Page 14 of Goalie Lessons

The convertible rooftop is down, and I have my hair in a knot on the top of my head. I just know the baby hairs are going to be hopelessly tangled by the time we get to our destination, and I’m going to rake my fingers through it, wincing each time they snag and tug.

She’s dragging me around Milwaukee, trying to convince me it’s far superior to L.A. and that I should make my move here permanent. Right now, I’m not even sure where we’re going. She’s tried three times to shout it to me over the roar of the wind, but when I still didn’t get it, she just shrugged and turned up the music, setting her attention back on the road.

I should be trying to figure out where we’re going to end up. Sloane is a planner, so I know she would have told me if I needed alternative footwear, but I still don’t like not having information. I should be puzzling it out, but I’m not.

Instead, I’m replaying that moment with Grayson over and over in my head.

Callum insisted a tour of the Frost arena be part of my Milwaukee experience, despite the fact that I’d been there before.

“But that’s not a full tour,” he’d countered. “You need the full tour toreallysee the sparkle.”

So, I let him show me around, from the huge foyer with the framed, signed jerseys, to the practice area, training rooms, and PT facilities. Everything basically brand new, and several of the rooms getting high-tech upgrades, thanks to the new investments.

And then we were rounding the corner to the locker rooms, and there was Grayson. Helmet on the floor next to him, chest rising and falling rapidly, his head tipped back against the wall, mouth open like he just couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

He looked the same and different at once.

I’d watched Frost games before, which means, technically, I’d seen him skate onto the ice in his full gear, trading spots with the other goalie. I knew what he looked like in his pads and jersey.

But today, kneeling in front of him, the sight of him like that made my stomach flip, cheeks heating. Obviously, I was aware of his size—in more than one way—but it felt different, seeing him like that. Clearly just coming off the ice, sweat still sticking his hair to his forehead.

But when he looked up and met my eyes, it was with the gaze of a wounded animal, cornered and terrified. He did not want us there, didn’t want anyone witnessing that moment.

At the wedding, I had no idea that he struggled with anxiety. I think about what Sloane said in the pool, about him taking in the girls. Suddenly becoming a caretaker for kids that don’t belong to you might give anyone an anxiety attack, but Grayson almost had a haggard look about him.

Like that was something he’d gone through before.

“Alright,” Sloane says, once the convertible finally slows, the wind dying down enough that I can hear what she’s saying. I tangle a hand in the hair at the base of my neck, finding it as knotted as I thought it would be.

She goes on, “We’re going to the RiverWalk! We can go for a stroll, pick up a few things at the market, then make it home in time to prep for the party tomorrow.” She turns down a street and steers us into a parking garage, the sudden loss of the bright summer sun sending chills over my skin.

“What were you trying to ask me?” Sloane leans out of the car to grab the ticket, having pulled up way too far away.

I open my mouth to tell her that it was nothing—just where we were headed—but I snap it shut, distracted as someone walks past.

Then, I practically blurt, “Has Grayson always had those? Anxiety attacks? I mean, do you know?”

Sloane shrugs, cutting her eyes to me. “First I’ve seen it since becoming the manager. But he’s a pretty private guy. He could have been hiding it well. Or maybe it was a onetime thing, a meltdown from the whole…” She pauses, waving her hand in the air as we wait for a car to back out of a spot. “…adopting random kids thing.”

I chew on my lip as she swings into the spot, thinking. When I run a finger down the side of my thumb, it’s like I can still feel his hand on mine, gripping firm, but not tight. Like he needed me to tether him.

It’s happening again—the same thing that happened at the wedding. For some reason, my heart picks up near him, skin flushing. My mind works backward through psychology textbooks. It doesn’t make any sense—I already know that the sex won’t be good. So why react to him like that?

“Astrid?” Sloane waves her hand in front of my face. She’s already out of the car, untying the knot at her throat to loosen the headscarf. “Hello? Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” I cough, opening my door and swinging my legs out onto the concrete floor of the parking garage. It shakes and sways as cars above and below us pull into spots and turn corners a little too fast. “I’m coming.”

When I round the car, Sloane steps forward, hooks her arm through mine, and leads me toward the elevator.

“Trust me,” she says, as we descend, dropping her sunglasses down onto her nose. “The RiverWalk is going to be the thing that convinces you to stay in Milwaukee.”

Something in my stomach turns, the image of Grayson appearing once again in my mind’s eye. There’s something there, an urge or an instinct, but I can’t follow it all the way through. All I know is that the RiverWalk hasn’t been the most compelling thing to me so far.

It was the goalie sitting on the floor in the hallway, holding my hand.

Grayson

CallumandIfinda spot in short-term parking and haul ourselves out of the car. I might have gone a little too hard during practice today—my body is sore, and my head is a little fuzzy from the anxiety attack.

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