Page 27 of Goaltender Interference

Jesse couldn’t even argue with that, so he pulled the device out, unlocked it, then passed it over. “Go for it.”

When Connor was done, he handed it back and they walked toward the front door. “Do you still have the key from yesterday?” Connor asked.

“Yeah. Is it a temporary spare, or …”

“No. You can keep it,” Connor said.

“Okay, I’ll put it on my keychain.”

“Shit, you need the security system code too,” Connor said.

They went through all that and then Connor shrugged on a light jacket. “You want me to walk you to your car?”

“I know you think I’m totally inept but Icanfind my car,” Jesse said with a laugh. “Walk straight toward the monument, turn left at Tremont, then right, and keep the monument on my right.”

“You got it,” Connor said, looking relieved. “See you at the practice facility?”

He still seemed hesitant, but Jesse shooed him. “Yes. Go! I’m going to run upstairs, brush my teeth, and get my wallet and key. I’ll be out the door in like five minutes.”

Connor’s look was skeptical but he nodded, pulling the front door open. “I’m trusting you to get there on time, Webber.”

“I’ve got this, O’Shea,” Jesse said, practically pushing him out the door. “You can trust me.”

“I shouldn’t have fucking trusted him!” Connor bellowed as he paced in Gavin Racine’s office. It overlooked one of the rinks at HCI and he wondered if the people skating down there could hear him.

Probably.

Gavin winced. “Well, no, it appears not.”

“I swear to God I am gonna kill him,” Connor muttered. “Really and truly.”

“We need goaltending,” Gavin reminded him, sitting back in his chair with a sigh.

“Do we? C’mon, are you sure none of the tendies in our development program are ready?” Connor asked.

“Not a fucking chance. They’d be lucky to hold it together for a couple of wins at this level. They need a lot more time to develop. Arkady Romaschenko is, at best, backup caliber.”

“Fuck!” Connor dialed Jesse’s number again. “Where the fuck is he?”

But there was no answer. Connor had been at the practice arena for over an hour and there was no sign from Webber. No call or text or, hell,carrier pigeonarriving. Nothing.

“Well, Boston can be a confusing city to drive in for the first time,” Gavin said in a philosophical tone. “The traffic is a bit … daunting and there are a lot of one-way streets. And your giant-ass traffic circles.”

Connor winced. That was true. “We call them rotaries here, thank you,” he reminded Gavin. And they were bigger and designed to be navigated at higher speeds than a traditional roundabout, like in Pennsylvania where Gavin was from. They could be a pain in the ass to navigate for someone unfamiliar with them.

Shit, Connor hoped Jesse hadn’t gotten into an accident.

“I should have made him ride with me,” Connor said grimly.

“Yes, you should have.”

“Fuck!” Connor rolled his shoulders. One had been feeling tight since he tossed Jesse over it. Unlike firemen, he didn’t exactly train for that shit. “I’m gonna go work out. I’m fucking stressed and I need to get some cardio and weights in or something.”

Gavin sighed. “I suppose there’s no reason not to. Even if Webber arrives soon, it’ll take a little while for the camera crew to get set up. Want a spotter on weights?”

“Sure. I’d appreciate that.”

They walked downstairs, splitting off to head for the players’ locker room and the one that the coaches and GMs used.

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