Page 34 of The Goalie in Room 1

An imprisoned-then-murdered, child-abusing, wife-beating father.

A drug-addicted mother who pimped herself out to put the poison that killed her in her belly and later her arms while her kid starved.

Foster placement after foster placement, all of which sucked until the one family who didn’t died in a car crash.

An on-fire AHL career, with the NHL on the cusp, ended when a big-ass defender landed on me while I butterflied to save the game-tying goal from hitting the back of the net.

I hadn’t saved the goal and my backup hadn’t kept the next two from finding their home in the net either.

And now this.

A man who looked at me and talked to me like I was worth something kept out of my bed and personal life because of medical ethics.

And as Thad called it, a life-changing, potentially game-changing, surgery out of reach because I couldn’t afford it.

“Sir…we’ve arrived.”

Shaking my head, I muttered, “Thanks,” and got out of the car and walked up the stairs, if that’s what you could call stumbling and bitching while climbing the front steps.

“Hey, Cash.”

I sighed. I didn’t know that I had it in me to be sweet right now, and Maxie was the sweetest little shit I’d ever met. He didn’t deserve me being an ass. Taking a deep breath, I turned.

“Hey, Maxie. What are you up to today?”

“Not much. Looking forward to the patron gathering coming up. I’d love to find someone who could help me get a foot in the door of the art world.”

I stared at him for a minute before I swallowed the retort that made its presence known on my tongue. “Mind if I ask some questions?”

Maxie looked confused when he answered, “Sure, but Phoenix or Dr. Vale would be a better⁠—”

“Yeah, I know, but I want someone who’s a resident, not someone who might benefit in any way,” I said, walking into the kitchen.

His footsteps echoed behind me as I rummaged through cabinets and the fridge to pull together some lunch. “What do you want to know?”

I looked over at him, pointing at the cheeseburger bowl I was making. “Do you want some?” I asked.

He snarled his nose, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable he was. I hadn’t been around many littles like Maxie. My former foster brother, Aiden, was a boy, and there were a few guys I’d played with who had baby girls, but Maxie was nothing like anyone I’d ever met before. He was just this sweet little shit who regressed and seemed much younger than he actually was.

“It’s just a cheeseburger in a bowl, kid,” I explained.

“There’s like lettuce and wet things in that bowl. I’ve seen you eat it several times since you’ve been here.”

“You’re loss,” I said.

“So…what do you want to know?” he asked.

“Nothing personal that you don’t want to share. I’m just having a problem wrapping my head around the concept of a patron.”

“Oh! Well, I’m an artist and an open book. The patron thing is old news in the art world. I don’t know much about the hockey world. And by much, I mean nothing, but for as long as there have been artists and rich people who enjoy art, there’ve been patrons.”

“Interesting,” I said, sitting at the table across from him with my food.

I hated eating in this room. No matter where you sat, your back was to a door. I sat in the only chair I was willing to use because you could see who entered the room from the hallway in the glass doors of the upper cabinets. Several times since moving in, I’d stood in the corner of the cabinets so I could watch all the entrances.

“Do you…? I mean, is there something you’re worried about?” he asked.

I chewed several bites without acknowledging his question. Once the words sorted themselves out in my head, I said, “I grew up in a world where you had to prove your worth. Where nothing came without a price—usually a pretty steep one.” I took another bite, then said, covering my mouth with the back of the hand that held my fork, “I worry what the price will be.”