Page 40 of Goalie's Obsession

I lower my arm just enough to glare at her again.

She shrugs. “You’ve been busting your ass for two years trying to build something on your own. Which, by the way, youhave. But maybe—just maybe—you’re allowed to stop white-knuckling your entire life for five minutes and let something fun happen.”

“Connor Walsh isn’tfun. He’s chaos in a tailored suit.”

“Chaos that kisses you like that? I wouldn't mind some of that. Just sayin'.”

My face burns with embarrassment as I slide down the seat.

“Seriously, Luce. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re going on the offseason tour anyway. It’s a few weeks. Maybe you enjoy it. Maybe it crashes and burns. But you don’t have to treateveryrisk like it’s a cliff dive.”

I don’t respond.

Because the truth is… she’s not wrong.

I’mtired. Of planning. Of trying to stay two steps ahead. Of holding everything so tightly it slips right through my fingers anyway.

For a second, just one tiny second, I allow myself to imagine what it’d be like to let go. To stop fighting. To let myself fall into Connor’s orbit and justseewhat happens.

Then my phone buzzes. And for once, it's not Connor nagging me about not writing back.

Ethan:We need to talk. Alone.

The air goes out of me in one slow, heavy exhale. I stare at the screen like it might disappear if I keep my daggers locked and loaded on the notification.

Emma sees my face and sits up straighter. “What is it?”

I swallow. “It’s Ethan.”

Her expression shifts. “Shit. Still haven't spoken to him since—”

“Since he yelled at me in the parking lot like I’d personally torched his childhood dreams while riding Connor’s face into the sunset?” I cut in, voice brittle. “No. Not a word.”

Emma winces. “Right.”

“Mm-hm.” I toss my phone onto the table like it’s radioactive.

Because suddenly, I remember exactly why I’ve been running. Why I keep pulling back. Why kissing Connor—falling for Connor—can’t be as easy as it feels.

Because when it all falls apart, it won’t just bemeleft in the wreckage.

***

The Daniels estate is as pristine and soulless as ever when I get there after dragging my ass out of Chapter and Grind.

This is the kind of place where noise doesn’tdarelive. Where every surface gleams with old money polish, and nothing is ever out of place. Cream stone façade. Frosted glass doors. Hallways lined with modern art no one’s bothered to appreciate in years, least of all my parents who, as usual, are nowhere to be seen.

It’s silent when I walk in the giant front door. Quiet all except for the echo of footsteps pacing somewhere down the hall.

Ethan.

He’s here. And judging by the sound of those heavy thumps, he’s already wound tight.

I step out of my shoes by the entry table—some compulsive childhood instinct drilled in by a million "Lucy, don't scratch the hardwood" lectures—and follow the sound of his movements until I find him in the sitting room overlooking Iron Ridge.

And shit… he looks like hell.

Tie loose. Hair rumpled. Shadows under his eyes deep enough to hold secrets I still don’t understand.

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