Page 91 of Goalie Lessons

When I turn the corner, I see him.

Based on the way Grayson was acting, I thought he’d be in the middle of a panic attack, but he’s not. Instead, he sits on the floor, eyes open and fixed on the wall, his glove in his hand. I watch the way he runs his finger over the stitching, how it lines up with his steady breaths.

He’s managed to keep the attack at bay. I can see it in the set of his shoulders, his posture. I remember that day in the hallway with Sloane, when we’d walked in and found him, and this is nothing like that.

Grayson is using the coping mechanisms we’ve talked about. Right now, he might even be thinking about me. Picturing his happy place—wherever that is.

It falls over me like warm water in the shower, like getting into bed after a long day.

I am in love with Grayson O’Connor.

I love the way he thinks, how he laughs, the way his body wraps around mine. I like that he can hold me up and I love his approach to life, his selflessness. How he took those girls in without a second thought, even when it brought havoc to him.

I’m in love with him.

Instead of snapping his head up at me like he did before, now he slowly looks over at me, his eyebrows rising when they settle on me.

“Astrid?”

“Hey.” The word comes out of me as a breath, my revelation still coursing through my system.

He stands up, his pads and gear jostling around him as he does. No wonder he always feels anxious in that stuff—it’s like a huge, padded straight jacket.

“You’re wearing my jersey.” His eyes skipping over me like he can’t quite believe I’m real.

It’s true. For some reason, I kept the jersey. And, for some reason, I decided to pull it out of my suitcase and put it on before coming to the arena. I wore it while I scanned my phone on the ticket taker, and another woman in the stands even complimented me on it, pointing to her own, turning around to show me the number.

“He’s the best player on the team,” she said, leaning down conspiratorially. “My husband disagrees, but I can tell there’s something special about him.”

My mind is a flashing picture show of everything that’s happened between us. That first, terrible night. Meeting Callie, crawling into the tunnel with her. Seeing Grayson for who he really was, laughing with him, finding myself in his body. Slowly giving into the softness. Giving in to being vulnerable with him in a way I’d never been with anyone before. Not even Sloane.

I’ve been so afraid of getting hurt that I haven’t let anyone in. I think about Brianna and all the other partners I had, one after the other, over the years. Refusing to open up, to connect with them. Not getting angry even when I’m cheated on—never allowing myself to care about someone enough to feel the pain of betrayal.

All this time, I’ve let the tragedy of losing my parents balloon into the tragedy of losingallthe love in my life. And I’m done with it. It’s not how my mom or dad would want me to live.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and when I look up to meet Grayson’s gaze, talking to him is the easiest thing in the world. “I’m sorry for running out of that hotel room. I was…running away. Pushing you away because I was afraid of loving someone, getting attached to them and losing them.”

Grayson swallows, runs a hand down his face. “I forgive you, Astrid.”

We stand face to face for a moment longer, and when he does nothing, I realize maybe he’s done giving me chances. Maybe he wants nothing to do with a woman who’s only now learning to open up to people.

“Well.” I clear my throat, turn and glance to the side, start to take a step backward. “I should—”

But when I turn to leave, Grayson’s warm hand hooks into the crook of my elbow, pulling me back into his arms. Then his lips are on mine, his hand at the small of my back, our breath mingling together until I don’t know where mine starts and his begins.

“I want this, Astrid,” he says when he pulls away, his eyes skipping back and forth between my eyes. “I want you.”

“I want you, too.” It feels like jumping off a high-dive to admit. It also feels like a tall glass of cool water on a hot day. “I want everything with you, Grayson.”

Instead of kissing me again, he pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Then, after a moment, he pulls back, lets out a breath, and says, “Let’s continue this conversation in about an hour, okay?”

He takes his helmet out from under his arm and starts to pull it back on over his head. When it’s snug, and he’s grinning at me through the metal bars, he says, “I have a game to get back to.”

“Go get ’em,” I say, clapping him on the back, and immediately feeling stupid for it. I’m so full of joy I might just act like an idiot for the rest of my life.

But if Grayson notices, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just turns back to me, a huge grin over his face, and says, “I will.”

Grayson

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