Page 111 of The Nanny Goal

“Are the vibes off?” Dodaj asks as we undress.

I don’t respond.

One of the assistant coaches sticks his head into the visitors dressing room. “Arty, there will be media questions for you.”

Again? Fuck my life.

The team is pretty good about spreading out who gets tapped for media availability, but given my streak, I guess I can’t get out of this.

I grunt and nod.

And so it goes.

We win the third game, thank fuck. I get into another scuffle, but this time I don’t draw a penalty, because it’s a bit of a melee and the refs call it a draw. Someone rips my jersey, which is a great excuse to pop them in the helmet with my blocker.

“I think you liked that,” Smash says as we’re separated from our opponents.

I laugh. “Of course.”

“Good.”

And that feels like playoff hockey. We need to hold on to that.

After that win, which we wore our retro jerseys for, I ask the equipment team if I can have my jersey to take home. I need the reminder that even rocky stretches can have some bright moments.

* * *

But overarching the entire trip is an unusual weight.

I miss my girls.

While we’ve talked a few times every day, I don’t feel like Emery and I havetalkedin a solid week.

Maybe that’s why the vibes are off.

After a team dinner at our final hotel the night before our final game on the road, where the food isn’t half as good as what Emery makes, I head back to my room, with my laundered jersey in a bag from the equipment guys.

There’s a card game going on down the hall, but I said I needed to call home, and I meant it. There’s only one person whose company I want tonight.

This close to the playoffs, I know the right answer is to spend time with the team. But we’ll reset and try again in a few days. Right now, I need to focus on the home vibes.

I prop a pillow against the headboard and stretch my legs out. My pulse kicks up as the screen rings, which is fucking stupid. I know she’ll answer. She always does.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hey.” Her voice is low. Soft.Home.

She’s sitting on the couch, and as she shifts to get more comfortable, I see there’s a pile of toys beside her. She’s wearing one of my sweatshirts, the sight of which gives me a nice possessive punch in the chest, and her hair is up in two messy little pigtails on top of her head.

“You’re awake,” I say, because the other things I want to say aren’t allowed if anyone else is in the room with her.You’re gorgeous. I miss you. I need to kiss every inch of you again.

She gives me a lopsided smile. “I am.”

“I got you a present.”

Her eyebrows curve up in curiosity. “You did?”

I grin. “Yeah. Okay, might also be a present for me, too.”

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