Page 141 of The Goalie in Room 1

I shoved my mask back on and climbed over the boards. Thad skated past as I headed for the crease.

“You good?”

I caught his gaze through the cage.

No doctor stare. No assessing the leg or calculating how long I’d been out here.

Just Thad.

“I’m fucking great,” I said, winking.

His smile followed me back to the net.

I settled into my stance and tapped each post with my stick. Aiden was already coming down the ice with a puck.

For years, I’d thought success equaled hockey wanting me back.

Turns out, I’d been wrong. I could have hockey on my own terms. How I didn’t know yet, but I’d figure it the fuck out.

“Again, Mercy.”

By the time we got home, my right leg was completely done. Not hurt. Just tanked. Aiden and Sasha disappeared for the afternoon to take in the sights before we met for dinner. I barely made it through the shower before dropping onto the sectional and stretching my leg out.

Thad handed me a bottle of water, and at the end of the chaise, I draped my leg over his lap while he did a quick physical exam. I should’ve made him stop. He hadn’t been my doctor for months, but he couldn’t help himself. And it made me feel all gross and squishy inside.

“Cash…”

I knew that tone. “Doc, don’t. I’m good.”

“I know.” His gaze dropped to my leg, then returned to mine. “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why does it feel like you’re giving up?”

The words hit like a puck off the fucking mask. “I’m not giving up, Daddy. I promise. I’m just changing the game plan.”

“This was your dream. Your knee…fuck! It did the work today. It’s fully⁠—”

“It is. The knee is doing fucking amazing. Beyond my wildest dreams, if I’m being honest.” I rubbed my palm over my tired thigh.

“So, why?”

Ten months ago, getting across this room had been a fucking production. Today, I’d spent more than an hour stopping pucks from an NHL player. “Because I don’t want to be some crippled, broken-down goalie still chasing a contract five years from now because I can’t figure out when to fucking stop.”

“Then…?”

I finally had an answer to the question he was getting ready to ask.

“I applied to school.”

Thad went still. “For PT?”

I laughed. “We’ll see, but probably. I love what I’m doing with the athletes, but I want to do more for them. I think I want to combine what I’m doing with what Matteo does.” I took a drink, trying and failing to hide my grin. “And I’m doing a century.”

His eyebrows drew together. “A century?”

“Bike race. A hundred miles.”