Page 89 of Goalie Lessons

“She kept calling me Calliope,” she whispers. “Said it was such a pretty name, and she didn’t want it to go to waste. I told her to stop, and she wouldn’t. It just…reminds me of my dad.”

“That’s not okay.” I reach over and put an arm around her, pulling her close to me, feeling the tiny shake of her chest. “I’m sorry she did that.”

Callie takes a shuddering breath. “And now, we’re going to foster care.”

“I don’t believe that,” I say, squeezing her a bit. “Didn’t your dad ever get mad at you?”

“Yeah.”

“And didheput you in foster care?”

“No, but he was required to love me.”

Something about that shoots through my heart, and I pull back, waiting until she meets my eyes. “Callie, nobody isrequiredto love you. Every person who loves someone is making that choice, choosing you every single day. That’s what makes love special. And I can promise you that Grayson is choosing to love you guys. He’s never going to let you go unless you want him to.”

Callie crumples into my chest, burying her face in my coat, and I hold her until we hear the sound of another car crunching into the snow outside the building.

“Callie?”

It’s Grayson, his voice ringing out through the playground. I glance at her, and she pulls back, wiping the tears from her face and nodding.

Together, we climb out of the tube, hand-in-hand.

Seeing Grayson again is like a bucket of ice water over my head, and I have to grip on tight to Callie to keep from swaying at the force of it.

He looks so handsome, in a pair of jeans and his lined jean jacket, his hair poking out from under his hat. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him, trail over his face, catalog anything that’s changed in the days that we’ve been apart.

“Oh, thank God,” Grayson says, wasting no time in stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Callie. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Callie hiccups, just as Ruby rounds the corner and stops, one of her hands on the fence, the other on her heart.

“You’re okay,” she breathes.

“I’m really sorry,” Callie repeats, before breaking into another round of sobs. Grayson just keeps hugging her and rubbing her back, and when I look up, I see Luca, Maverick, and Callum standing just outside the gate.

Maverick steps forward and puts his hand on his wife’s back, consoling her.

The strike of jealousy that runs through me is so strong I have to take a step back, and then another, until I’m halfway back to the building.

“Astrid!” It’s Grayson, calling after me, and though I want nothing more than to pretend I didn’t hear him and run inside, I turn, biting my lip to keep from crying when I see his face. He’s a few steps away from Callie, like he started to follow me, then stopped.

He clears his throat and says, “Thank you.”

Before turning around and finishing my walk to the building, I say, fighting the tears behind my throat, “Anytime.”

Grayson

TheBruinsareeverywheretonight, dominating possession and forcing us back onto our heels. It’s been like that since the opening face-off.

The Frost arena is bouncing with music and noise, fans riled up. This is the best season we’ve had since the team’s inception, and every broadcast is talking about how we might actually make it to the playoffs—or farther—this year.

I know Luca wants to make it to the playoffs. I also know that talking about making it to the playoffs is a safe way for him to approach the topic of winning the Stanley Cup, him wanting to take it one step at a time.

But I can’t think about the Stanley Cup. I can barely think about the game taking place right now.

For the past day, the only thing I’ve been able to think about was the panic I felt when I realized Callie was gone, and how I should have known Astrid would be the one to find her. Watching the two of them climb out of the tube, I wanted to get my arms around both of them, haul us together in a little family of three.

But I knew Astrid didn’t want me to hug her, so I’d settled for wrapping Callie up tight, begging her never to take off like that again.

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