Page 12 of Romancing My Grumpy Goalie

“Looks like we finally agree,” I grumble, grinding the toe of my cleat into the mud.

Jace turns to Anabelle. “You do realize Lucas is one of the best goalies in the country. There’s no one better in all of Roanoke to train Nolan. I’m sure if we email the people running Play it Forward we could get them connected.”

Her gaze darts to me. “I don’t know.”

I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. Like I’m some sort of unsavory character. Not that she’s wrong.

“Come on, Lucas. What’s it going to be? Can’t you convince the woman you can help her son?”

Nolan runs up to his mom and wraps his arms around her in a hug. She bends down and kisses his head. The boy is almost as tall as she is. She takes his hand, and they walk toward the parking lot.

Something unsettling twists in my chest. I exhale sharply.Come on!

“Fine,” I mutter.

Jace grins and slaps my chest. “I knew you would do it!”

I scowl. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”

I’m sitting in my truck after physical therapy when my phone rings. My older sister Hazel’s picture flashes up on the screen. She lives in our hometown of Twin Waves, North Carolina, and is a single mom to four girls, ranging from twenty down to two.

I don’t answer at first. I’m too exhausted to talk. But I give in and swipe across the screen.

“Hey, Lucas. How is therapy going for you?”

I sigh and rub my knee. “Still painful.”

“You’ve been through so much.” The genuine empathy in her voice makes me shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah, well. You’d think it would be getting better by now.”

She pauses, and I almost regret answering. Hazel always sees too much. But before I can say anything else, I blurt out, “Looks like I got volunteered into mentoring a kid Jace coaches.”

Silence stretches for a beat before she laughs gently. “I have to say, I never pictured you matched up with a kid.”

“Neither did I. It’s a big brother/big sister thing. Tommy said I need it for my image if I want to get back to Atlanta.”

“So, you don’t really have a choice.” I can practically hear her smirking. “Just don’t be too hard on the poor kid.”

“I make no promises.”

Hazel laughs again. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll soften you up a bit.”

“I don’t need to be ‘soft,’” I mutter with a scowl.

“Try smiling—it won’t kill you,” Hazel says.

“I smile enough.”

“Scowling doesn’t count,” she says brightly. “Anyway, call me if you need to vent, okay?

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, but soften my voice a little. “Thanks, Hazel.”

I headover to Anabelle’s store. It’s off the beaten path. Not the greatest location for traffic. It’s a wonder she can pay the bills. Maybe she has a strong social media presence or something. When I emailed Milo to let him know I was accepting the mentor position and that I’d like to be matched with Nolan, he emailed back within two hours to let me know he could make it work. Which is why I’m now driving to Anabelle’s store. There’s a small field behind her shop where we can practice.

I park and head inside the shop. Grandma would love it. Hazel would, too, though she’d immediately rearrange shelves and offer unsolicited business advice. Ever since Grandma passed her boutique chain down, Hazel thinks she’s a merchandizing expert.

Shelves are lined with homemade soaps, hand-crocheted stuffed animals, candles, and books. Definitely targeted toward women. Anabelle isn’t around, so I take some time to browse. I stop to organize a shelf of lotions.

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