Page 33 of Goalie's Obsession

A low groan ripples through the room.

“Yeah,” Brody adds, finally glancing up. “Try me.”

I sink deeper into the leather chair and drag a hand down my face.

Lucy still hasn’t texted me back.

And now I have to smile through interviews and pretend like the last four days haven’t been fucking torture.

"Enjoy your last days off boys," Coach smirks. "They might the last ones you ever have."

***

A few hours later, I toss my keys onto the counter as I step back into my apartment and toe off my boots.

The place is dark except for the ambient glow of Iron Ridge town center outside my windows. The sky’s inky, the mountain ridge just a jagged silhouette against the stars.

Everything else inside my home is still.

Too still.

The kind of still that reminds you no one else lives here.

I flick on a low light above the stove and take a long breath as I look around. Stainless steel appliances, matte black tile backsplash, a fridge full of protein shakes and a single leftover Summit Café takeout box from three nights ago.

This place is spotless, mostly because… I’m never fucking here.

It's sleek. Cold. Designed by someone who thought “bachelor athlete” meant expensive surfaces and zero personality.

There’s a gym bag slumped by the island. A half-finished beer bottle by the sink. But when my phone buzzes against the counter, I fuckinglungefor it.

The screen flashes in my eyes.Fuck. Not her.

Just a spam email and a new Icehawks post on Instagram.

I don’t open it.

I open my texts instead. Her name’s still pinned at the top. No new messages.

I scroll. Last one that she replied to was four days ago.

The rest are still left onread.

I exhale through my nose and pull a beer from the fridge. Twisting the cap, I just let it sit there on the counter without taking a sip.

She’s ignoring me.

No, not just ignoring me—evadingme. At The Nest. In meetings. I’ve walked past her office twice this week and she’s either vanished or had her door closed with Sophia guarding it like a fucking bouncer.

I drag a hand through my hair and step into the living room.

I sink onto my leather couch, staring at the blank TV screen. My reflection stares back—clean-shaven face now darkened with a small dash of stubble, messy hair, and an old t-shirt hanging loose around my neck.

Four fucking days ago, I thought... God, I really thought that was it. The moment everything would change.

The way she kept raising that paddle, refusing to back down. Her eyes locked on mine the whole time, like she was daring me to look away first.

And then that kiss—

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