“Don’t give me that out,” I whispered. “I… I’ll take it, and then I’ll loathe myself for taking it.”
He nodded, but I could see concern in his eyes.
“Time for you to suit up,” I said, managing a smile.
Gunnar closed his eyes and sighed before turned toward the locker room for final preparations. As he went, I felt adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
I headed for the ice and found the arena buzzing. Fans had turned out in droves. So many, in fact, that we’d sold out the event. I chuckled at the homemade Gunnar the Goalie signs I saw around the seats. I strapped on my headset, and as Gunnar waddled onto the ice in full goalie gear, the crowd erupted in cheers and laughter.
“All right, folks,” I announced, my voice echoing through the arena, thanks to my mic. “It’s time to see if our fearless leader can stop a puck as well as he can run a hockey team!”
The players lined up, each taking a turn firing shots at Gunnar. To everyone’s surprise, Gunnar made nearly as many saves as the team’s regular goalie, earning him heartfelt roars and high-pitched whistles of appreciation.
I couldn’t stop smiling, and now on familiar turf, I felt more at ease. My hot man had the juice, and I was all over him showing off. I turned to the camera, offering a mischievous grin for the sake of social media. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Thanks to your votes, the player taking the last shot on Gunnar the Goalie is—drum roll, please... Luka ‘The Sniper’ Stol!”
The crowd went wild as Luka, the team’s star forward, skated to center ice. I braced myself, trying to look confident despite a flash of worry. Please don’t break any of his bones, Stolly. Or any teeth. Or anything...
Luka wound up, his stick a blur as he unleashed a blistering slap shot. Time seemed to slow as the puck hurtled towards the net. Gunnar threw himself to the left, and by some miracle, his glove shot out at the last second, snagging the puck mid-air. The arena exploded in cheers as Gunnar lay sprawled on the ice, the puck clutched in his glove.
I rushed onto the ice, my device still broadcasting. “I can’t believe it, folks! Gunnar the Goalie has done the impossible!”
As the players helped Gunnar to his feet, I felt a surge of pride. The way this event had brought the team and the fans together, this was what I’d wanted to achieve—okay, and maybe a bit of personal glory.
But even as I cheered, a part of me felt separate. Paloma and Vivian greeted me, bringing me into their group, just as they always did, but I remained detached. Nothing made sense, and if I stopped to think for even a moment, all I wanted was to leave.
That scared me more than anything else, because from the moment I’d learned about this position, I’d been so excited—not just to experience the sport live, but to live out a dream I’d shared with my father. Now it seemed lost, just as I was lost.
As the final buzzer sounded, marking the end of the challenge, the arena erupted in applause. Gunnar raised his stick in salute, his face flushed with exertion and joy. He lifted his head to where I stood near the ice, and our eyes met. He smiled, raising his hand to his lips, but his teammates mobbed him, and he was swept up in a sea of congratulations.
I was left wondering what he’d been about to do. A part of me didn’t care.
“Come on,” Vivian said, smiling. “Let’s get down to the locker room so you can congratulate your man.”
I smiled and nodded, though all I wanted was to disappear. I caught a brief glimpse of Paloma’s frown and Ida Jane’s concerned expression before Vivian whisked me away.
Gunnar pulled me into his arms the moment he walked out of the locker room, and I melted against him. He smelled fresh and clean, and his eyes danced with excitement. “That was even more fun than I’d hoped it would be,” he said as he nuzzled his nose into my hair. “Thank you for setting it up, Zaila.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling.
He studied me for a long moment—long enough that I dropped my gaze. “Are you tired? Want to head home?”
I did, more than anything, but I didn’t want to dim his joy. Gunnar rarely shared his emotions with the Wildcatters, and I wanted them to learn what a fantastic man he was.
“Of course not. We have a party to go to,” I said, forcing a smile. I was pretty sure I failed, though, because Gunnar’s expression dimmed.
“Let’s go,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Hey, Z,” Jeff called, waving as he and Jay walked by. I stiffened, not at all interested in talking to the self-centered man who’d gone out of his way to ruin his standing in the community and my pleasure in my job.
Gunnar wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me away. “He seems friendly.”
“I suppose.” I said. “I know it’s my job to work with him, but I just…I don’t?—”
“I’ll talk to Jay tomorrow,” Gunnar said. “I’ve been meaning to do that.”
I stopped walking and faced him. “Don’t. Please don’t get involved, because that undermines my position with the team. While I don’t care for Jeff personally, I can deal with him. And I need to. Myself.”
Gunnar pressed his lips into a tight, unyielding line. “Fine.”
