Page 65 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
CLÉMENT
Third period.
We’re down by one and the Barracudas are hungry.
They’re fast—annoyingly fast—and they don’t let up. Every play feels like it’s coming half a second too quick, every slapshot launched with a personal vendetta. My pads sting. My breath clouds the cage of my helmet. Sweat drips down the back of my neck and soaks into the collar of my jersey.
I squat in the crease, muscles coiled, eyes scanning for the next attack.
But a part of me is somewhere else. Wherever Marcy is.
Before the puck dropped, I scanned the stands. Left to right, top row to rinkside, hoping—no,needing—to see that flash of dark hair, that narrowed gaze she gets when she pretends she’s not impressed.
She’s not here. I’ve looked for her every game this week, since the debacle at Maple Fest.
I told her I wouldn’t do the auction. I’d looked her right in the eyes and let her believe I wasn’t that guy. Then Jamieopened his big mouth, and now not only does she know that I’m getting sold off, but she also thinks I’m a liar. Which, by omission, I kind of am.
The thing is, I’mnotthat guy. But I’m also trying to make a life in America with a new team and support a cause we all believe in, including Marcy. Saving Maple Falls.
I should have just told her.
The puck slams off the boards behind me and I snap back into the moment. One of their wings, number 91, picks it up on the rebound and charges the net. I go low, spread wide. He fakes left, goes right, but I catch it with my blocker and kick the rebound out to Cade.
“Nice save, Frenchie,” Cade shouts, skating backward into coverage.
I nod, but my stomach’s in knots.
Why didn’t I justtell her?
Because I was ashamed.
Because the moment I got involuntary volunteered by Jamie, it was like I was still seventeen and afraid to say no to the cool kids. So many times this past week I’ve wanted to head over to Happy Horizons, give Edgar a pat, hang with Scotty, and pray for a chance to see Marcy so that I could try to explain.
Thing is, I don’t have the words for it. She’s not wrong. I made that decision all on my own, and I am a grown man.
We reset. Faceoff in our zone.
Nate Simpson is acting strange. He’s an Ice Breaker, but I could swear he’s leaving Lucian way too exposed. Word is that he’s had a chip on his shoulder the size of Canada and is still skating like he thinks he's above the game, despite being on our team.
Suddenly there’s a massive sound that echoes through therink like a dropped cymbal. Lucian is down. I bolt forward in the crease before I remember I’m supposed to stay put.
What is happening to our team?
The look Lucian gives Nate as he passes him… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.
As for me, I’m shaking with fury in my pads. If I weren’t in net, I might’ve gone after Nate myself.
But we play on.
We fight back. Carson manages a goal halfway through the period, tying it up, and for a heartbeat we have momentum again.
Then the Barracudas come back. Hard.
My pulse is hammering. I can’t tell if it’s from the game or the fury still burning in my gut from seeing Lucian get hit.
Two minutes later, another turnover. They’re moving this way, a breakaway I almost stop.
Almost.
