Page 32 of Goalie Interference

“It sounds pretty perfect. Nice even.”

I never thought being complimented on my English was something that could make my cheeks heat. But apparently, I was wrong. And also, I doubt Ander called to talk about my ability to speak English.

“Your game,” I say, changing the subject. “Are you not feeling good about it?”

He hesitates on the other end of the line and I can hear him take a breath. “I mean, I’m happy we won, that’s for sure, but I’m not going to pretend it had anything to do with me.”

“You stopped more goals than they did. Last I checked, that is sign of goalie contributing to win.”

“I still let in more than I should have.”

I hate the frustration and self-doubt I hear creeping into his voice. That’s not how Ander Bouchard is ever supposed to sound.

Frowning, I try to think back to what I would have liked to hear from people when I wasn’t playing to my standards. Having someone tell me I was doing great when I knew in my heart I wasn’t would just have pissed me off. And while I do think that Ander doesn’t have anything to worry about, me telling him that isn’t going to help him right now. It’s only going to push him away, which is the last thing I want. I enjoy talking to him. I want to know him even more. And most of all, I want to help get him out of this funk.

“Let’s think logically,” I say, and pull up his record for the season so far. Out of the thirteen games the Blizzards have played this season, they have won eight of them. Ander was in net for six of those. Of the five losses, he was in net for four, putting him at ten games played for the season. “I have pulled up your record. You have a sixty percent win percentage.”

“Yeah. But I’m averaging letting in over three goals a game. That’s not good. I’ve always been much lower than that.”

I laugh lightly. “You know that is most of us, right?”

“It’s not me,” he says, his voice quiet.

“It still probably is not,” I say. “This is just little bump in ice.”

“You think?”

“I know, Ander.” And I do know. Ander is one of the main reasons why the Blizzards are two times Stanley Cup champions. They wouldn’t be where they are without him. What concerns me is that he seems to have lost sight of that, and I can’t imagine when. “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

“We’re the defending champs. I don’t want to let my team or my city down. There’s a lot riding on this season, and a lot more expected from us. If we don’t win another cup and it’s my fault, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Okay, you are being dramatic.”

“No, I’m not,” he whines. It’s a familiar sound. I’ve heard it out of his brother since he arrived on the Mules. Although, now that we are off to such a good start to the season and he’s on quite the goal streak, he’s been less apt to use the tone.

“You sound like your brother.”

“I do not!”

I laugh again. “You do.”

“If I am being dramatic, I, unlike him, at least have a good reason.”

“Have either of you ever been bad at anything before?” It’s an honest question. I don’t know why, but the Bouchard brothers, particularly Ander, don’t seem to take losing well. Brandon, to his credit, has a little more experience in that department having been drafted later than the first round, but still. Why is the sky always falling for these two when things are going less than perfect?

“I was a terrible center,” Ander says. “I’ll probably never be able to score a goalie goal.” I can hear him pouting.

Now it’s my turn to sigh. “Is there anything else on your wish list?”

“Of course!” he says, his voice a bit brighter now. “I already have a few assists. And obviously I want a goalie goal. And the other thing I’d love is a fight! Though Gavin likes to handle those.”

“I have had fight,” I say, casually, remembering the full brawl our team got into against Minnesota in the playoffs last season. Normally fighting isn’t my thing, but everyone on that team deserved what they had coming to them.

“Oh, I know,” Ander says. “I was on my feet screaming at the TV when I saw that live. You were a fucking beast out there.”

“Was nothing,” I say. Which truthfully, it was. Minnesota’s goalie didn’t have a lot of fight in him, and he was at a disadvantage being shorter than me by a few inches. “It was fun though. I recommend it.”

“Are you challenging me?”