Page 111 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Somebody needed to,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t had that connection in a year. I’d missed it. I missed my boys. Every damn day.

Talking with Eli might have helped him, but who was I to say? I knew fuck-all about this shit. What I did know was it had definitely helped me. It had made me feel needed. Necessary. The way only standing in a net had ever made me feel. I wanted…no. I needed more of that in my life.

I looked up at Matteo, who was staring at me like he’d found gold at the end of the rainbow or something.

“Stop doing that. It’s freaky.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever the hell you’re doing right now.”

He smiled and returned his attention to my knee, checking range of motion and swelling. When he finished, he sat back and said, “Swelling’s down. Motion still looks good. You can go back to one crutch.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Unless you’d like me to invent a catastrophic setback.”

“I’m good.”

I pulled the second crutch away from the table and stared at it. Picking it up the other day had felt like losing a whole month. Now it was a crutch again. Nothing more.

“Take it home,” Matteo said. “And don’t make me regret dropping you back to one.”

I tucked it beneath my arm and headed for the door.

“Cash,” he called, stopping me.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Thanks for your help with Eli. I don’t know if you realize how much you helped him.”

I stared at him, confused and curious all at once. I’d never been good at helping others. My childhood had robbed me of that skill. Or maybe I was just a selfish asshole, and it wasn’t my parents or my shitty upbringing that taught me to only care about myself. Helping that kid though…it felt good. Better than anything else I’d ever done in my life.

Not even a shutout had felt that good.

20

THAD

February

The first Saturday I had off in over a month arrived, and I woke to silence. The kind that said you were alone in the house.

For a few seconds, I lay there staring at the ceiling to be sure. No television playing too loud. No cabinets opening and closing.

Nothing.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. No missed calls. No messages. It was almost nine, which meant I’d slept later than I had in years.

And Cash had let me.

I pulled on a pair of sweats and went looking for him. His bedroom door stood open. The bed badly made, as usual.

In the kitchen, I opened the cabinet over the coffee maker. The print out inside the cabinet said PT at eight. Halo House was scrawled sloppily next to it.

Staring at the page, I contemplated the meaning of the addition. Did he want me to meet him there ? Or was it just a note to remind himself ? The longer I thought about it, the more I realized how long it had been since I’d been to the Halo House for anything other than a quick house call.

Shit.