Page 16 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

“Glad you came out,” he says as he steps up beside me. “We all wanted to give you some space after the last game. You doing okay?”

I’m tempted to ask why they thought I’d need space. I’m such an extrovert, such a people person, that “space” is the worst thing you could give me. But they may not know me well enough to understand that yet.

Although, I probably still would have spent more time than normal at home, licking my wounds and trying to block out the sportscasters’ comments about my performance.

I’ve been a player long enough to know that a team can go radio silent for the week or two after playoffs end, as everyone is trying to catch up on their personal lives.

We all miss out on a lot during the season, and lots of guys live in the city they play for during the year and then move “home” for the off-season.

Even while I know this, it would have been nice to hear from my teammates sometime in the last two weeks and to know that they weren’t all pissed at me.

“I’m fine.”

Drew turns his head to look at me and pauses a beat before he says, “You sure?”

“Yep.”

I’ve got almost decades of Hartmann family training ingrained in me:

Don’t show weakness .

Maintain the family name and reputation at any cost.

Don’t talk about your problems with anyone outside your family.

I already fucked up the first two of those three “family rules” during the last game. I let my one and only weakness—Evangeline Wilcott—get in the way of my game, and I tarnished my family’s name in the process.

So I’d need a lot more drinks than I’m planning to have tonight in order to break the third rule and open up about how I’m really feeling.

“You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I have a sports psychologist who is...perfect.”

I arch an eyebrow. I didn’t realize this was a thing among my teammates. “Yeah?”

“Zach recommended her earlier in the season, and meeting with her made a huge difference in my performance, as well as my ability to balance my personal life and hockey.”

Oh, so it’s the same person AJ suggested I talk to.

I’m not sure it makes me any more eager to set up that initial meeting, but it is interesting.

..especially because Drew almost never gets into fights anymore, after having a reputation as a brawler back in Denver.

I wonder if it’s because he’s talking to this sports psychologist?

I’m considering whether I want to ask him more questions when the bartender walks up. “What can I get you guys?”

We both order for ourselves, before I ask, “Do you have any non-alcoholic drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing a menu from below the bar and passing it over. “There’s a mocktail section on the back. I’ll give you a minute to look while I grab those other drinks.”

“Eva doesn’t drink?” Drew asks.

“She has to skate tomorrow morning, and she never drinks if she’s going to be skating.”

He huffs a laugh while I scan the menu. “Imagine if hockey players didn’t drink the night before a practice? We’d never go out.”

True. Our season is long, and we typically practice or have games six days a week. “Good thing you’re not a figure skater, then,” I say.

Not that Drew parties that much. From what I can tell, neither his fiancée, Audrey, nor her sister, Jules, ever have more than a couple of drinks.

I think it’s some sort of a family thing, because on the occasions that their older brother Jameson is out with us, he always orders a scotch that he barely touches.

The bartender returns with our drinks, and I order Eva a virgin peach coconut margarita.

“You know her drink order?” Drew asks, side-eyeing me.

“Have you never had a best friend?” I ask and roll my eyes. Why wouldn’t I know my best friend’s favorite things?

“Uhhhhh...” Drew just trails off and looks away. “I guess not since I was a kid.”

“I know Eva as well as I know myself,” I tell him. Maybe better, actually .

I seem to have no problem delving into what makes her tick—every single thing she loves, the things she doesn’t like, her fears and her dreams. Why is it so difficult for me to dig that deeply within myself ?

“That’s how I feel about Audrey,” he says and lifts his eyebrow again. “You sure you two are just friends?”

I give him a pointed look. “The fact that you can’t believe that I could be friends with a girl without trying to sleep with her says more about you than it does about me.”

That’s the type of thing I always say when the topic of my friendship with Eva comes up, but it’s also not true. I’d move our friendship across that line in a heartbeat, if that’s what she wanted.

Still, I can and have maintained a platonic relationship with her my whole life and plan on continuing that trend moving forward.

“I wasn’t talking about trying to sleep with her,” Drew says. “I was talking about finding that person who makes you feel whole .”

I press my lips together and remember how—only a few weeks ago—he and Colt gave McCabe similar advice about what it was like to be in love, while I sat by and pretended I had no clue what it felt like.

Slipping my card out of my wallet, I hand it to the bartender, asking him to keep a tab open for our table. Then I turn to Drew, determined to deflect his comment about Eva making me whole. I know it’s true, but he doesn’t need to.

“See, that’s the thing,” I say with a shrug and a smirk. “I already am the whole package.”