Page 71 of Chasing The Goal
You’ve earned it.
I didn’t reply. I just stared at the ceiling and let the warmth of her words settle over me like a blanket.
Jaymie
I was supposed tobe sleeping in.
We’d won big last night. A clean 4–1 victory against Tennessee, and Coach had been generous enough to push practice to late afternoon. I had no alarm set, no plans until noon, and still—here I was, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, pillow folded under my head, and thinking about Mallory.
Again.
Now she was in myhead every damn minute.
And last night?
She’d looked wrecked.
Not the usual post-game tired. Not the I’ve-been-on-my-feet-all-day ache we all carried. She’d been pale. Unsteady. Her eyes had a glassy, sheen to them that had made something in my chest clench. She told me she was fine. That she just needed a little quiet.
I didn’t believe her.
But I let her go anyway.
Now I was sitting in my apartment, nursing black coffee and watching the sun creep through the blinds, wondering if I should text her. Ask how she slept. If she was feeling better. If she needed anything. Or maybe I should shut the hell up and give her space.
She was a grown woman, who was thirty-one weeks pregnant. She didn’t need me showing up like some overeager, idiot with a smoothie and a playlist. Those were movies for best friend Jaymie, not future lover Jaymie. Clearly spirially, I got myself out of bed and somehow ready for the day, nothing like skates on ice to clear the fog that consummed me. But before I drove off to the rink I shot off one quick text.
Morning Mal! How are you feeling?
***
By the time I got to the rink, half the guys were already in the weight room. Darren was in full rookie mode, trying to max out on the bench press like he didn’t have three more hours of skating ahead.
“You trying to impress someone?” I asked, leaning on the bar as he racked the weight.
Darren grinned. “Just staying sharp. Gotta keep the vets sweating.”
“Connor’s old, not dead,” I said, jerking my thumb toward the captain, who was tying a resistance band around his wrist. “You’ll pull something trying to keep up with him.”
Connor smirked. “Flattery’ll get you nowhere, Jay.”
Logan chimed in from the leg press, voice dry. “Speak for yourself. I thrive on compliments.”
“You thrive on protein bars and chaos,” Connor said.
Darren groaned as he sat up. “Jaymie, are you actually going to work out or just heckle me to death?”
“I came for the free show. And because Coach said I had to.”
The banter was easy. Familiar. The kind of teasing that came from knowing one another too well, from months on the road and ice and locker room chirping. I gave as good as I got, but I was off my rhythm. Mallory was still in theback of my mind—her face, her voice, the image of her pressing a hand to her lower back as she walked away last night.
She hadn’t texted back.
And I hadn’t stopped worrying.
***
Practice was short—tactical drills, recovery skates, nothing too aggressive. Coach was in a good mood, which made everyone else loose, and chatty. I lingered after we wrapped, not really sure why. The rink was thinning out. Lights dimming. Equipment bags thudding against rubber floors.
