Page 76 of The Goalie in Room 1

Shaking my head, I let his words compute and said, “I didn’t ask.”

“You pointed and were totally going to ask.”

I absolutely was.

In my periphery, Cash stood. The distinctive sound of his crutches told me he had moved to stand behind me.

“So,” he began, pausing probably for me to look at him, but the massive tree in the living room still held my attention. He continued with a sigh, “Before Dr. Vale shows up to ruin my surprise with the third degree, lemme break it down for you. I opened the door. I pointed. I supervised while they did everything else. No half-crippled hockey players carried or lifted or in any way participated in the making of this Christmas. Well, other than ordering the tree and paying for it.”

My gaze snapped to his.

“Don’t call yourself that,” I growled, the words and tone harsher than I’d ever spoken to him.

His grin disappeared. His eyes fell shut.

Fuck.

Cash looked toward the tree.

I scrubbed both hands over my face, tired and frustrated from a shitty day at work. I didn’t give a fuck about the tree or decorating.

The tree had nothing to do with it. I’d stopped doing Christmas when Chelly and I split. Somewhere along the way, decorating a house I barely lived in for a family I didn’t have had felt fucking pathetic.

And now Cash had filled that house with a massive tree because apparently my life was depressing, and I’d thanked him by wiping the smile off his face.

“Cash, I’m⁠—”

“No worries, Doc.”

I walked over and stopped in front of him. His eyes stayed on the branches.

“Cash.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barked at you like that.”

“I’m sorry too. It’s just⁠—”

I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more. The seconds and minutes ticked by until I wasn’t sure he would actually look at me, but eventually, those gorgeous blue eyes I regularly got lost in found mine. I held his gaze. And I knew…that flippant comment hid the loss of his career and the fear he had around not returning to the ice.

“Just what?”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

“It’s easier to joke about it.”

“You don’t have to do that with me,” I said, hoping he understood he could be real with me. That I wanted his most authentic self, not the brash jokester he showed everyone else when the world and reality closed in.

His jaw worked as if he were chewing on the words, and then…he nodded once. His silent reply was hardly reassuring. But…

I let it go. I’d ruined things enough for one day.

Moving my eyes around the room, they lit on the boxes sitting beside the tree. Multiple boxes I’d failed to notice because of the tree that dwarfed my normally massive-feeling open-concept home, turning it from empty-warehouse huge to a packed-to-the-brim closet.