms. Clearing says, matter-of-factly. Even after only two interactions with her, I imagine this is how she talks about most things. She doesn’t specify why, or speculate on how Kayla’s lawyer might have been able to spin things.

“Is she clean?”

“Ms. Welch recently completed a full recovery program, and according to her sponsors, she’s clean. She’s also cut ties with people from that life—I’m reading directly from the documents here—and believes she can give the girls a fulfilling life in their home, where they can be nearer to their parents, and family.”

My throat chokes for a minute when I think about Josh’s grave, all the graves marking him and his family members.

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