Page 30 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
He pushes off the beam, groaning a little as he stands straight. “If I’d stayed any longer, I would’ve missed all of this, you know? The ranch. Angel. Lily and Andy. They were always here, waiting. But I would’ve missed the best of it, chasing a world that didn’t want me anymore.”
“I don’t think hockey’s done with me.”
“I hope not,” he says, slapping my shoulder gently.
I check my watch again. Seventy-four minutes.
“I’ve got time,” I say, though I’m not sure if I mean today or in life.
“Maybe,” Scotty says, with a crooked smile. “But time’s slippery. Don’t let it pass while you’re blinking.”
Time. Time is ticking in so many ways. Like with that building permit. “Hey, Scottie?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how I can get a building permit approved? I’ve been waiting for ages.”
“Sure, you just need to get it past the mayor.” He limpstoward the doorway and rests against it while I stand there, watching a shaft of light filter through the barn roof and paint everything gold.
The mayor. Short of sleeping on the town hall steps, I’m not sure how I’ll ever get ahold of him. Maybe Marcy could help…
Edgar bleats and somewhere nearby comes Marcy’s voice, sharp and efficient as always.
And for the first time, I truly wonder what happens if the ice gets pulled out from under me. If the headaches become a handicap. Would I know how to land?
Scotty shifts with a wince and nods toward the far end of the barn. “Go on. Don’t let the old guy keep you. I know you’ve got practice.”
I hesitate. My eyes drift to the paddock, then toward the cluster of cabins across the garden. “I just really wanted to find?—”
I cut myself off before I say too much.
Scotty catches it anyway. His smile creeps sideways, and he waggles his eyebrows.
“Someone’s got a little pitchfork crush,” he says, sing-songy.
I groan. “Please, no.”
“She give you the ol’ one-two in a budget meeting? Spreadsheet seduction?”
“Oh la la,” I mutter. “You’re worse than the locker room.”
“I’ve been in the locker room. You boys are amateurs.”
I laugh despite myself and back away. “Take care of your spine.”
“You take care of your dignity, Romeo.”
I step off the barn porch, still chuckling, and catch movement across the garden. There she is.
Marcy’s standing outside one of the cabins, cradling asteaming mug in both hands. She sees me and smiles—a small one, but it feels like a sunrise.
She lifts her hand in a little wave. I offer one back, then she disappears into the cabin.
I stay rooted for a beat longer than I should and then grin to myself as I walk toward my bike, boots crunching on the gravel path.
Could it be that the Ice Queen is melting?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, the alarm I set when I had just an hour before practice.
