Page 15 of The Goalie's Gamble
Also, Logan is somewhere, and his disapproval could level a city.
We make the rounds.I shine, but Olivia… she glows.She tells quick, vivid stories of Bea and her “more conclusion,” Malik learning to square his shoulders, the sisters with the pink-and-glitter project, and the donors lean in like she’s feeding them something they didn’t know they were starving for.
“Ms.Walker,” a woman in a beaded navy dress says, taking Olivia’s hand in both of hers.“I grew up going to a center like yours.Thank you for doing this work.”
Olivia’s eyes soften.“We do it together,” she says.“Us, the kids, the community.”
Us.She said “us,” and it felt like a private thing meant for me.
When we hit the silent auction tables, I nudge her with my shoulder.“Pick something.”
“We can’t bid with center funds.”
“Who said anything about center funds?”I scrawl my name on the pasta class because I’m an agent of chaos, but also because I want to feed her again and again until she realizes she doesn’t have to do everything herself.
At our table, the auction begins.Olivia sits to my right, Declan on my left, Logan across from us, looking like he’d rather be stuck in a penalty box.When his girl, Violet, leans against his side, his face softens as he smiles down at her.I slide my hand onto Olivia’s knee beneath the tablecloth, thumb tracing a small circle through satin.
She gives me a look, but doesn’t push my hand away.
I lean in, mouth to the shell of her ear.“You’re doing amazing,” I whisper.“I mean it.”
“CJ,” her breath catches.
“Hmm?”
“Ground rules.”
“Right.No touching that isn’t strictly necessary.”I squeeze once and leave my hand where it is.“I would argue this is necessary.For morale.”
She leaves my hand where it is.I call that a win.
Lots go one after another.A luxury spa day, golf with a local celeb, and dinner with the Thunder coaching staff.Coach Pearson bids on anything that lets him leave early, and I wave at him as he tries to make a sneaky exit.
Then it’s the big-ticket items.I told PR we’d comp a “Practice with the Team,” and an on-ice shootout against me; the crowd eats it up.When the final paddle drops, I’m pretty sure we’ve raised enough money to keep the lights on and the heater alive for a while.
Olivia squeezes my fingers under the table.It’s quick, barely there, but I feel it everywhere.
The emcee invites us up for a final thank-you.Olivia steps up to the mic, and I watch her transform, nerves to steel to warmth in three breaths.
“Tonight you didn’t just give to a building,” she says.“You gave time.Time for a kid to finish a book report.Time for a teenager to be seen by an adult who believes in them.Time for a working parent to breathe on the car ride home because their child is safe.Thank you for buying us time.”
The room stands.Not a slow clap.A wave.
Olivia looks at me, eyes shiny.I slide my hand into hers and we hold them up together for the cameras, for the donors, for the kids who don’t even know this is happening but will feel it on a Tuesday at 4:17 p.m., when there’s a snack and a seat and someone waiting to hear them say the thing that hurts.
After the applause, after the handshakes and the “Let’s talk Monday,” after Logan gives me one tight nod that reads “good job, idiot,” and Declan smirks like he always knew I wasn’t hopeless, I steer Olivia toward the exit.
“Hungry?”I ask as we step into the cool night.
She exhales, shoulders dipping as if her dress itself is made of expectations.
“I’m… exhausted,” she admits.“Happy-exhausted.”
“We can do food another time,” I say, surprising even myself.I don’t want the night to end.I also want to do the things she asked of me: behave like a professional, prioritize the center, and put her comfort first.“Let’s get you home.”
In the car, the world goes quiet.No cameras.No donors.Her hand finds mine again, like it’s done it a hundred times.
“Thank you,” she says softly as city lights smear past the windshield.“For tonight.For—” She gestures at everything.“All of it.”
