Page 3 of The Final Faceoff
On where they move him. Or if he just quits and starts coaching because that might be better than counting on a bunch of assholes who like to “sit on their asses”—his words from last year’s flop. Sometimes he’s so much like his older brother, Kaden. They expect too much from everyone, but it’s mostly because everyone expects a lot from them.
I don’t blame him. It’s frustrating having some of the best stats in the league and still not making it past the first round of the playoffs. Of giving everything, only to hit the same wall year after year.
He’s still young. That’s what his father, Mathieu, keeps telling him—goalies have longevity, they peak later. He should have at least ten more years left. But knowing that and feeling it are two different things, and I don’t know what to say to make any of this easier.
“Come on, Hay,” he says. “Come to me.”
The train pulls into the station, the brakes shrieking in protest. I roll my shoulders, shifting my bag higher. I should say no. My sister is expecting me. But who am I kidding? I never say no to Leif. Especially when he barely asks for anything.
“Fine,” I say, stepping onto the train, gripping the pole as the doors slide shut behind me. “But you’re feeding me.”
His breath of laughter is soft. “Let’s meet at?—”
He hesitates just long enough for me to know exactly what he’s about to suggest.
“Oh my God, Leif, you cannot be serious. I’m at the airport.”
“Come on,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “It’s tradition.”
When we were in high school, sometimes we played hooky and took a train to the city just to eat there—a tiny hole-in-the-wall Korean BBQ place in the East Village. It’s pretty small, with too few tables and a grill that makes the entire block smell like sizzling beef. The first time he took me there, I swore the ventilation system was broken, but it turned out it was just part of the experience.
“You just want an excuse to make me cook my own food,” I grumble, shifting to lean against the cool metal of the train door.
“Exactly. See you in an hour.”
The call disconnects, leaving me staring at my reflection in the smudged window, the city stretching wide beyond the glass.
New York still feels different.
Maybe I’ll figure out why soon enough.
ChapterTwo
Hailey
Warming the Bench—Sort Of
Leif sees me before I even make it through the door, and his face does that thing it always does—the subtle, barely-there lift at the corners of his mouth, like he’s just a little bit happier that I exist in the same space as him, even if it’s only temporary.
Then he stands, all six-foot-whatever of him, broad and built for stopping pucks—and, apparently, for making it impossible to breathe normally when he’s looking at me like that. It’s hard not to swoon at this man, but then I come back from that this-guy-is-so-hot high quickly. The high school crush was easy to tamp down as soon as I realized that if things go wrong between us, I’ll lose the most important person in my world—I can’t let that happen.
Never.
“Look what the wind dragged in,” he says, grinning like I didn’t just see him a couple of months ago.
“Wind? Excuse you. I prefer to think of myself as a force of nature.”
I drop my duffel and backpack onto the seat before he pulls me in for a hug—annoyingly warm in the way I didn’t realize I needed. He smells like clean laundry, a little like the woods after it rains, and something distinctly him—something that feels like second nature.
If I could, I would bottle his scent and take it with me everywhere. As much as I try to visit him, sometimes we don’t see each other for two months and that’s one month too many.
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you this soon.” He pulls back, hands still gripping my arms, like he’s making sure I’m real. “You gonna stay put this time, or should I start taking bets on your next disappearing act?”
I smirk, sliding into the booth before he can press for details. Lately, I’ve been wondering if it’s time to rethink my career choices. Maybe find something a little less constant state of chaos and a little moreHailey, get your life together before your suitcase becomes your closest relationship.
“I’m here only for Grandma’s birthday. We decided to do a piece on the Santorini women right after,” I explain. “That’ll give me a few more weeks in paradise. Plenty of time to find something more. If not, I’ll be back for a couple of months before I panic and realize I’ve been in one place a little too long.”
He tilts his head like he’s considering it. “Two months? That’s generous. I’m pretty sure the itch starts after six days.”
