Page 114 of The Goalie in Room 1

“It was late.”

“You’re home now.”

“I live here.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Cash set the controller on the table. He shifted toward me, and the movement brought his knee close enough that I could have rested my hand on it.

I didn’t.

“I know,” I said.

His expression held mine for a moment before he looked back at the television. “You missed a hell of a day.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing major. It was just…” He shrugged. “Good.”

Good told me nothing. I wanted to know who had been there. What they’d done. What had made him laugh. Whether his knee had bothered him. How long he’d stayed on his feet.

Months ago, I wouldn’t have needed to ask. I would’ve been there for most of it.

“What made it good?”

Cash smiled, but his attention stayed on the frozen game. “You should’ve come.”

“I was working.”

“I know.”

There was no accusation in it. That made it worse.

He reached for the controller and restarted the game.

I sat beside him and watched without understanding a single fucking thing happening on the screen.

In my house.

With the man I⁠—

Fuck.

“Thad—”

“No.”

“But they just want⁠—”

“I don’t care. I’m going home. There are two other surgeons on call tonight. I was briefed on the patient. It isn’t life-threatening. It can wait until tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night?” she replied, but it sounded more like a question than anything else.

When I pulled into the driveway, my heart sped up. Tonight, I pulled up to the house at the edge of dusk. Lights, what looked like all the lights in the house, shone brightly through the glass entrance, lighting up the front of the house.

Cash was home. He had to be. He never left lights on when he left the house.

I rounded the corner, both giddy with excitement and shaking with fear. Excitement won out.