Page 61 of Her Goal
Liquid fills my eyes. “Yeah, me too.”
Inspiration sparks and I tell him I want to help them to reunite and a plan forms in my mind, but I’ll have to carry it out on the sly, given the trepidation in his expression.
“Thanks, but …” Hudson shakes his head. “Short of hiring someone to track him down, I don’t know how you’d achieve that.”
“Anything is possible. Then again, I also believed we were best friends. I never understood why he shut me out.”
“Definefriend.”
“Like literally from the dictionary?”
“What does it mean to you?”
“Oh, um, loyalty, you’re there when you need each other and even when you don’t. You listen to each other and only offer advice when it’s in their best interest rather than what they want to hear. So always tell the truth.”
Hudson is either thinking about my answer or his brother, underscoring the quiet early fall night.
Looking at the duplex, which is worse for wear, I say, “So you had houses in Boston and Miami?”
“Houston, too. Still own them all, so I have options if things don’t work out here with the Knights.”
“You mean if you get traded back to one of your previous teams? That’s not likely.”
“Nor is my contract being renewed after this season,” Hudson says so softly I almost don’t hear him.
I lean in. “That’s ridiculous.”
“But true.”
I shake my head and get to my feet. “No, Hudson. Nuh-uh.”
He tucks his chin in surprise.
“Nope. You’re not doing this. I love Beau and Margo. He’s a grump but a great goalie. You are, too, but there’s no way someone besides one of you is going to stand in front of that net.”
“Thanks for the punch of positive thinking,” he says dismally.
“Bro,” I say, harkening back to the days when I was just one of the boys and we’d play street hockey about three yards away from this bench.
“Dude.”
Nostrils flared, I glare at him. “Hudson Emil Roboveitchek, it sounds to me like you’ve given up.”
He stiffens as if surprised to hear me call him by his full name or that I know it. Some things just stick with you. “I haven’t, but I am preparing for reality.”
I grip his arm and tug him toward his truck. I’m the tallest person in my family, so I’m generally used to maneuvering them when, for instance, Valentina stands too long in front of the stove “testing” Mami’s sauce or my brother parks himself in front of the television when the game is on, or Dani gazes into the refrigerator as if what she’s craving will magically appear. Even though Hudson is a solid mass of muscle, he lets me tow him toward his truck … then he somehow slides his hand into mine.
My instinct is to draw it away, slap him on the arm, and run down the street shouting,No! Now I have cooties!But I get the sense he needs a friend to lean on, a hand to hold right now.
Pausing in front of his truck, he holds our hands up and looks at them for a long moment as if only realizing what’s transpired. We both drop the grip and shuffle awkwardly under the street light.
After a big exhale, Hudson says, “Thanks for that.”
“For what? You have no idea what I have in store for you,” I say, referring to my just now hatched plan to not let him give up on his goalie dreams.
He tilts his head toward our recently occupied bench. “Talking to me about all that. I usually work it out on the ice, but I appreciate that you listened. That you understand.”
Does that make us friends? I remind myself that I’m his secret adversary.
