Page 30 of Goalie's Obsession

My arms fold tightly across my chest. Not for protection—just to hold myself together.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” I whisper.

Connor doesn’t answer right away. His breath fogs faintly in the cold air around us.

“You didn't answer me. Are you okay?” he asks again, voice low.

I shake my head.

But I nod, too.

Because the answer is both.

My eyes burn, and I blink hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Not now. Nothere.

“Everything’s been off with him lately,” I say. “And I thought—I don’t know, I thought it was just work stress. Maybe too much family pressure, or something with Dad, or…”

My throat tightens. Because I don't know. I don't know how to help, and that makes everything so much harder.

Connor shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders without a word. His jacket is huge around my shivering frame, but I inhale the warmth, the scent, the weight of it.

It swallows me whole and for a moment, I close my eyes, just for a second, and let the feeling settle.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says quietly.

“Maybe I did.”

“No. You didn’t.”

I look up at him. His expression is unreadable. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… calm. Like he’s holding steady for the both of us.

I let my gaze drift over his clean-shaven face, seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time tonight. His lips part slightly, no trace of his typical smirk that's usually hidden behind dark facial hair.

Instead, there's something raw and honest in the way he watches me, something that makes my heart skip.

He notices me looking.

“What's up, Lucy?” he asks, softer this time.

“I keep waiting for you to say something cocky.”

He huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

My lips twitch. Just slightly. It doesn’t last.

“I know what it’s like to carry more than you can handle,” he says. “Ethan’s proud. That’s not new. But whatever’s going on with him… that’s not on you.”

A knot forms in my chest, and this time, I can’t swallow it down. Connor notices and reaches for me, his fingers grazing my wrist.

“Hey.”

I look into his eyes.

“You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“You don’t have to.”

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