Page 11 of Her Goal
“More like prowling.”
Much like this morning.
I continue, “Hunter saw the garden gnome with the little spotlight on it in the front garden. In several long strides, he nabbed it, and then took off running. I was halfway down the block, chasing him and urging him to put it back, when I realized it was your house, Cara.”
“Obviously, he didn’t listen to you.”
He never did. Not even when I confessed how much I liked him. “For days, I begged him to put it back. It was like each time I asked, he’d do something more outrageous like photographing Howie on the school’s roof and text it me during English class. Put him in the middle of a busy road.” I dip into my memories and realize, in a weird way, he used the garden gnome as a stand-in for how precipitously close to the edge he was … until he finally left without looking back.
That was sophomore year. One day during junior year, Hudson left his bedroom door open, and I spotted Howie on his bureau. After that, it started tormenting me, meaning Hunter must’ve passed the torch.
When I’m done, the women shrug like it’s not that outrageous of a tale.
Cara sucks in her cheek. “You knew it came from my family’s yard.”
Guilt gathers inside like Zamboni slush.
“Why didn’t you ever give it back?”
“Hunter said it was a trophy.” And back then, I did everything he said, scarfing up the crumbs he left me like cake, which I take a bite of now so I don’t have to talk about the stupid boy I had a stupid crush on.
Cara knows the full story, the heartbreak, and the tears shed. She says, “I’m getting it back.”
Letting out a long breath, I say, “Leave it to me.”
I don’t have a plan, but I’ll be sure to return the gnome to its home … and hopefully, avoid Hudson, especially if he’s in a towel.
5
HUDSON
I shouldn’t carewhether Howie the hockey gnome smashes on the floor. The thing haunts me … along with my yearbook and being back in Cobbiton, for that matter.
Somehow, it’s endured after all this time, so maybe I should give it a proper Viking send-off or something.
My brother tormented me with it. I’d find it in my laundry, behind the toilet, in my gear bag—all because I wasn’t dumb enough to try to steal the high school mascot one night.
Like Hunter, Howie was always leering at me or the cookie jar or the dust bunny in the corner. He’d also send me photos of it taken in random places. I urged him to return it, but Hunter was the original contrarian and routinely did the opposite of what he was told.
Pierre watches us all with curious scrutiny as if he’s trying to piece things together.
Me too, man.
“What was that?” Mikey asks, studying his hands as if trying to figure out how the gnome disappeared so fast.
“More importantly, where did you get it?” asks Micah, returning to the room as quickly as he’d left.
“Um, I obtained it.” After years of protecting Hunter, the answer is out of my mouth like a bad habit before I can think twice.
He glances at Vohn, who’s deep in conversation with head Coach Tommy Badaszek. They both have full plates of food, but their conversation takes priority. Hopefully, it’s about hockey and not me having to explain something stupid my brother did years ago.
I’ll find the gnome and return it. It’s as simple as that. I’m an adult now. No longer my brother’s keeper.
Then the reality of the big picture situation sets in. My jaw drops slightly. My eyes bulge. What on earth is my coach doing at my house? The only times I saw my previous coaches were at practice, during and after games, and at formal events. They were rare, enigmatic creatures—like spotting a Yeti.
“First rule of Knights. We don’t speak of the gnome. Ever,” Micah whispers.
“Why—?” Mikey asks.
