Page 93 of The Goalie in Room 1

Absolutely the fuck not.

I shifted my attention to the tree and took another drink of coffee.

Beside me, Thad went quiet.

I glanced over.

The hoodie lay across his thigh, but he wasn’t looking at it. His attention had gone back to the photograph on the table. The smile from a few minutes ago was gone, and something quieter had taken its place.

I could’ve asked.

Normally, I probably would’ve.

Instead, I let him look.

His thumb swept once across my ankle. I settled a little deeper into the sectional and left my leg exactly where it was. Letting my self luxuriate in the small, gentle, reassuring ways he took care of me. He surprised me. More every day I knew him.

Turning, my gaze found the decorations we arranged together. The Christmas lights from the tree glowed against the morning sun. Beyond the glass, the ocean rolled.

And through it all…Thad’s hand stayed around my ankle, grounding me and weaving him into the fabric of my life. Through the silent, earth-shattering reworking of my life, the sun climbed higher in the sky. The waves rolled onto the shore, crashing against the rocks. And the seconds kept ticking by, each one lashing me to the man stroking my leg.

Neither of us said a fucking word about what we’d seen the night before.

There was no need. We were here. Together. Waiting.

18

THAD

New Year’s Eve

“Your goalie sucks.”

I looked away from the television, where Los Angeles was currently losing spectacularly to Colorado.

“He’s allowed one bad game,” I said.

“What he’s allowed is four goals in two periods.” The disgust twisting Cash’s face would’ve made more sense if he gave a shit about either team.

“It was one bad goal.” It wasn’t. Not really. The goalie had struggled all season.

“It was four.”

“Three of those weren’t his fault.”

Cash shoved another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “That’s what losers say when they’re losing.”

“You don’t even care who wins.”

“I care.” He tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, aiming for his mouth. It bounced off his chin and landed on the sectional beside him.

“You’re cleaning that shit up, boy.”

He smirked. “I care that your team loses.”

“Brat.”

His grin flashed before he turned back to the game.