Chapter 8
ATLAS
Lizzie
I don’t know why you’re sending this to me.
Me
It’s my new ad. What do you think?
Lizzie
Why do you have to be shirtless with your pants nearly around your ankles in order to show off a watch? How many watches do you have? How many watches does one need?
Me
First off, my pants are just unbuttoned. Like I’m finishing a long day. They aren’t at my ankles. You’ve seen them at my ankles before.
Lizzie
I’m sure many a person has seen them at your ankles before because you did that underwear ad.
Me
Excuse me. I printed out that underwear ad and made sure that my brother kept it in the bar and grill. It’s framed.
Lizzie
With somebody’s face taped on top of it. The only reason anybody would know it was you is if they knew your tattoos.
Me
Well, you didn’t answer. What do you think of the ad?
Lizzie
It’s fine. You do good work. Or your agent does. How many more ads do you think you have in you?
Me
As many as my agent can get me.
Lizzie
Because you’re an old man who needs to make sure you’re still relevant?
Me
Ouch. When did you get sassy? And by the way. We’re the same age.
Lizzie
Not in hockey years. In teacher years, I’m still one of the younger ones. Soon I’ll reach crone age, but not before you hit old man status on the ice.
Me
I would be offended by that, but my knee hurts.
Lizzie
Oh my God. Are you okay? Do I need to send someone with ice? I’m trying to finish up some lesson plans for the year, but I can send someone over.
Me
You do care.
Lizzie
Just because if you get hurt on my watch, the town is going to be bitchy. And I don’t think they give extra parades for old men hobbling around because they throw themselves into goals.
Me
Excuse me, I don’t throw myself.
Lizzie
I can find the video of where you literally threw yourself into the net. Multiple times.
Me
I don’t know why you’re acting surprised. I have to be very flexible for my job.
Lizzie
I don’t know if you’re trying to flirt or just be weird. But I do have to get back to work.
Me
And I have to get to the ice. Dinner?
Lizzie
...
Lizzie
Maybe. I’m trying to figure out some paperwork.
Me
Let me help.
Lizzie
I think if you try to help, we’ll both end up throwing things. I hate this paperwork.
Me
All the more reason to help. Do you know how many contracts and things I have to deal with for my job?
Lizzie
You pay people for that.
Me
I picked a few things up along the way. I’ll make dinner.
Lizzie
I don’t want to die from food poisoning.
Me
Hey. I’ve gotten a lot better in my old age.
Lizzie
Okay. Your house or mine?
Me
Mine. I rarely get to show off my place.
Lizzie
Whatever you say. Just let me know when, and I’ll be there. And please don’t poison me.
My lips twitched as I said my goodbyes, and I wondered if I was making a mistake.
Oh, I was probably making a terrible one, but there had always been something about Elizabeth that did things to me that I should probably step away from.
But we weren’t fighting, we never had. We teased one another and lived our separate lives because that’s what was easier.
But things were changing, and Lizzie didn’t need to be alone, and I didn’t want to be either.
Not to mention I wanted to kiss her again. Damn it, I needed to kiss her again.
I tossed my phone onto the mats next to me and rolled my shoulders back.
It was the off-season, because thank God it was summer, I didn’t stop training.
While I knew most of my younger brethren would go out and drink tons of beer, eat what they wanted, and work it off later, I tended to focus a little bit more on cleaner eating.
Although thanks to my nutritionist and therapist, I was doing better with my relationship to food.
Meaning, if I wanted to grab a burger, I could.
Restricting myself only led to harmful thoughts later, and frankly, a bitter attitude.
Enjoying food was something I had always loved doing, and I wasn’t going to deny myself.
That also meant I couldn’t roll around in chocolates and call it dinner.
I paused, imagining Lizzie rolling around in chocolate and me licking it off her.
“Maybe that’s enough of that.”
I had no idea what the fuck I was doing with Lizzie.
Yes, we had fun together, we’d leaned on one another, but she was mourning.
She probably wasn’t even thinking clearly, and here I was, kissing her at every opportunity and constantly texting her.
We texted often enough when I was in Portland, but not daily like we were now.
Of course, we were neighbors, and even with both of us trying to watch out for Will—at least as much as he let us—we weren’t in each other’s pockets.
Maybe that’s exactly where I wanted to be.
I stretched a bit, getting ready for my workout.
I had to lift today, as well as put some cardio in.
Every morning I woke up and did yoga, it didn’t matter if I was feeling like shit, or I didn’t have a game anytime soon.
Flexibility was king when it came to being a goalie.
I knew that there were tons of jokes and innuendos out there about goalies and other hockey players stretching, but I wasn’t about to hurt myself because I didn’t stretch enough.
As a goalie, I needed to constantly pay attention, be observant, and be quicker than a damn puck.
Meaning if I threw myself in the net like Lizzie said, I had to do it in a way that I wasn’t going to hurt myself. Hence, the stretching and the yoga.
My phone buzzed, and I quickly looked at my screen, hoping it was Lizzie again. I frowned when I saw the readout, though, confused as hell.
Unknown number
They should have hit you harder. You don’t deserve to play.
Unknown number
You’re a shit goalie.
Unknown number
I hope you die next time.
What the fuck? I was used to getting shit thrown at me online and even in person while on the ice, but I hadn’t had my number leaked in years.
Having to change your phone number and deal with all of the subsequent accounts and other two-factor things was a headache in itself.
Getting threats because a so-called hockey fan couldn’t understand reality was worse.
I quickly texted my agent and wondered what the fuck I was supposed to do. By the time I worked with my team and knew they’d handled it, I’d lost nearly an hour and didn’t want to work out. Hence why I needed to cardio or lift it out.
Not in the mood to lift right away, I got on the bike, put my AirPods in, and got to work.
Doing yoga helped clear my mind, but with Lizzie taking up real estate there, it didn’t work like it used to.
So maybe riding until my legs hurt, and I sweated through my workout gear, would help me get Lizzie off of my brain.
I set the resistance a little higher, climbing that mountain, and got to work. Thirty minutes in, my focus solely on my breathing, someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I let out a scream.
I nearly fell off the bike, the pedals still going as my feet slipped out of the cages. Then I popped out an earbud and glared at superstar backup goalie, Jacob.
“What the fuck?”
Jacob held up both hands, eyes wide. However, his lips were pressed together as if he were afraid of laughing too hard. Oh, that little asshole. If he laughed, I’d have to beat him up, and then it would be a thing. And I liked this kid.
Kid. In his twenties.
I wasn’t the oldest person on the ice by far.
There were a few goalies in their late thirties, early forties.
Ones that had been on the ice and been my heroes when I’d been a teen.
But now I was one of the older ones out there, still relatively healthy, but maybe ready for something else, and this kid was waiting in the wings.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“I would believe that you’re sorry for scaring the shit out of me—and we might have to actually check if I shit my pants just then—if you weren’t laughing.”
“I can’t help it. That scream was so high-pitched. And please don’t make it a backup goalie job to check your pants. I feel like that’s some form of HR violation.”
“I’m not going to have you check my ass, Jacob. I can do that myself. And I didn’t shit myself. It was close, though. What the hell are you doing in Ashford Creek?”
The laughter in Jacob’s eyes dimmed a bit, and he looked down at the floor, his teeth worrying into his bottom lip.
“Did you do something? Do we need to call Coach? Whatever it is, I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Jacob’s gaze shot to me, and a wide smile covered his face.
“You really are a good person, you know that?”
“Why do you sound surprised? What’s going on, Jacob?”
“I’m not in trouble. I promise. My family was annoying me, and I felt bad about it, so I told them that I needed to go work on goalie shit with you.
And since I didn’t really want to lie to my parents—who I adore—I found myself here.
It was an easy flight to Denver, and the drive was nice. These mountains don’t seem real.”
Having hopped off the bike, I reached for a towel and wiped my face. We were in my home gym, and I had left it unlocked because I hadn’t thought about it, so anybody could have walked in. Including my teammate, who I hadn’t realized was here.
“I love Ashford Creek. There’s a reason why I come back. Do you want to talk about it? Actually, I’m going to make you talk about it. What’s up with your family?”
“It’s nothing.”
“You hopped on a plane and flew to Denver without telling me. Unless it’s in some text message that I missed? I mean, I have more than one group chat that I’m ignoring right now.”
“You’re a leader… you’re not supposed to ignore your team.”
“When it’s about fart jokes and what bar they’re heading to? Maybe.”
“And how will you know to mother hen us?”
“Because I have spies everywhere. And if one of our teammates—even in the summer—fucks up like that, we all know that Coach would call us.”
“Then why were you so worried that I did something?”