Page 110 of Goalie's Obsession

But then the team started showing up. For me. In ways I didn’t expect.

Like the family I never had.

Just like they are right now… for Lucy.

Coach leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.

“Yeah. And you know what? That’sexactlyhow I felt after I blew out my knee. Tried to rehab on my own. I pushed everyone away because I was so angry. Thought I had something to prove.” His jaw tightens as he shakes his head. “All I proved was that I couldn’t do it alone.”

I stare at the floor for a long moment.

“But it’s not just Ethan,” I finally say. “It’s Lucy too. She’s trying so hard to protect her brother… but I’m watching her bleed out from the effort.”

Coach is quiet, then he says, “So stop watching, Walsh.”

I glance up, something starting to click.

“Help her in a way that matters. Without making it about being the hero.”

That lands harder than I want it to. Because he’s right.

Connor Walsh doesn’t need to make a scene. He just needs to skate the fuck out of the mess with his head down and his heart all in.

Because that's just what I do.

“So. You got a plan, or are you still sitting in the guilt phase?” Coach Brody asks with a smirk.

And just like that, the general is back.

I straighten in the chair and paste the smuggest grin I've ever had on my face.

“Don't you worry your pretty face, Coach. I’ve got a plan.”

“Good.” Coach Brody nods once. “Then let’s make it happen.”

***

Despite our chat yesterday, Coach Brody put us through preseason hell this morning.

Bag skates, full-ice drills, suicide laps like we were being punished for sins no one had confessed to yet. He didn’t yell, didn’t bark. Just stood at the blue line with that disappointed-dad scowl likewe’dpersonally let him down in L.A.

By the time we get back to the locker room, we’re all dripping in sweat and attitude. The air smells like damp gear, liniment, and bruised egos.

I drag a towel over my face and drop onto the bench next to Ryder, who’s too busy trying to rip off his tape with his teeth to notice he’s bleeding.

“You good?” I ask, eyeing the scrape on his knuckle.

He spits the tape onto the floor. “Am now.”

Across the room, Blake tosses a water bottle at Logan, who catches it one-handed without looking.

“So what’s the plan, Walsh?” he calls out, glancing to the corner of the room. “You gonna fix your girlfriend’s family drama with your puck handling skills?”

“Please don’t say puck handling again,” Ryder mutters.

“I second that,” Logan says, half-laced and leaning back like his spine’s barely intact. He shoots a glance toward the far end of the bench where my special guest is sitting nervously. “Still weird you’re boning his sister, by the way.”

His head tilts toward Ethan, who’s huddled in silence near the corner lockers like a man trying to disappear into the wall.

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