Page 5 of Goalie interference

Suspicion surrounded my leave since I went on it last year, questioning if I would actually be back. I was technically still on contract with the Sharks, but they wouldn’t play me without a clean bill of health–something my doctors and trainers refused to give them.

I was healed, but not healthy.

“So it seems,” I hummed, sitting up straighter in my seat before gesturing at the chair across from me for him to sit. He sat slowly, hesitantly, his face guarded and unsure of me still. “How about we go truth for truth? I answer your question, and you answer one for me honestly. No bullshit.”

“Sure,” he huffed, shrugging before adjusting in his seat uncomfortably, which I wasn’t sure was from me.

“I’m retiring–yes,” I sighed. “I was injured in our game against Detroit last October, and though I am healed, it’s an injury that can be irritated easily and will only get worse. It’s too much of a risk for me to play professionally again.”

Ash nodded slowly, his eyes locked on me now. He moved a little in his seat again, clearly uncomfortable with how he was sitting, but biting it back each time.

“My turn–yes?” I asked, earning another silent nod from the silent film star himself. “Last spring, you injured a tendon in your groin. Is it still bothering you?”

“No,” he said quickly, simply. “I’m fine–”

“We agreed on honesty, Ash,” I chastised, leaning closer to him now. “I’m not going to pull you. We need to trust one another– this doesn't work if we don’t.”

“Why would I trust you? I don't even know you,” he scoffed, leaning back for some controlled distance from me. “You know how many coaches have sat in that seat and told me they wouldn't do this, that, or the other? Enough that it's going to take more than an easy observation of me to trust that you’re the different one.”

Ash stood up suddenly, scooping up his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. He barreled right through the door, jaw clenching and damn-near steam wafting out of his ears as the door slammed shut behind him.

So close.

Honestly, no part of me thought he'd be that easy to crack. I knew guys like Ash–I was one for a long time. It was going to take consistency and trust in him for him to start giving it back to me.

So, with a slow breath, I gathered my files and flipped open Ash’s. I'd been avoiding looking through their files to get a sense of them from themselves, but Ash was going to take some time to soften up to me.

According to his file, Ash was six-foot-two, two hundred and ten pounds, and twenty-one years old. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a small scar in his left eyebrow, but I’d noticed that even in the showers earlier. He had pages of reprimands, all from previous coaches, but none from his professors or school staff.

In fact, his professors had glowing reviews of him.

They all said the same thing–he wasn’t really the best student, but he tried, which was more than what half the class was doing. He got by with Bs and Cs, and would attend tutoring sessions if he was dipping lower than usual, as often as he could.

He knew he needed the grades to keep his scholarship, so he made sure they stayed where they needed to. They were important to him because whether he could play or not depended on them.

The last section of his file was his injury reports. A few bumps and bruises here or there, but only one major injury. He’d pulled a tendon in his groin, which I knew, but he’d also strained his proximal adductor–that was probably what was causing him so much discomfort now.

I’d had that injury myself–it was an easy one to get. His tendon was likely healed and fine now, but that strain–oh, it lingered.

For me, it lingered for almost a year until someone stepped in and helped with it.

If he'd just told someone it was still bothering him, it would likely have been solved by now. Any goalie coach with half a brain would know how to help with it, but he didn’t trust anyone enough to confide in them.

That was what he needed.

Every goalie needed something from their coach–some needed direction, some needed tough love, and some just support. Some just needed a trusted person to help them when things weren’t perfect.

So my first job wasn’t fixing his game.

It was earning his trust.

Chapter 3

Ash

“Fuck,” I grumbled, shifting on my bed uncomfortably again under Callie. I was just trying to get comfortable, but Callie was clearly mistaking it for me being into this, grinding down on me more and making my thigh fucking burn. “Stop,” I panted, haphazardly moving her off me and back onto my bed.

All I was trying to do was get a little action before I had to be back at the rink, but nooooo. I played better when I’d just gotten laid, but my groin had been killing me all day long–it was my fault for thinking my hot girlfriend could change that.