Page 9 of Goalie's Obsession

I duck my head, grinning. "Come on, Eli. It's nearly been a month since we won."

It's actually closer to the new season than it is to last season now. Not that you would know it looking around the damn place.

"Don't 'come on' me, Walsh. That save in game four? Pure poetry." Eli's eyes twinkle as he grabs two glasses. "Your usual booth's open. Take a seat, Champion, and I'll bring you your beers."

Ethan and I slide into the worn leather seats. Above us, three different games play on mute, the scores from the summer European leagues scrolling across the bottom of the screens. The golden glow from the pendant lights catches the condensation on our glasses as Eli sets them down.

"To the Cup champ," Ethan raises his beer.

I clink my glass against his. "Look at us now, huh? Remember when you had to teach me which fork to use at those fancy dinners your parents invited me to?"

"Remember when you thought a power play was something you did with the light switch?" Ethan shoots back.

"Fuck off." I laugh. "At least I knew what ice was. You spent half your time worried about scuffing those Italian loafers you loved."

"Hey, those loafers got you into all the right parties."

"Those parties almost got me traded." I take a swig of beer and laugh. "Your sister saved my ass that night, talking me out of punching that asshole from the Eagles."

"Lucy's got a talent for damage control." Something dark flickers across Ethan's face, but he does well to school it before I can look too much into it. "Always has."

The mention of Lucy's name hangs between us, heavy with everything I want to tell him.

That his sister has been driving me crazy for years. That I've been fighting this thing since she stormed into the Icehawks, back into my life every goddamn day again.

That I'm not just pretending anymore, and it scares the shit out of me.

But Ethan's my oldest friend in Iron Ridge, and there are lines you don't cross. Even when you want to. Even when you've already started to.

I focus on my beer instead, watching the foam slide down the glass.

The conversation lulls for a moment, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I can feel the weight of what I'm not saying.

"You really had to bring me out for a drink just to roast me about myluxuriouslife?" I lean back, arms stretched across the booth. "Hate to break it to you, brother, but my offseason isn't just a revolving door of women like yours."

Ethan smirks, doesn't buy it for a second. "No? Come on, man. You could have anyone."

I force a chuckle. "Right. That's me. Living the dream."

Except the only girl I want is completely off-limits.

Lucy's face flashes in my mind—that smile she gives me when she thinks she's won an argument, the way her eyes light up when she's excited about some new design project for the team.

Ethan keeps watching me, head tilted. "Okay, so if it's not the models, what are you doing? Training? Relaxing? Counting your millions?"

"Trying not to get tackled every time I leave the house," I joke, but it's only half true.

"Are you telling me you're getting bored of the spotlight?"

"I think my face on a billboard is enough attention for a lifetime," I reply dryly.

"I bet. But, hey... could be worse. You could be one of those guys who's secretly in love with the wrong girl."

My beer freezes halfway to my mouth.

Ethan laughs, but there's a weight behind it. I know that laugh. It's the one he uses when he's trying to hide something. I've heard it too many times not to recognize it.

Ethan grins. "Relax. I was joking."

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