Page 15 of Chasing The Goal
I watched him limp over to the foam rollers, one hand dragging through his hair, hoodie shifting just enough to show the line of a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before—some kind of script inked low on his ribs.
Interesting.
As he stretched, I jotted a few notes and tried not to watch the muscles in his back flex beneath the thin cotton.
Tried being the key word.
When he finally straightened and grabbed his water bottle, he walked past me and paused at the door.
“See you Monday?” he asked.
“Unless you ghost me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Because you like pain?”
“Because,” he said, tapping the doorframe with two fingers, “I like you bossing me around.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving me standing in a room that suddenly felt too quiet and too charged, holding a clipboard I forgot how to read.
Trouble.
But maybe the good kind.
Jaymie
There’s nothing worse thanwatching your team win without you. Alright, maybe the worst thing would be losing without you, as in if you weren't hurt, the game would have been a win... But still—being in the box instead of on the bench while the guys skate their asses off? It’s a special kind of torture. The kind where your leg itches under the tape, your coffee goescold in your hand, and you start mentally playing every shift like you could will yourself onto the ice.
The Hellblades pulled off a win, barely. Logan scored late in the third with one of his absurd off-angle wrist shots that always seemed to defy physics. The arena lit up. Fans screaming, players pounding their sticks. I felt the energy buzz right through the glass, down to the pit of my stomach.
And I wanted to be out there so bad it hurt.
Instead, I was watching from a borrowed seat, chewing on the inside of my cheek and trying not to look as bitter as I felt.
Six more weeks.
Six more weeks of bands, stretches, slow walks and Mallory’s smug little smirk every time I whined.
Okay. The smirk wasn’t so bad. That was the only plus side, I got to meet Mal.
By the time I made it to Logan and Ava’s place, the game was already being replayed in the background on their flat screen, and Ava had curled up on one end of the sectional with a blanket, hair piled on top of her head like a cinnamon roll.
“Hey, benchwarmer,” she called as I stepped inside. “You bring snacks?”
“Only emotional baggage,” I replied, tossing my jacket over the back of the couch.
“Even better.”
Logan was in the kitchen, pouring out drinks, probably that artisanal ginger beer Ava made him get into last spring. He handed me one with a crooked grin. “That win was for you, buddy.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, taking a sip. “You pull it out of your ass in my honor?”
“You know me. Nothing motivates more than Jaymie's disapproval.”
Ava patted the cushion beside her. “Come sit. We’re were just going to watch SNL. You can heckle the monologue and pretend you’re not dying inside.”
