20. Goose
Chapter 20
Goose
Hate was a word that didn’t often find its way into my vocabulary, but I fucking hated the penalty kill.
And it sure didn’t help that Wyatt Banks, our top defenseman and key member of the penalty kill unit, was the one headed to the penalty box. That meant a less experienced player would be taking his place out in front of me while we were down a man for the next two minutes.
“We’ve got this.” Jenner skated by, tapping his stick against my pads before lining up for the defensive zone face-off to my right.
We were losing by a score of two-to-one to the Wisconsin Wolves, on the road in what was our last game before heading back home to Indy. Letting in two goals was two too many in my book, so I banged the shaft of my stick against each goalpost, vowing that no more were getting past me. Not tonight.
The ref dropped the puck, and thankfully, Braxton won it back to Logan Ford, who managed to bank it off the curved glass and out of the zone. That killed at least twenty seconds off the clock as the Wolves had to chase it the length of the ice before regrouping and coming back this way.
Twenty seconds, a minute forty to go.
I’ve got this.
Digging my skates in, I kept my stance wide as the Wolves re-entered the zone. My eyes shifted rapidly, tracking the movement of each player on the opposing team as they set up their power play, passing the puck around with ease because we didn’t have enough guys on the ice to cover all of them.
I cataloged the position of each Wolves player.
One at the blue line.
One moving along the half-wall.
One parked at the right circle
One in the slot at the center of the zone.
One right in front of the net, trying to block my vision.
Next, I tracked the puck movement. For now, the Wolves were passing the puck between them, forcing my guys out of position as we tried to create a turnover.
I peeked at the timer counting down. Just under sixty seconds remained before Wyatt could break free of the box and rejoin the action.
I’ve got this. Fifty-nine seconds is nothing. I’ve fended off three-minute-long defensive zone possessions with dead-legged, tired players in front of me before.
A shift happened, and a second Wolves player joined the one in front of the net. Only one of our guys could commit to defending them. The other three remained focused on boxing out the rest, keeping potential shots to the outside and from a distance, giving me a better chance to save them. The only downside was that now there were two guys in front of me who could lift their sticks out for a deflection on one of those far shots, changing the puck’s trajectory faster than I could react.
The player at the blue line pulled his stick back, gearing up for a hard slap shot. I squared up in the net. Most people thought goalies were insane for being willing to put their bodies on the line to take hundred-mile-per-hour shots, but I got a high from being the last line of defense, knowing it was up to me to make a save when all else failed. The bulky gear to soften the blow didn’t hurt either.
Come on, give it your best shot.
The crack of the stick on the ice reached my ears, and I tracked the trajectory of the black rubber disc hurtling toward me at breakneck speed.
Ready . . . now!
Perfectly timed, my gloved hand shot out, the force of impact into the webbing against my palm making me hiss, but I closed my fingers, holding onto the puck long enough for the whistle to blow, stopping play.
It couldn’t have come at a better time. Our top PK unit was gassed, and they headed to the bench for a change. With only thirteen seconds left on the penalty against us, if we won the face-off, we could effectively kill it off and focus on scoring a tying goal.
Asher lined up for the face-off this time. Usually a winger, he didn’t bother trying to win the battle when the ref dropped the puck. Instead, he opted to tie up the Wolves’ center, allowing Eli Clifford to swoop in and make a slingshot pass behind the net and around the boards just as Wyatt stepped onto the ice.
Oh, hell yes.
Every set of eyes in the arena watched on as Wyatt found himself alone in open ice, barreling straight toward the Wolves’ goalie, Costa.
Wyatt faked to the right, but Costa was smart enough not to bite on the deke. So when Wyatt immediately pulled to the left, Costa assumed he would shoot. But I knew better. We had shootout competitions monthly in practice, and I was on the receiving end of all my teammates’ moves. It was another fake. Wyatt waited until Costa dropped, legs spread wide, before sliding the puck to the right and chipping it into the net.
My whoop echoed along with those of my teammates. The arena had gone silent as the home crowd realized how quickly they’d gone from having an advantage to giving up the tying goal.
Gotta love this game.
It was closing in on midnight when the team plane touched down in Indy after the Speed had come from behind to win in overtime. Since it was still early and Maddox had already declared that tomorrow would be a maintenance day—no practice; a day off for rest or treatment—some of the younger guys were planning to hit Pipes to celebrate.
When they asked me to join them, I declined. The only person I wanted to celebrate with was Gemma.
Excitement buzzed beneath my skin when I pushed through the door of her little bar, still busy despite the late hour. I’d wait here until she was done for the night, then take her home and burn off the adrenaline from the win.
Stepping up to the bar top, I sat on the only empty stool. Rachel, who usually worked opposite shifts from Gemma, stopped before me. “What can I get you?”
Elbows on the counter, I craned my neck to down the length of the bar. “Where’s Gemma?”
“Oh, she called off,” Rachel explained.
“She called off . . .” It wasn’t like Gemma to not make it to work. “Did she say why?”
The girl across the counter shrugged. “No clue. All I know is Bennie called me up last minute to take her place.”
I didn’t like this. Not one bit.
“Thanks.” I shoved off the stool, my pace quickening along with my heart rate as I pushed through the crowd to get to my car.
My mind narrowed to a singular focus: get to Gemma.
Panic had taken over on the drive to Gemma’s place, and by the time I reached her townhouse, I was bordering on frantic.
Not caring that it was practically the middle of the night, I banged my fist on the door. “Gemma! Open the door!”
I half expected her to throw open the door, berating me for waking up the whole damn neighborhood with my shouting, but the only reply was the sound of a light scratching low and accompanying whines.
Cannoli.
Fuck, something was really wrong. I could feel it.
Crouching down, I spoke to the dog through the door. “Hey, bud. Where’s your mom?”
He let out a high-pitched bark, the scratching getting louder as he tried to get to me. Helplessness crashed over me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my forehead to the freezing wood.
Why didn’t I have a fucking key? That would change the minute I got inside.
My pulse ratcheted up, and I rose to my feet. “Gemma!” I roared, desperation clawing up my throat as I pounded against the barrier keeping me from my girl.
I jolted when my phone vibrated in my pocket, pausing my assault on the door to check the message.
Gemma: Go home, Sasha.
Was she serious right now? There was no way in hell I was walking away from this house until I confirmed she was all right.
I went to the bar, but you weren’t there. They told me you called off.
Gemma: *Rolling eye emoji* Wow, great detective work.
I frowned at my phone. She hadn’t been snarky with me in a while. And while I loved that side of her personality, right now, I wasn’t in the mood to verbally spar with her.
Switching tactics, I typed out a new text.
Cannoli is whining by the door. He sounds freaked out.
Gemma: Shit. He probably needs to be let out.
I need you to talk to me, Gemma. Why haven’t you taken him out, and why weren’t you at work?
Gemma: Because I don’t feel well, okay? Can we leave it at that? I appreciate your concern, but I’m not in any shape for visitors tonight, especially you.
What did that mean? Especially me? I should be the one inside the house taking care of her. It was clear that whatever was going on was bad enough that she couldn’t even take care of the dog.
I need you to open the door.
Gemma: No. I’m not getting out of bed. Come back in a couple of days.
As I read those words, a disbelieving huff flew past my lips. A couple of days? Nope, that wasn’t gonna work for me.
You either open the door, or I call the fire department with some line about smelling gas coming from inside and have them break it down. Your choice.
Pacing the front porch, I decided to give her exactly five minutes before I made good on my threat to have men wielding axes break down her door.
The deadbolt turned, and the relief that surged through my veins had me throwing a hand against the doorframe to keep my knees from buckling with the force of it. That was, until I laid eyes on Gemma, standing on the other side of the open door.
Standing was too generous a term. She was doubled over, her shaky hand gripping the wall beside her head so hard her knuckles turned white.
Through gritted teeth, she forced out, “Happy now?”
Bending down, I pushed the hair covering her face behind her ears so I could get a good look at her. Immediately, I could tell it wasn’t an illness keeping her in bed. There was pain etched across her pretty face, and I would have given anything to take it away.
“Talk to me, baby. Tell me where it hurts.”
Her tough facade cracked, and she let out a shuddering breath that could have easily passed for a sob.
The winter wind whipped around us, and that’s when I realized Gemma only wore an oversized T-shirt, her legs bare against the chill. The millions of thoughts running through my head quieted until the most important one came to the forefront. I needed to get her inside and back to bed. I could figure out the rest after that.
Not wasting any more time, I brought my arm behind her knees, scooping her into my arms, forcing myself to ignore her whine of protest. As I kicked the door closed, Cannoli barked excitedly, jumping up to place his paws on my shin.
“I’ll take you out in a minute,” I promised. “Gonna get Mom back upstairs first.”
Gemma’s body was rigid, every muscle tense, but she managed to loop her arms around my neck as I strode through the house. Taking the steps two at a time until I reached her bedroom, I gently eased her onto the mattress.
She curled up instantly, moaning as she hugged her knees.
Kneeling at her bedside, I kissed the clammy skin of her forehead. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t,” she hissed, her eyes squeezed shut.
“No, what I can’t do is sit here and watch you suffer, doing nothing,” I countered.
“There’s nothing you can do. I just need to sleep it off.”
I’d been injured a few times during my career, so I knew a thing or two about pain. And I would be the first to admit that when it had you locked in a chokehold, sleep was damn near impossible.
“What happened?” I pressed, needing answers as to what had put her in this state.
Those hazel eyes cracked open, and I could see the silent war playing out behind them. Whatever was going on, she was hesitant to tell me.
We stayed like that, eyes locked on each other for what felt like an eternity before she finally whispered, “Cramps.”
My eyebrows shot sky-high. “Cramps?” I mean, I knew women suffered during their menstrual cycle, but I had no clue it could be this debilitating. Was it like this for her every month?
The pale skin of her cheeks pinkened a touch, and she averted her gaze. “Yes, so just let me ride it out in peace. I’ll be fine.”
“Can you take any sort of pain reliever?”
She swallowed thickly. “Already did. Barely touches it.”
“Jesus.” Taking a deep breath, I rose to my feet. “I’m gonna take Cannoli out, and then I’ll be right back, okay?”
Weakly, Gemma shook her head. “You should probably go.”
Placing both hands on the mattress, I leaned over where she lay in the fetal position. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
Not giving her any time to argue, I walked out of the room. I clicked my tongue to gain his attention, and Cannoli perked up when I reached the bottom of the stairs. Leading him to the sliding glass door, I pulled it open, making sure to hook the lead onto his collar so he didn’t venture too far before letting him go with a pat on his furry bum.
Letting my weight rest on the cold brick exterior of the townhouse, I pulled out my phone. I was out of my depth and needed help.
You guys still awake?
Braxton: I’m about to slip into bed with my naked wife, so no.
Maddox: Dude. Keep it respectful.
Jenner: I hate to be the one to break it to you, Coach, but the virginal act doesn’t work when your wife’s baby bump precedes her into every room.
Asher: It’s always the ones who act all manly that are into the kinkiest shit.
Usually, I enjoyed their antics, but tonight, I didn’t have time to let them keep rolling.
This is serious. I need help with Gemma.
Braxton: From what I heard on the other side of that door at the arena, you seem to have it figured out.
Maddox: Are we still talking about this?
Asher: Wait! What did I miss? Did Goose and Gemma get busy at the rink?
Braxton: Yup.
Maddox: Jesus Christ. Here we go again.
Asher: Damn, Goose, didn’t know you had it in you.
Jenner: I mean, I get it. He needed to turn her first experience at the arena into a positive one after Maddox made an ass out of himself.
Maddox: I am this close to canceling your maintenance day. Keep it up.
Jenner: Nice try. We all know you won’t be able to face your wife if you promise her a day off and then rip it away.
Clearly, they were the wrong choice.
Never mind. Thanks for nothing.
I exited that group chat and pulled up a different one, praying at least one of them was awake to guide me through the unchartered waters I’d found myself in.
SOS .
Pretty sure I held my breath while waiting for a response. After a few minutes, Cannoli settled at my feet, and I sighed, ushering him back into the house.
Guess I was on my own.
Just as I locked the back door, my phone buzzed, and hope lit up inside my chest.
Tessa: *Claps hands* Up and at ’em, ladies! This is the moment we’ve been waiting for!
Dakota: Honestly, I can’t believe it took him this long. I thought for sure after Maddoxgate, he’d come running to us for help cleaning up that mess.
Evie: You have no idea how much I needed this. Teething babies are no joke. Fuck molars.
Bristol: *Rubs eyes* What’s going on?
My fingers flew over the screen, typing out my dilemma, when my group chat with the guys popped up.
Braxton: Did you seriously message the girls?
Maddox: Are you fucking kidding me right now? Bristol just fell asleep, and now she’s awake again.
Jenner: Do you guys have a special notification tone? I’ve never seen Evie jump out of bed so fast to get to her phone when she heard it.
Asher: Yeah, what was that? Some kind of honk?
A grin curved on my lips, knowing exactly what they were talking about.
It’s a goose. Goodnight, fellas!
With that, I muted that chat, returning to the one I shared with the ladies.
Your men have proved useless.
Dakota: *Snorts* Well, going to them before us was your first mistake. Guess you learned a lesson tonight, didn’t you?
Listen, I’d love nothing more than to trash-talk them while they suffer with FOMO, but I do need your help. It’s urgent.
Tessa: Hit us with it.
It’s about Gemma.
Dakota: Come on. Give us a little credit. Obviously, you came to us with girl troubles.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m a little out of my depth here. She’s got cramps, and they’re bad — like , really bad — and I need to do something to ease her pain. I’m desperate. It’s killing me to see her like this.
Tessa: Got some pain relievers? Those usually do the trick.
She said she took some, and they’re not touching the pain.
Bristol: Don’t ask how I know this, but an orgasm has been known to provide relief.
My eyebrows rose. That was a little more information that I needed to know about Maddox. But damn, good on him for doing whatever was necessary to care for his girl.
Don’t think that’s gonna be an option here. She could barely walk to answer the door.
Evie: Poor thing. How about a heating pad or warm compress? Might take the edge off.
I’ll give that a try. Thanks.
Dakota: You’re a good one, Goose. She’s lucky to have you.
Bristol: Hope she feels better soon!
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, centering myself. I had a plan of action, and that settled my panic, but only to a degree. So long as Gemma was hurting, I wouldn’t be able to rest easy.