Silence fills the space between us as the rain taps against the windows.
My throat works like I’m trying to swallow something that doesn’t fit. I look down at my hands. Callused and rough withscarred knuckles. Tanner’s hands are smaller than mine, but just as strong. Precise. Gentle when he helped me dress. Steady when he held my jaw and kissed me like he was dying for me.
“It’s about him,” I admit, my voice low.
Carson nods, like he was expecting that answer.
“Okay,” he says. “Then let’s talk about a different option.”
I tilt my head, looking at him through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean? There’s only one net.”
“There’s only one net, but it’s a long season, Louis.” Carson stands and walks to the kitchen area that overlooks the living room we’re sitting in. He grabs two bottles of sparkling water out of a wine fridge tucked under the counter and walks back to his chair, pausing to hand me a bottle. He twists the cap, takes a sip, then looks at me over the rim.
“The league is changing,” he says. “Teams are protecting their starting goaltenders a lot more than they used to. It’s working for both players and teams.”
“You’re talking about a tandem system.”
Carson nods. “Mostly, yes. But what I have in mind is a little different. I’m envisioning something closer to a player-coach hybrid role. You’ll still play, but a large part of your role would be focused on coaching and mentoring the more junior goalies in our system. Not just Sinclair, but also McWhittier and anyone else our scouts identify as having potential.”
My heart speeds up again, this time not with fear and dread, but with excitement.
“I—uh—I’ve never considered that,” I say. But suddenly, I remember how amazing it felt when I was watching Tanner play and I could see him finally master a move I’d been teaching him. The pride I feel when he’s playing well. The feeling is nearly as good as when it’s me in the crease.
“I don’t need you to play sixty games,” he says. “I need you to play thirty-five. And then, when you’rereallyready to thinkabout retirement—” He pauses, giving me a pointed look. “—if things are working, there will be opportunity to transition into a full-time goalie coaching role. If that’s something you want.”
My chest tightens with relief as I realize what Carson is offering me: a chance at a future where I don’t have to leave the game completely behind. Where I don’t have to worry about being the guy who hangs on so tightly that someone has to drag me off the ice.
“Louis,” Carson says gently. “Your value to this team has never been just about stopping pucks. You’re a hell of a goalie, obviously. But you’re also the guy who can get Casey McWhittier to smile after a brutal practice, who can pull Sinclair out of his own head when he starts to spiral. You keep the guys loose when the pressure’s on, and you don’t sugarcoat the hard truths when someone needs to hear them. You know how to motivate people. Every single man in that locker room respects you.”
He holds my gaze. “That matters.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Thank you.”
“Even if you don’t come back the same player you were before, Louis, you need to understand that if you retire now, before you need to, the only thing you’re doing is taking away what you can still give this team. And what you can give Tanner.”
My throat burns, and I blink hard again.
“He needs your mentorship, Lou,” Carson continues. “He’s talented and hungry, but he’s also… alone.” His eyes flicker so briefly it’s almost imperceptible. But it’s as if he knows exactly what it’s like to feel alone, even while surrounded by people.
I drag a hand down my face, hard. “Okay. That’s… A lot to think about.”
Carson nods. “It is. To be clear, Louis, I’m not accepting your retirement right now. We’ll talk again after you’ve had a chance to, ah, think about it some more.”
“Okay.” I get to my feet, feeling a little sheepish, but also desperate to find Tanner and fix what I broke. “I—thank you, Carson.”
He stands as well, but the smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes. He nods. “You’re welcome, Louis. Now, go find him. Make him listen. Because we need both of you.”
My pulse kicks into overdrive as I get into my car, but this time, it’s not panic. It’s urgency.
Because I can fix this. I’m going to find Tanner Sinclair, and I’m going to tell him the truth. All of it, no matter how ugly or scary it feels.
Because I’m done pretending this thing between us is casual. Or that he doesn’t belong right here.
With me.
Chapter 22
Louis
