Page 10 of Goaltender Interference

He didn’t want to be traded. HelikedToronto.

Sure, the media was insane and Coach Gilbert was a hardass, but he liked the guys. He liked that they didn’t give a fuck about anyone’s sexuality or who they were in love with or how they dressed or any of the usual shit that cropped up in hockey.

Jesse liked Dustin Fowler, his captain, and his cute little husband, Charlie Monaghan, who’d made Jesse feel so welcome when he was bouncing back and forth between the AHL team and the Fisher Cats. He’d liked his place when he finally settled into a role as the backup goaltender behind Anton Makarov. He liked the way the team had trusted him to hold it together when Macky fumbled.

He liked Macky’s wife, Elena, and their squad of crazy kids.

Jesse didn’t want tomove, didn’t want to say goodbye to his friends or the great condo he’d finally settled into. He’d gotten everything exactly the way he liked it and he wanted to stay in Toronto.

The thought of going somewhere new, of facing a new team and coach and GM, made Jesse feel a little sick.

And Connor … well, he’d turned back into Captain Growly—like he was on the ice—and while it had been hot for a while, it wasn’t so hot when he was accusing Jesse oflying. It wasn’t so hot whenhe couldn’t even look Jesse in the eye, like he was ashamed of what they’d done.

Jesse’s phone buzzed again and he contemplated throwing it against the wall and smashing it to smithereens. But ignoring it so far hadn’t exactly made his morningbetterso he supposed he’d have to face the music eventually.

Jesse sat up and reached for the device, a knot forming in his stomach when he thumbed in the passcode.

The notification was a reminder that brunch was being served soon.

This whole wedding had been a little nuts, honestly. Huge and overwhelming, but organized. There had been a whole-ass calendar with notes and reminders about all of the events Jesse would be attending. The welcome dinner and the ceremony and reception, and this post-wedding brunch he should probably get to.

Jesse wasn’t hungry but he would be as soon as he felt like he wasn’t about to throw up. And if he was going to face the music and actually answer the calls from his agent and formerandnew GM at some point, he didn’t want to do it on an empty stomach.

Half an hour later, Jesse brushed his damp hair off his forehead as he followed signs to the room where brunch was being held.

He hesitated in the doorway, surprised to see he was nearly the last one there. Most of the tables were full and he wondered if he should go back and order room service. But he wasn’t a coward so he squared his shoulders and stepped inside, gettingin line behind a beautiful dark-haired woman who gave him a distracted smile while she loaded food onto a plate and tried to wrangle a couple of kids.

The buffet was an upscale version of the ones he ate on the road, so he helped himself, piling his plate with a lot of things that weren’t on his diet plan, even if it was the off-season.

Fuck it.If there was ever a time that called for chocolate-filled pastries, it was today.

Jesse hesitated when he got to the end of the line, scanning for an empty seat. The woman who’d been ahead of him in line gave him another smile. “Looking for a place to sit? You can join me and my family if you’d like.”

“Uhh, sure,” he managed, because the tables with guys he actually kinda knew were full.

Every hockey player there looked rough and were clearly nursing hangovers, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, but Jesse didn’t particularly want to answer questions about the trade at all so he gratefully followed the woman through the sea of tables. “Thanks.”

“I’m Jesse, by the way,” he added.

“Aubrey,” she said, steering a kid toward the table with a hand on the top of his head. “Pat’s wife.”

“Patrick O’Shea?” he asked, gulping.

She grinned. “That’s the one.”

Fuuuck. Jesse should have sat with a bunch of dudes who’d chirp him about what an idiot he was. Instead, he’d walked into the lion’s den.

The entire wedding had been a who’s who of the NHL. There were a shitload of current and retired players, including atonof queer guys. Throughout the weekend, Jesse’d had conversations with fucking huge name players like Zane Murphy, Ryan Hartinger, and Gabriel Theriault, to name a few former and current teammates of Anders and Kelly’s.

He’d met Noah Boucher before now, of course, since La Bouche was a Big Fucking Deal in Toronto as a former goaltender for the Fisher Cats and the first out guy in the league. Honestly, Jesse had been tongue-tied, tripping over his words when La Bouche congratulated him after the team’s Cup win last month.

Butshit. Patrick O’Shea wasn’t just a big-name former Boston player and captain. He was Connor and Kelly’s older brother.

Well, nothing to do but fake it.

“Hey!” Jesse said with a big smile, nodding at the man scooping yogurt into a toddler’s mouth. “Patrick O’Shea, right?”

He glanced up, looking between Jesse and Aubrey with a confused expression before it cleared. “Hey, welcome to Boston, Webber. Saw the trade news this morning.”

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