Page 117 of Goaltender Interference

Connor scoffed. “Maybe compared to most GMs and players but there’s no way in hell I’d feel comfortable asking him about any of that. He’s a private guy and honestly, it’s kinda inappropriate.”

“Ugh, I guess.”

“Now who’s gossipy?” Connor shot back as he pulled into the HCI parking lot, waving at the guard who let them into the player lot.

“Definitely both of us,” Jesse said.

Connor laughed because yeah, okay that was fair.

After they parked, Jesse reached for the door handle.

Connor stopped him before he could get out of the vehicle. “Hey, you won’t say anything to anyone else about this, right? I mean, all of the stuff online is fair game, I guess, but the stuff I told you last night about Thad wanting a job and them arguing, I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t have even told you. I don’t want that getting out to the rest of the team.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jesse said. “I get that. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Thanks.”

Connor was still mulling over the situation when he stepped onto the ice for practice a short while later. He glanced up to see Gavin standing on the balcony overlooking the rink, his expression thoughtful as he surveyed his players.

His brother Thad stood beside him, wearing Harriers gear.Interesting. Apparently, he’d gotten a job after all. Connor wondered what position it was.

Family, even the best of them—which Connor firmly believed he had—was complicated. There were egos and secrets and old hurts and all sorts of things that made navigating tricky subjects difficult. Whatever the reason Thad had gotten up to some shady shit in his youth, Connor respected Gavin for giving him a second chance.

“O’Shea!” Hoyt called out. “Do you feel like joining us for practice?”

With a jolt, Connor realized most of the guys had already knelt in a semi-circle around Hoyt so he could explain the drill they were doing this morning.

“Yeah. Sorry, Coach,” Connor muttered as he took his spot on the ice.

Hoyt nodded, looking more amused than upset. Connor wasn’t known for being distracted on the ice. He liked to give it his all, and he couldn’t stand it when guys treated it like it wasn’t important.

But he supposed they all had their off days.

Connor would have to be sharp in the game later this week though. Evanston was coming to town and he’d be up against his brother Kelly.

“Weak!” Jesse called out ten minutes later when Crawford fired a shot his way and Jesse easily batted it away. “C’mon,hitme!”

Guys were practicing their shots—trying to improve their stickhandling speed, strength, and accuracy. The team had been divided into two groups, one at either end of the ice. A stick was set up halfway between the circles in the attacking zone. The coach fired the puck from the wall, and guys had to grab it, maneuver it around the stick, then shoot it at the goalie. Jesse had the group who were working with Hoyt, while Rasmussen took the other half, who were shooting at Arkady.

Half the fucking shots went wide though and the other half weren’t nearly as strong as the coach—or Jesse for that matter—would like, so Jesse kept taunting them, hoping they’d get pissed off enough to really fire it in and give him something good to work with.

This was practice for him too, after all.

Besides, it was fun.

Each guy got half a dozen shots before rotating to the next one, and Connor and Anker Henriksen were the only two who had really given him a run for his money so far.

Crawford, clearly annoyed, fired a ripper that Jesse caught it in his glove. “Better!” he called out. “Still not good enough.”

Danny Foley, who stood nearby observing his positioning, snorted. “You’re a menace,” he said.

Jesse grinned. “You know it.”

He deflected a shot from Tanner. “Pathetic, Clay,” he called out.

By the time they made it to the second rotation, more pucks were going in the net and they were coming harder and faster. Jesse loved it, felt the bright spark of competition light him up and he swore when Connor snuck one in on him.

“I’ll make you regret that,” Jesse threatened.

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