Page 4 of O Goalie Night
“But they have bears!” In my mother’s defence, she has lived her entire life in a province where the largest wild animal is a coyote.
“Lots of places have bears, dear,” my father told her gently as he passed me the mashed potatoes.
“Prince Edward Island is the only province that doesn’t have bears,” Ally confirmed, matter-of-factly.
“Don’t waste your time worrying about bears, Mom. She’s way more likely to get attacked by a human,” my older sister, Tara, chimed in, unhelpfully.
After a lot of hand-wringing and reassurance from my brother that he’d look after me, my mother begrudgingly gave me her blessing. She also gave me bear spray which I “forgot” to pack.
Even though it didn’t happen the way I planned, I couldn’t be happier about the move. I can’t wait to explore all the historic sites, museums, and restaurants that the city has to offer.
In addition to being excited about moving, this will also be the first time Ben and I have lived in the same city since I was twelve and I’m really looking forward to spending more time with him.
With my suitcase dragging behind me, its wheels straining under the weight, I scan the vast arrival bay for my brother. As I’m searching the area, my eyes snag on a wall of a man standing alone off to the side. He looks like he’s trying to blend into the pillar he’s leaning against, and failing miserably. When he turns his head I see his face in full profile and my stomach does a somersault.
That’s Foster James.
What are the odds that the Otters’ starting goalie is also picking someone up from the airport? I wonder if Ben knows he’s here. Gripping my ridiculous pink handle, I debate whether or not to say “hi” to him. We’ve met twice before, although I doubt he’d remember me.
I don’t have the same problem. The man is entirely unforgettable. He’s tall and broad like every other hockey player I’ve met, but his face is one-of-a-kind. A chiselled jaw that looks like it never learned how to relax. Piercing green eyes a person could get lost in, and a mouth that looks inviting even when it’s frowning. He’s the definition of “broodingly handsome” and “I can change him” in one. Plus he seems to have all his original teeth, by some miracle.
I recently succumbed to clickbait ranking the hottest players in the NHL and was shocked to see him at number twelve. I’d have ranked him much higher.
Someone wheels a suitcase over my foot and I yelp in pain. The man throws an apology over his shoulder as he hurries away. When I look back up, Foster’s steel eyes are narrowed in my direction.
He can’t actually remember me, right? We talked so briefly each time we met. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think he spoke at all. It was just me babbling at him while he nodded politely and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
But what if he does recognize me and I ignore him? That would be rude and I wouldn’t want to insult my brother’s friend. Should I approach him?
The answer is always yes, Beth.
I square my shoulders and quickly close the twenty feet between us, dragging my comically large suitcase behind me.
“Hi, Foster.” Why is my voice so high? Does it always sound that way? I swallow and try again. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Ben Michael’s sister.”
“Of course I remember you. How are you, Beth?” Hisvoice, both deep and powerful, elevates my blood pressure. Strands of light brown hair peek out from beneath his Blue Jays hat, somehow making his green eyes stand out even more.
“I’m good! Just arrived, obviously.” I laugh to mask how nervous I am. Foster freaking James is just as impressive in real life as he is in the net. And he remembered me. “And yourself?”
“Also good,” he nods.
“Good.” I nod back. Conversation comes to a standstill as we continue nodding at one another like a couple of human bobbleheads.
Finally, he clears his throat. “So, are you good?”
Bless his heart, the man is gorgeous but he’s even more awkward than I remember. “Yeah. I’m good.” There’s a stretch of silence that borders on uncomfortable.
“Great. Can I take your bag for you?”
“Take my bag where?”
Another awkward pause. “To my car.”
My confusion must be written all over my face, because his expression clears and he shakes his head before continuing. “Your brother didn’t tell you that he asked me to pick you up, did he?”
At first, I think I must have misheard him. I mean, there is no way that my brother would have sent Olympic gold medalist Foster James to fetch me like a chew toy, right? But then I pause long enough to think about some of the stunts Ben’s pulled over the years. Like the time he made his buddy attend our cousin’s wedding because he was too hungover to go. This is one hundred percent on brand for him.
Goddammit, Ben.
