Page 34 of Goalie's Obsession

My fingers brush my lips without meaning to. I can still feel how she melted against me, her hands gripping my jacket like she needed something to hold onto. Like maybe she'd been wanting it as long as I had.

For one perfect minute, I thought we were done with this dance. Done pretending there wasn't something explosive between us. Done acting like every time we're in the same room, we're not so aware of each other's presence nothing else seems to matter.

I thought she'd finally stop running.

Instead, she's running harder than ever.

I take a long pull from my beer, but it doesn't wash away the memory of how she tasted. How her body fit against mine like she belonged there.

The worst part? For a split second, when she looked up at me after that kiss, I saw it in her eyes. The same thing I've been feeling since Vegas. Since before Vegas, if I'm honest.

But then those cameras started flashing, and she bolted like I was radioactive.

I scrub a hand over my face.

Fuck. When did I start falling for my best friend's sister?

I look around my lonely living space. It’s all sharp corners and masculine polish—dark leather couch, stone fireplace, minimalist shelves. A few framed jerseys. One new Stanley Cup photo in the corner. A signed puck Ethan gave me when I turned twenty-one.

I stare at it.

Longer than I should.

It’s still in the same display case he gave me. Still has that stupid inscription on the back:Don’t get soft now, Captain Material.He was the first one who ever said it. Long before the league did.

We were inseparable once. Every summer break, every off-season. His family let me crash in their guest room whenever I needed. I practically lived there one summer.

His mom used to call me her “bonus son.”

Lucy used to steal my socks and draw on them with Sharpies, writing shit likeConnor smells like goalie padsacross the toes.

I used to laugh.

Now I can barely picture Ethan’s face without hearing the way his voice shouted at his sister as I approached them in the parking lot. How he saidNot from you. Not my own damn sisteras he yelled at her in a way that made me want to punch my best friend on the goddamn nose.

I grab the puck out of the display case and roll it between my palms.

Maybe ghosting people runs in the family. Ethan stopped replying to me sometime last year too. I sent texts. Called a few times.

Thought maybe he was just busy, maybe his job had finally wore him down.

I sit down on the couch, resting the puck on my knee, and pull out my phone again. I start typing a text to Ethan this time, the exact same tone as I have all week with Lucy.

You okay? Want to talk?

No. That's how I talk to Lucy. Too soft.

Eh fucker. You going to talk to me or keep pretending I don’t exist?

Nope.

I delete the message and toss the phone onto the coffee table like it burned me.

He’ll come to me. That’s the agreement now, I guess. I already reached out once. I’m not chasing someone who already slammed the door. I've been there and done that once before.

Even if I miss him like hell.

Even if it feels like the two people who once knew me best have disappeared in the exact same week.

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