Page 72 of O Goalie Night
It’s not just the big gestures like our tree decorating date last night. It’s the way he remembers the little things, like how I like my coffee in the morning, or my favourite type of wine in the evening. When we're out together, he instinctively puts himself between me and other people. Even the way he texts me through the day, sometimes with a question or sometimes just to make me smile. He wants me to know he’s thinking about me.
I’ve never been with someone who is so interested in my thoughts and feelings.
He makes me feel important and valued and as someone who is used to feeling like a background singer in the musical of her own life, it feels great.
I don’t want to lose that.
The period is winding down, and suddenly the crowdis on its feet. One of the Panther’s forwards gets a breakaway and guns for our net as our defence scrambles to catch up.
I hold my breath as he winds up, but Foster stops the slapshot easily. Before we can celebrate, the player crashes into him. Foster goes down hard and all hell breaks loose. Ben and his teammates react instantly as gloves are thrown off and fists start flying. My heart races as the drama unfolds, players grappling and throwing punches. The refs rush in, trying to pull them apart, but the fight has taken on a life of its own.
“I hate when they fight.” I groan into my hands, barely able to make myself watch.
“I love when they fight,” Kim sits up as straight as her eight-month-pregnant belly will allow and eagerly watches. “Alexei does too. A good brawl always makes him extra…affectionate.”
“Really?” The refs have finally broken up the fighting and the players are on their way to their dressing rooms. I can’t believe they have to play another period after that.
“Mmmm. I think the only thing that makes him more…affectionate, is when I wear his jersey to bed.”
Interesting. As I watch Foster leave the ice, I find myself wondering if that’s something he would enjoy. After all the effort he put into planning our romantic decorating night yesterday, I’m eager to return the gesture.
I won’t lie—the thought of doing something like that for Foster sends an exciting little thrill through me.
When I turn to tell Kim that I’ll be right back, she beats me to the punch.
“Need me to hold your popcorn while you run to the merch shop?” Her lips curve in a smug smile.
It’s positively criminal how well my new friend reads me.
CHAPTER 29
FOSTER
Ineeded to do press after the game because of the fight. I’m not a fan of talking to reporters to begin with, but I especially dislike it after a fight.
I’ve always believed that fighting is a part of the sport. We don't fight merely for the sake of violence. In-game combat acts as a powerful deterrent, protecting star athletes from harm. Aggressors know that any cheap shot or reckless play will be met with swift retribution. It’s an unwritten code that ensures that everyone thinks twice before targeting key players, maintaining a level of respect and safety on the ice.
What I don’t like is having to justify that aspect of the game every time someone drops their gloves. If a player takes out another team’s goalie, that team will retaliate. It’s not malicious and rarely personal; it’s just the way it is.
I’m not sure what reporters want to hear from me: No, the forward didn’t hurt my feelings when he skated into me. Yes, I trust my defensemen to have my back. Yes, I’m tired of answering your stupid questions.
People might think that games are the most stressful part of my job, but they’d be wrong. I feel most at ease when I’m on the ice. There’s something about being in the crease, locked in, everything else just fades. I know what to do out there; my instincts take over. But put me in front of a bunch of reporters and it’s a different story. I don’t have the same control. The spotlight feels sharper, and every word has weight. I’d much rather face a breakaway than answer questions about a bad game. On the ice, it’s all reaction. In front of the media, it feels like I’m second-guessing myself the whole time and it’s exhausting.
Being exhausted could also be due to the fact that one gets less sleep when they stay up all night having sex with their beautiful girlfriend.
I regret nothing.
Beth being in the stands tonight, watching me play gave me rookie level energy. Just knowing she was in the building gave me a rush. I’m glad that I played well, though I know it wouldn’t matter to her if I didn’t.
The house is dark when I enter, with the exception of the warm glow from the Christmas tree. The place really does feel more like a home than ever and it’s not just the decorations; it’s Beth.
The girl who was only supposed to be here for a few days went and weaved herself into my thoughts, my dreams, and now she’s taking up permanent residence in my heart.
After our late night yesterday, I expect to find her asleep on the couch, but it’s empty.
Maybe she’s gone to bed already?
I feel a stab of disappointment, not that I really blameher for wanting to get some rest before the start of another school week.
