Page 3 of Him

“We’ll focus on North Dakota next time. Rainier is the one that worries me.”

Coach touches the laptop on the desk and the image on the big screen unfreezes, the sound of the crowd echoing in the viewing room.

“If we meet these guys in the final, we’re in for a world of hurt,” Coach says grimly. “I want you to watch this goalie. The kid’s sharp as a hawk. We need to find his weakness and exploit it.”

My gaze focuses on the game in progress, resting on the black-and-orange uniformed goaltender manning the crease. He’s sharp, all right. Steady eyes assessing the field of play, his glove snapping shut as he stops the first goal slapped in his direction. He’s fast. Alert.

“Watch the way he controls this rebound,” Coach orders as the opposing team takes another shot at goal. “Fluid. Controlled.”

The longer I watch, the more uneasy I get. I can’t explain it. I have no clue why the hairs on the back of my neck are tingling. But something about the goalie makes my instincts hum.

“He angles his body perfectly.” Coach sounds thoughtful, impressed almost.

I’m impressed, too. I haven’t followed any of the west coast teams this season. I was too busy concentrating on the ones in our conference, studying the game tapes to find a way to beat them. But now that post-season is underway, it’s time to assess the teams we might face in the championship if we make it to the final round.

I keep watching. Keep studying. Damn it, I like the way he plays.

No, Iknowthe way he plays.

Recognition dawns on me at the same moment Coach says, “Kid’s name is—”

Jamie Canning.

“—Jamie Canning. He’s a senior.”

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

My body is no longer humming, but trembling. I’ve known for a while that Canning goes to Rainier, but when I checked up on him last season I found out he’d been relegated to backup goalie, replaced by some hotshot sophomore who was rumored to be unstoppable.

When did Canning get the starting job back? I ain’t gonna lie—I used to keep tabs on the guy. But I stopped once it started to feel like borderline stalking. I mean, there’s no way he was keeping tabs onme, not after I torpedoed our friendship like an asshole.

The memory of my selfish actions is like a fist to the gut. Fuck. I’d been a terrible friend to him. A terribleperson. It was so much easier to deal with the shame when Canning was thousands of miles away, but now…

Dread crawls up my throat. I’m going to see him in Boston during the tournament. I’ll probably even face off against him.

It’s been nearly four years since I’ve seen or spoken to the guy. What the hell will I even say to him? How do you apologize to someone for cutting them out of your life without so much as an explanation?

“His game is flawless,” Coach is saying.

No, not flawless. He retreats too quickly—that was always a problem for him, scrambling back to the net when a shooter approached the blue line, giving them a better angle to shootfrom. And he was always too pad-reliant, creating easy rebound opportunities for the offense.

I have to bite my lip to keep from offering the information. It feels…wrong, I guess. Telling my teammates about Canning’s weaknesses. I should, though. I really should, because this is the Frozen fucking Four at stake here.

Then again, it’s been years since I was on the ice with Canning. He could have tightened up his game since then. He might not even have those particular weaknesses anymore.

I, on the other hand, do. I have the same damn weakness I’ve always had. It’s still there as I stare up at the big screen. As I watch Jamie Canning stop another dizzying slap shot. As I admire the grace and deadly precision with which he moves.

My weakness ishim.

TWO

JAMIE

“You’re awfully quiet this morning, even for you.” Holly’s fingers drift down my back, ending their journey on my bare ass. “Thinking deep thoughts about the Frozen Four?”

“Yeah.” And it isn’texactlya lie. I can guarantee that Friday’s trip to Boston is in the forefront of two dozen other players’ minds this morning. And about a zillion fans’.