Page 9 of Keeper
Then again—what else was I going to do? Run away and hide in shame forever? She was probably the only person in the world I could trust with what had happened to me. And we were already on the road to becoming friends again.
Besides, what bad couldpossiblyhappen in the course of a couple days?
I spoke with baited breath. “Well, it’s Spring break, actually, and I don’t have any major plans. If you’re really serious about it, then maybe I could come up for a day or two—”
“Ainsley!” she squealed again, cutting me off. “Yes! Please! You should totally come for the weekend. I live downtown and Dallas issomuch fun—the nightlife here iswild.There’s so many good bars and clubs around, and oh my God, my building isamazing! You’ll love it.”
I smiled, feeling optimistic for the first time in hours. “Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You won’t be a burden at all. I’ve got a roommate right now but that’s no problem, you can sleep on the couch. How long will it take you to get down here?”
“Well, I’m in Wichita right now, so I could get there in five, maybe six hours?”
“Wichita? Gross. What the hell are you doing there?”
“I …” I could tell her my drama bomb now—orI could wait until I got to Dallas when we could actually talk about it in person. “I just felt like driving, I guess.”
She laughed. “That’s my Ainsley. You’re so weird—and I only say that because I love you. God, I missed you.”
“Yeah, I missed you, too,” I said.
“Why’d we ever stop talking in the first place, anyway?” she asked.
Wait. Was she serious? Or just screwing with me?
“Uhh?” was all I could manage to utter.
“Anyway, I can’t wait for you to get here,” she said, breezing right along. “We’ve got so much to catch up on. Call me when you’re outside the city, okay? I’ll tell you how to get here.”
We said our byes. I hung upand stared at my phone for a moment or two. Something about the way that phone call ended put an ominous churning in my stomach …
But whatelsewas I going to do?
Ignoring the pangs of dread, I tossed my phone into the passenger seat, put my car in drive, and headed south.
4
Tanner
The LA Reign huddled in a group hug right outside my crease.
“Great shot!”
“Great pass, bud!”
“Fuckin’ right, boys!”
I was still stretched out in the splits. My glove hand stayed frozen in the air, where I’dnearlysnagged the cross-crease one-timer.I let out a deep breath. Climbing to my knees, I scooped the puck out of my net and swore as I flung it down the ice.
Not my fucking night,I thought.
But those are the sort of thoughts a goalie can’t have.
While the Reign celebrated their goal on my turf, I left my crease and went for a skate along the goal line to reset. I shook all the snow off my jersey and pads. I touched all my equipment, fidgeting with it until everything felt perfect again and in exactly the right place. And most importantly, I cleared my head.
Because the most valuable tool a goalie has is a short memory.
You can do everything right on a play and still end up digging the puck out of your net. It just happens. But to dwell on the goals you allowed—whether it’s because you’re angry you fucked up, or you feel vulnerable, or you feel guilty for letting your teammates down—is fatal.
