Page 115 of Penalty Shot

“Hey, how are you?” I ask, concerned, since Randall is standing completely still, his back to me.

“I don’t remember you taking this.” He’s staring at a newly framed picture of him with his dad and brothers when we ate atthe steak house. I took the candid shot after returning from the washroom and while they finished their post-meal whiskeys.

Charles was laughing at something Randall said while James Sr. and Jim look over with matching smirks. I loved it because it captured them at their most relaxed.

“It’s at the steak house. Do you like it?”

He turns to me with an anguished expression, his gorgeous eyes somewhat glassy.

“If you don’t like it, I can take it down,” I say because I know his relationship with his father is strained. “I’m sorry I printed the picture without asking you.”

He blinks quickly and shakes his head. “No, it’s great. Thank you. I love it, actually.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“Can we sit down, Elise?”

“Sure.” My voice is steady though my heart rate spikes. Why does he sound so grave?

Randall holds my hand to lead me to the sofa. When he sits, he tugs me over his lap. Muscular arms wrap around my waist.

Something in me loosens, knowing that whatever his despair, I’m his comfort and not the reason for sadness.

“I received some news today,” he finally utters, face buried in my neck, lips brushing against my skin.

“Is your family OK?” I ask, running my fingers along his soft blond hair.

He chuckles without humor.

“They’re fine. It’s not about them, although my news involves Vancouver.”

“Randall, you’re making me nervous. Please just tell me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

“Elise, I’ve been traded,” he says so quickly I think I might have misheard. Randall sighs heavily before continuing.

“The Vancouver Dragons offered the Mavericks a deal they couldn’t refuse. I’ll be first goalie starting at the beginning of the season.”

The words are clear enough and yet my brain is muddled.

“Does this mean you’re part of a different team next year?”

“Baby, I’m part of a different teamnow. I’m no longer allowed in the Columbus arena. Had to give up my locker, my equipment, my access. I’m officially a Dragons player as of the trade.”

“You’ll have to move,” I say in a trance.

“I’ll have to move.”

Slipping off his lap, I get a handle on the situation. It’s hard to think when we’re touching. What does this mean for him? For us? And why had I never considered the possibility?

We’ve been playing house for the last few weeks, never once talking about the conditions of being a professional athlete.

“I, um, I thought your contract is for five years.”

“Management can still trade me,” he explains while hooking a hand behind his neck. “Vancouver will take on the salary I negotiated, plus they offered the Mavericks their first-round draft pick and a power forward centerman for our second line.”

“Randall, I have no idea what half those words mean.”

“This is a big trade for the Mavericks. Our lack of offense is the main reason we didn’t advance past the second round. And the irony is, my performance during the playoffs is exactly why Vancouver made the offer.” Frustration practically pulses out of him.