Page 10 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door (Love in Maple Falls #5)

CLéMENT

I check my watch again.

Practice is in ninety minutes. That gives me maybe fifteen more before I need to find my helmet, scrub goat scent out of my pores, and pretend I didn’t spend the lunch hour being climbed on like a jungle gym by children and livestock.

I’ve got to be on time because I am not cleaning that ice bath ever again.

But instead of leaving, I wander into the barn.

Marcy’s nowhere in sight. I’m just being helpful. Staying productive. Volunteering. I’m not specifically looking for her at all.

She disappears like it’s a sport. One minute she’s wrangling bales like a woman possessed, the next she’s gone in a flurry of clipboards.

Scotty’s leaning against one of the wooden beams inside, trying and failing to look relaxed. His jaw’s tight, shoulders braced stiffly.

“Hey,” I say. “You alive? ”

“Somewhat.” He doesn’t look at me. “Don’t get old, Frenchie. It’s annoying.”

I grin and step into the shadows of the barn, brushing hay from my shirt. “You’re what, forty?”

“Forty-two,” he grunts. “But my spine thinks it’s eighty-seven.”

I nod, settling in beside him, leaning just enough to keep my legs from locking up. “You threw out your back?”

“Moving a hay bale. My final act of heroism.”

I whistle. “Dramatic.”

“Fitting,” he mutters.

There’s a pause.

“You played, didn’t you?” I ask. “Pro?”

He nods slowly. “Sure did. And then I didn’t. But the sport came back for me and that’s how I ended up in Maple Falls. I’m both glad I retired and glad that I came back for that little spell, or else none of this ever would have happened.” His smile is wholesome and I know exactly what he means.

I glance at my watch again. Eighty-two minutes.

“You miss it?” I ask.

“Sure. I miss parts of it. The games. The locker room. Road trips. The way your whole world fits inside one arena.” He shifts his weight and winces.

“But I don’t miss the ruckus. Or the hit that knocked my shoulder out of socket.

Or losing two teeth on a ricochet and still playing the third period. ”

I wince for him. “We all have our injuries.”

Scotty looks at me sideways. “And yours?”

“It’s nothing,” I say too quickly. “A small one.”

He lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t press for more information.

I don’t tell him about the headaches. Or how my vision went blurry for two whole minutes this past spring. Or how I now flinch a little every time a slapshot comes high to the glove side.

Instead, I say, “It’s manageable.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I still want it,” I say. “The dream. The playoffs. The show. The roar of the crowd when you make the save that changes the game.”

“Of course you do.”

“It’s still everything to me,” I add, and I mean it. I really do. But my voice sounds a little thinner than I expect. I’m starting to realize that there are other things that mean everything as well… and I’m not sure how that’s possible.

Scotty is quiet for a minute and then says, “That’s how it should be. Until it isn’t.”

I let the words sit.

He pushes off the beam, groaning a little as he stands straight. “If I’d stayed any longer, I would’ve missed all of this, you know? The ranch. Angel. Lily and Andy. They were always here, waiting. But I would’ve missed the best of it, chasing a world that didn’t want me anymore.”

“I don’t think hockey’s done with me.”

“I hope not,” he says, slapping my shoulder gently.

I check my watch again. Seventy-four minutes.

“I’ve got time,” I say, though I’m not sure if I mean today or in life.

“Maybe,” Scotty says, with a crooked smile. “But time’s slippery. Don’t let it pass while you’re blinking.”

Time. Time is ticking in so many ways. Like with that building permit. “Hey, Scottie?”

“Yeah?”

“You know how I can get a building permit approved? I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“Sure, you just need to get it past the mayor.” He limps toward the doorway and rests against it while I stand there, watching a shaft of light filter through the barn roof and paint everything gold.

The mayor. Short of sleeping on the town hall steps, I’m not sure how I’ll ever get ahold of him. Maybe Marcy could help…

Edgar bleats and somewhere nearby comes Marcy’s voice, sharp and efficient as always.

And for the first time, I truly wonder what happens if the ice gets pulled out from under me. If the headaches become a handicap. Would I know how to land?

Scotty shifts with a wince and nods toward the far end of the barn. “Go on. Don’t let the old guy keep you. I know you’ve got practice.”

I hesitate. My eyes drift to the paddock, then toward the cluster of cabins across the garden. “I just really wanted to find?—”

I cut myself off before I say too much.

Scotty catches it anyway. His smile creeps sideways, and he waggles his eyebrows.

“Someone’s got a little pitchfork crush,” he says, sing-songy.

I groan. “Please, no.”

“She give you the ol’ one-two in a budget meeting? Spreadsheet seduction?”

“ Oh la la ,” I mutter. “You’re worse than the locker room.”

“I’ve been in the locker room. You boys are amateurs.”

I laugh despite myself and back away. “Take care of your spine.”

“You take care of your dignity, Romeo.”

I step off the barn porch, still chuckling, and catch movement across the garden. There she is.

Marcy’s standing outside one of the cabins, cradling a steaming mug in both hands. She sees me and smiles—a small one, but it feels like a sunrise.

She lifts her hand in a little wave. I offer one back, then she disappears into the cabin.

I stay rooted for a beat longer than I should and then grin to myself as I walk toward my bike, boots crunching on the gravel path.

Could it be that the Ice Queen is melting?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, the alarm I set when I had just an hour before practice.

I fish it out and glance at the screen. Time is ticking. Still, I swipe open my texts and type out a quick message to Mathieu.

Me: Hey. How are you holding up, mon frère?

The three dots pop up. Then they stop. They start again.

And stop.

I watch them for a long moment, thumb hovering.

Then I type:

Me: I understand, buddy. It’s going to be okay. We’re getting you out to Maple Falls ASAP.

A second later, his reply comes.

Mathieu: Merci, mon ami.

I want to help him, and I will help. Just not right this second. I have to get to practice, and if I’m late again, I will be demoted to team water boy slash janitor slash emotional support mascot .

I rev the engine of my bike and peel away from Happy Horizons, Marcy’s smile still glowing in me.

Tomorrow, I’ll ask if she wants to grab coffee.

Or maybe not coffee. Maybe fresh milk.