Page 53

MY ONLY GOAL

“Of course,” I grumbled to myself. Of fucking course our locker room was locked. The rest of my team was out on the ice—where I should’ve been—but I stupidly got a game misconduct.

Pulling off my helmet, I leaned my head against the cool door and squeezed my eyes shut, willing them to stop burning.

I shouldn’t have cared what those assholes on the other team said to me.

I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that.

But they somehow found the one thing they knew would make me mad, and then they kept pushing me on it.

Colt and Kappy, my best friends, both knew Coach hated me. Hopefully one of them would score to make Coach forget about me.

“Are you okay?” someone asked, making me drop my helmet to the ground.

Fuck. I did not want company.

“M’fine,” I mumbled, hoping whoever it was would just move on. Admittedly, I did probably look a little weird standing in the hallway with my head against the door.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I gruffed, my annoyance growing by the second.

“Okay, but…you don’t look okay.”

I finally opened my eyes, ready to argue, but as soon as I saw her, the words died in my throat.

Because it was a girl. A small girl. Based on her tights and dress, and the way her blonde hair was pulled back in a low bun, she had to be a figure skater.

She was definitely a year or two younger than me.

She had a curious little birthmark between the bottom of her nose and the corner of her mouth.

Altogether she was cute. Really fucking cute.

So cute that I couldn’t talk. As a sophomore at an all-guys school, I hadn’t talked to a girl in what felt like years, and it suddenly felt like I forgot how.

Rolling her lips together, she squinted up at me. “You look like you’re crying.”

I shook my head.

“You’re sure? Your eyes are all red. Right”—she reached toward my face, making my whole body jolt, then traced her delicate finger under my eye—“there.”

Who was this girl? And why was she so touchy?

I pushed her hand back to her side as gently as I could. “I’m not.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “Then why are you not crying?

Shifting uncomfortably, I said, “People say shit, and I let it get to me. It doesn’t matter.” I craned my neck to look out to the East side ice where this girl should’ve been practicing. “Aren’t you supposed to be out there?”

“Ahh, so they’re chirping you?” she asked, completely ignoring my question. “Don’t hockey players all chirp each other? Did you say something mean back to the other guy?”

“No, I didn’t say anything, I punched him—a lot, which is why I’m now out here.”

A giggle bubbled out of her, and I couldn’t help it, the corner of my lips tipped up.

“How do you know about chirping?” I asked her.

“My dad’s a hockey coach,” she explained. “So, what did they say to you?”

I stared at her. Did she really think I was going to just say it?

“Well?” she pushed.

My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “I’m not gonna repeat it. ”

“Why not?” She looked up at me with curious bright brown eyes. They were so large that she looked like a little cartoon character.

“It was offensive,” I said, and I really didn’t feel like cursing in front of her. She seemed too innocent, too sweet.

She shrugged. “Well, what they said is clearly bugging you, so maybe you should talk about it. Talk it through, ya know?”

I shifted again. “Why aren’t you on the ice?” I repeated.

“Hmm.” She twisted her lips. “You answer me first.”

I blinked at her.

“C’mon let me in the foxhole with you.” She gave me a playful nudge.

She was a touchy little thing. “Then we can fight off the world together. Or, more specifically…” She trailed off and squinted through the tiny hallway window to see the West side rink where the game was still going on.

“We can fight off the Chicagoans, by the looks of their ugly jerseys.” She wagged her eyebrows in a conspiratorial way.

I snorted a laugh. Chicago did have pretty ugly neon jerseys.

“So, what did they say?”

I had a feeling she wouldn’t leave me alone unless I told her—not that I necessarily wanted her to leave me alone, which was a surprising thought.

“It was about my mom,” I settled on saying. “I don’t have one.”

She tilted her head, looking a little confused.

“She left when I was really small,” I supplied.

“Oh.” She nodded, taking it in. “Why’d she leave?”

“What’s with the thousand questions?” I gruffed, turning away from her to pick up my helmet.

When I faced her again, she looked taken aback, and dammit all to hell, I felt bad for being so harsh.

“No fucking clue why she left,” I said, shaking off my hockey glove to rub my forehead.

“Hmm.” She nodded professionally, like she was some kind of therapist listening to me. “Well, maybe she needed to.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she needed to do,” I said, heaving a breath. “It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed quickly. “Not at all. I’m not saying you should forgive her or anything like that, but maybe you can try to understand her. Haven’t you ever felt like…” She paused and looked around the rink.

“Like?” I coaxed. I couldn’t help it, now I was curious what she was going to say.

She stared at the rubber ground. “Like you can’t take it here anymore, and you need to leave and be around complete strangers? ”

I slowly shook my head. I liked my life. I had my buddies, hockey, my dog. Plus, my dad and I were already fixing up an old truck that would be mine once I secured my license.

“Oh.” Her cheeks heated. “Then you’re lucky, I guess.” She shrugged.

“I will never understand her,” I swore.

“Then pity her.”

My eyes snapped to hers.

“Because she missed out on knowing you.” She gave me a soft smile, and the next thing she did really blew me away: she grabbed my hand.

My mouth gaped open as I stared at our joined hands. Hers was warm and small in mine.

I swallowed hard. The only time I was ever touched was on the other side of a punch when roughhousing with my buddies or fighting on the ice. My dad and I weren’t touchy at all—the last time we hugged was probably when I was in the fifth grade.

I knew my buddies would probably roast me if I ever admitted it, but I liked holding her hand.

“Dude, wake the fuck up,” she said.

I stared at her.

“Wake up!” she shouted, but she had a guy’s voice. “C’mon!”

Shock rocked into me, making me jolt from my sleep.

“Wake the fuck up!” Richard Kappers, one of my best friends, yelled at me.

“Oh, fuck off, Kappy,” I groaned, turning back over in my bed. “I never should’ve given you a key,” I grumbled.

“No, no more sleeping. C’mon, let’s go, let’s get hype!”

“No, let’s not get hype. What have we talked about, Richard?” his girlfriend, Piper, said, trying to calm him down.

“I know, baby, but I can’t always be demure,” he complained.

“Demure?” I snickered, then felt a pillow hit the back of my head—surely Kappy’s doing.

“He gets upset when I tell him to calm down, we’re trying out different words,” Piper told me.

Ah, that made sense. Kappy was diagnosed with ARVC, a genetic heart disease, just a couple months ago.

If it were up to him, he’d completely ignore his health and continue living off fast food and playing in the NHL, but his girlfriend, Piper, was determined to make him live a healthy lifestyle, one compatible with his condition.

“Let’s go, we told Colt and Mer that we’d drive you to the party, and I wanna get there already,” Kappy said.

“What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes, trying to wipe away my sleep, but my dream still haunted me. Why would my brain betray me like that? Why dream about Ali when I hadn’t seen her in years?

Maybe because she was now my only dream, my only goal, left unaccomplished. I made it to the NHL with my buddies, and my team, the Windy City Whalers, finally won the Stanley Cup Championship game last night. But me and her…that never happened, and it never would.

It was just too bad my brain wouldn’t let me forget that one last failure. Each and every time I got close to another woman, her memory would slam into my mind, making me ditch out.

I wondered if she ever dreamed about me. I wondered if she ever moved on with anyone else, or if she—

“It’s 11 a.m., too late to be in bed.” Kappy yanked my blanket off me. “Come on, it’s time to party, dude.”

“We were up until 3 a.m.,” I complained. “How the hell do you have so much energy?”

“Uh, maybe because while you’ve been playing the last couple weeks, I’ve been stuck in and out of the hospital getting poked and prodded to within an inch of my life. And now I finally get a free pass this weekend, so let’s go.”

I rolled back around and covered my head with my pillow. I guess I was a glutton for punishment because all I wanted to do was fall back asleep so I could dream her up again. If I closed my eyes, maybe I could probably slip right back into that memory.

“If you don’t get up, I’m gonna fight you,” Kappy warned. “I have too much energy after watching last night’s game from a lame desk.” After being forced to retire, Kappy became a sportsnet TV personality, so he was still involved in hockey, just not on the ice.

“You are not fighting anyone, Richard,” Piper snapped, then she added, “JP, please be agreeable with him.”

Damnit. She sounded desperate. I could annoy Kappy all I wanted, but I hated pissing off the girls.

“Fine.” With a groan, I rolled out of bed, my muscles still aching from yesterday’s game and celebration.

_________

Colt was hosting the first of many parties this offseason because he was our team captain. I’d eventually get to host a Stanley Cup party at a location of my choosing, but I’d figure that out later.

With a new pool and mini bar, Colt and Mer had the perfect backyard for hosting. He also hired a company to set up a bounce house and little obstacle course for the kids on the team, including his seven-year-old daughter, Lucy.