Page 101 of Goalie Secrets
“Somewhere else?” I repeat, incredulously. “Vanya, that exact place in the garage has held my hockey gear for decades. It’s practically a tenant.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps it’s overdue for eviction.”
I step down into the garage, kicking the bag. “You know this thing smells like a crime scene, right? My mom never let it in the house.”
“Well, it’s not staying where my car goes,” she says with a shrug, walking past me toward the house. “Find it a new home. Outside, preferably.”
I stare after her, helpless in the best way, because how am I supposed to argue with someone who manages to make bossy look adorable? Watching her move around my—ourhouse like she’s already lived here for years fills me with a kind of happiness I can’t quite explain. As if I’ve been missing something my whole life without even knowing it until she shows up and takes over my garage.
“You’re impossible,” I call after her when she walks past me.
“And yet, here you are, keeping me anyway,” she tosses back without missing a beat.
She’s not wrong. I’ll keep her all day and forever if she lets me. I grab a box and follow her into the living room.
The past few months flash through my mind. The Mavericks lost in the playoffs after I pulled myself from the season. A tough decision, but the right one. Vanya had sat me down—well, more like pinned me with her no-nonsense doctor stare—and laid out the cold, hard truth. If I didn’t stop, I’d risk making my injuries worse. I had finally listened.
She was right, of course. After some brutal honesty from Dr. Leroi and a slew of sophisticated imaging tests, we confirmed the labral tears worsened. What followed was months of physical therapy, strength training, and exercises designed to stabilize every muscle, tendon, and ligament holding me together.
No skating.
No “testing it out.”
No heroics.
It was torture. But it worked. The first time I got back on the ice, I felt like a completely different player. Funny how Vanya’s always right about these things. Annoying, but funny.
Speaking of Vanya, she’s still buzzing around, grabbing boxes and organizing the house. Watching her adjust so seamlessly to this new chapter is surreal. She’s no longer officially my doctor. Now she’s my partner. My person in every way that counts.
She’s staying in Columbus for good, which is the best news I’ve ever gotten, even compared to a full bill of health. Her research fellowship turned into a full-time position in Kyle’s practice, with the potential to make partner.
Plans for publishing her research were replaced by plans for serving the hockey community. She’s expanded her focus from just EDS to helping goaltenders like me, active players and retirees alike, figure out how to keep doing what they love without wrecking themselves. Sabrina is a patient and a publicity board for Vanya’s expertise. It’s amazing to see how much of a difference Vanya is making for people.
She still flies to Boston often to check in on Ashley, who, along with Paul, is now part of our friend circle. Paul and I got off to a rough start, but he’s cool once you get to know him. Ashley tolerates me, barely. I’ll win her over eventually.
“Are you going to help or just stand around looking pretty?” Vanya’s voice cuts into my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment.
I blink at her, grinning. “I’m multi-tasking. I can look prettyandsupervise.”
She smirks, tossing a throw pillow in my direction. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but I’m your impossible.”
Her expression softens. For a second, she looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. It’s enough to make me drop the box I’m holding and cross the room to pull her into ahug. She fits perfectly in my arms. I’ll never get over the fact that she chose me.
“Jeremy,” she murmurs against my chest, her voice teasing, “you’re squishing me.”
“Get used to it,” I say, holding her tighter.
If my time with Vanya has taught me anything, it’s that life doesn’t always go according to plan, but sometimes that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. Vanya and I have come so far, and standing here in our home, surrounded by boxes and chaos, I know this is just the beginning.
When she wiggles free and gives me a peck on the cheek, I know it’s time to finish the move. I return to the box, which is slightly opened. That’s when I see it.
The book.
I hadn’t laid eyes on it since the first night I came over and she had it open to one picture. I lunge like a boy on Christmas morning, ready to tear into his presents.
And what a present! Image after image brands my brain. Vanya laying back with her legs crossed demurely, but the angle shows a bit of side boob. One where she’s standing by a window, silhouetted curves making my mouth water. Another where she’s reading a book while on her stomach, her thong making her perfect ass perfecter.