Page 23 of Goaltender Interference

“Okay. What about my car though? It’s a Jag, I don’t want to leave it on the street.”

Connor snorted. “Well, there’s no private parking around here. So good luck.”

“Dude, seriously, no way! Like, half the fucking cars I saw on my way into the city have their mirrors ripped off and shit. I’m not leaving my baby out to getmangled.”

“That’s Massachusetts drivers for ya,” Connor said with a laugh. Becausethatwas actually really fucking funny. There was a reason he didn’t worry about having the newest, fanciest SUV. There was no fucking point. Not around here.

“Connor!” Jesse said, a whiny note in his voice.

Connor’s annoyance flared to life again.

“Webber, it’s four in the fucking morning and I amthisclose to losing my temper,” Connor said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I gave you the fucking key so you wouldn’t wake me up. You went to the wrong place. You don’t know which direction is up. You’ve more than tested my goddamn patience already!”

“It wasn’t my fault! How would I know there are two streets with the same name?” Jesse said. “I’ve never been to your stupid city except for games!”

“Well, maybe you should have learned something about the place you’re moving to,” Connor snapped. “Now, get your shit out of your fucking Jag, then walk your ass to my place. Move it or I will hang up and you can find it your own goddamn self. I’m counting to three.”

“Connor!”

“One,” he said threateningly.

“Fine! Fine! I’m going to get my bag. I swear to fucking God, if my shit gets stolen or my car gets messed up?—”

“Two …”

He heard muffled sounds for a moment, then the slam of a trunk.

“I’ve got my shit. The stupid-ass monument is on my left,” Jesse muttered.

“Tell me when you get to Tremont Street.” Connor jogged down two flights of stairs with the soft sounds of Jesse’s breathing in his ear. He tried not to think about the last time he’d heard that, when Jesse lay asleep next to him, his skin warm against Connor’s.

“Okay. Tremont Street. Now what?” Jesse asked.

“Turn left. Half a block down will be Monument Street. Take a right there. You can’t go left or you’ll end up in front of the Bunker Hill Monument. Which is the tall pointy thing I told you to look out for.”

Connor reached out to unlatch the deadbolt and unlock the door, then began pacing his entryway.

“Alright. I’m on MonumentStreet.”

Connor ignored the sarcastic retort. “Go half a block. On the right you’ll see a white house. Three stories. With two narrow alleys on either side. Like I fuckin’ told you before.”

There was muffled breathing for a little bit and then Connor heard a quiet rap on the door.

“I think I’m here.”

Connor hung up the phone, stuffing it into his pocket before he opened the door. Jesse stood on the other side, suitcase beside him, backpack slung over his shoulder, an exhausted look on his face.

For a moment, Connor felt a flash of pity because the kid probablywastired as hell. He’d been driving for the better part of a day. And then Connor remembered that all of this stupid shit could have been avoided if he’d planned ahead and left earlier. And made a thousand other decisions that weren’t the absolute worst ones out there.

“Get your ass in here,” Connor said gruffly.

Jesse rolled his eyes and stepped in, dragging his bag behind him. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

“You’d have gotten a better welcome if you’d showed up on time,” Connor pointed out.

“I didn’t mean to be late! Everything wentwrongtoday. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, shit like this justhappens, does it?”

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