Page 132 of The Goalie in Room 1

“I wasn’t.”

“I asked twice.”

“I believe you.”

“I asked Matteo too.”

A smile threatened. “What did he say?”

“He told me my boyfriend doesn’t control every fucking decision made in the clinic, even if his name’s on the wall.”

“He’s a smart man. In case you haven’t noticed, Davina is the boss.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed. The rest of you are scared to death of her.”

I nodded. He wasn’t wrong.

“Matteo also looked entirely too pleased when he said boyfriend.”

The word hit me harder than it should have.

My boyfriend.

Cash saw my face and pointed at me. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re doing that thing with your face.”

“What thing?”

“The one where you look like somebody handed you the Stanley Cup.”

I came around the island and stopped between his knees. “My boyfriend.”

“You’re making it weird.”

I rested my hands on his shoulders. Touching him because I could. Because it came naturally.

Cash’s hands settled at my waist.

“Do you want to do the training?” I asked again.

He looked at the binder for a long moment. “Yeah. I think I do.”

“Then do it.”

“What if I get back on the ice?”

“Then you’ll be a hockey player who completed peer-support training, which would be an asset to any team who signs you.”

“What if I don’t?”

The question stood between us.

A few months ago, I would’ve answered with probabilities, graft healing, objective benchmarks, and every reason he shouldn’t build his life around the least likely outcome.

None of that was what Cash needed from me.