Page 45 of Goalie Interference

“Probably not.” Ander laughs.

A smile at his honesty pulls at my lips. “What would you like to know?”

“Has this ever happened to you before?”

This? My mind is racing… what does this mean? As in developing feelings for another man? Is that what he’s asking? Because if it is, how do I answer his question? With the truth? That yes, I have felt like this before. Or do I lie and pretend that I feel nothing.

Since it’s in my nature, I go with the truth. “Yes,” I say, my voice low and apprehensive.

He lets out a breath. “That’s what I thought.”

“What about you?”

“Never,” he says. His voice is sad. “I’ve never gotten the yips a day in my life… until now.”

I hang my head and sit down on the toilet. I’m a moron. Of course he was talking about his game and not his feelings about me. Because why would he? He doesn’t have feelings for me. He’s straight. We’re just friends. And I suspect I might be the only friend he has who can help him get through this rough patch. The yips, as he calls it.

“You played well last night,” I say. He did. I was able to catch most of the game. “Maybe the issues are over.”

“Maybe,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Coach Matthews is still pissed with me. He says I have to keep doing whatever it was I did to make me play that well in Vancouver. But there’s a problem with that…” His voice trails off.

I try not to distract myself with the possibilities of what he’s avoiding saying. As his friend, whatever it is, he needs to feel like he can trust me enough to say it.

“What is problem?” I ask, keeping my voice friendly and steady. “Do not forget, I am goalie too.”

“Sacred bond,” he says, a soft laugh in his voice.

“Yes. Sacred.”

“Gavin says we’re all weirdos.”

“That is not untrue,” I say. Just look at the mess I’ve found myself in with perhaps the weirdest of all of us. “So what is problem?”

“The problem is that you’re the one who fixed my yips. But now I’m in Dallas and you’re in Nashville and we can’t go grab dinner, even though that’s all I want to do, and because of that, there’s a very big possibility that I’m going to play like shit again tomorrow night, and it’s going to continue through the rest of the season and we’re going to miss the playoffs and it will be all my fault. Legacy ruined. Dynasty gone.”

I take a breath for both of us. “Slow down,” I tell him, desperately wishing I could reach through the phone and place a steadying hand on his forearm. That helped the other night. It’s becoming quite clear to me that Ander is someone who is soothed by touch.

It makes sense, if I take into account everything I know about him. Starting with the fact that he grew up in a house that was full of affection. I wonder how much physical touch he gets in his life right now. My guess is not much at all.

Ander

Just talking to Nikolai makes me feel better. I’ll have to thank Connor. He was right when he suggested I call him. But I want more.

I’m struck with an idea. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“What?” he asks, like I caught him off guard.

“Dinner. Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he says. “The team has dinner set out for us in conference room, but I have not gone down there to eat yet.”

“Too busy talking to me.”

“Something like that,” he says, and it’s just now that I notice that there is a bit of an echo coming from his end of the line.

“I have an idea,” I say, then blurt it out before I can reconsider how stupid it is. “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

“How would we do this?”