Page 142 of Goaltender Interference

Connor shook his head, already getting out of the vehicle. “No. I—I’ll get a rideshare or something.”

“Dad, wait,” Nolan said, his voice cracking. “Come home. I … there’s something else I want to tell you.”

“I want to listen to whatever you have to say,” Connor said, turning back, his expression conflicted. “But right now, I wouldn’t be a very good listener. We’ll talk when I get home, okay?”

“Yeah,” Nolan said, turning away and looking out the window. “Yeah, whatever.”

Damn it. Damnbothof them, they were both shutting down. Pushing each other away right when they needed to talk.

“Connor …” Jesse said weakly. He wanted to tell him he was making the wrong choice but—but this wasn’t his kid. This wasn’t his family. He was … he was the guy Connor was hooking up with, histeammate.

And yeah, maybe it had started to feel like something more lately but what the hell did Jesse know about any of this? He was just a stupid fuckup who caused problems for everyone around him.

“I’ll be home in a few hours, Nols, I swear,” Connor repeated. “Give me some time to sort out my thoughts. I love you, okay? I’ll always love you. No matter what. I just—I just need to figure something out for myself.”

Nolan didn’t answer, so Connor shut the SUV door behind him. Jesse flinched at the noise but Nolan just kept staring out the window at traffic.

Jesse watched Connor walk up the church steps, then hesitate in front of the red doors for a long moment.

Come back, Jesse silently begged Connor but he reached for the handle, pulled the heavy door open, and disappeared from view.

Connor hesitated on the steps outside St. Mary’s Church. It was the parish he’d grown up going to, housed in a massive Gothic building built of granite with brick trim in the late 1800s. The enormous wooden doors were painted red, almost matching the color of the bricks, but not quite.

Connor reached for the door handle, freezing for a moment before he opened it and stepped through the doorway.

Inside, he was hit by the familiar smell of wood polish and thick, resinous incense.

The intricately carved wood-beamed ceiling arched overhead, the walls below it painted a creamy shade of white. Large circular fixtures hanging from the ceiling always glowed brightly during mass, but were dark now.

Weak sunshine filtered in one of the stained-glass windows, spilling colorful light across the wooden pews.

Connor shivered, the hushed presence of the empty building so strong it almost felt like something he could touch or taste.

He’d skated on the ice at the arena once with the crowd gone, the building so different than when it was filled with music and people. He’d never thought of it as holy but it was exactly the same feeling he had now.

That weighty feeling heavy in his gut, anchoring him to the ground while it tugged at his chest, like the wind lifting a tethered balloon toward the sky.

Connor’s footfalls echoed on the checkered tile floors as he walked down the aisle.

He’d walked that same route hundreds of times. For Sunday masses and baptisms and communions and confirmations. For funerals and weddings. He’d been the pallbearer at his grandfather’s funeral, been married here. He’d wiped away tears when he stood on the steps of the altar, overcome by the sight of Viv walking down the aisle toward him.

He’d watched the bishop gently scoop water from the baptismal font onto Nolan, Evie, and Maura’s heads as he spoke the words that welcomed them into the Catholic church.

He remembered the dry wafer on his tongue, the sourness of the wine, the priest’s thumb against his forehead, making the sign of the cross.

Now, Connor stopped halfway down, genuflecting and making that same sign of the cross before sliding into the pew he and his family had always sat in every Sunday they had free from hockey. He remembered sitting between Kelly and Pat, Kelly’s little legs swinging free because he was still too short for them to reach the ground.

He remembered Kelly fidgeting, poking at Connor to bend down so he could ask him a question or tell him something he’d noticed.

Connor remembered their mother laying a gentle hand on Kelly’s knee, her diamond wedding ring sparkling in the colored lights from the windows, speaking to Kelly soothingly until he quieted and stilled.

He remembered the sharp looks his father sent Pat and Finn when they started elbowing each other.

And while they weren’t exactlygoodmemories—not like the feeling of sitting in the back of his parents’ van, impatiently waiting to get home to eat the doughnuts his father had picked up on the way home as a treat—they were ones that filled him with a sense of home and family.

Connor remembered Christmas Eves, the church decorated with candles, poinsettia plants, and evergreen garland filling the air with their scent. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the cozy warmth of his brothers’ arms pressed tight against his when people made room for the parishioners who only showed up on the holidays, the sound of the choir singing Christmas songs so beautiful it gave him goosebumps.

Connor let the kneeler fall with a quiet thump and sank to his knees, bracing his elbows on the wooden pew and clasping his hands together to pray.

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