Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(73)
Siobhan’s forehead creases. “Really? He’s let in a lot of goals. I mean, I love the guy, but mathematically speaking.”
“So has the other goalie,” Bailey explains. “When the score is close like this, coaches usually let it ride.”
I squint, leaning forward. “What the hell is Chase doing?”
My brother just missed the most basic pass imaginable. None of the team is showing up well tonight. It’s frustrating for me, and I’m not even on the ice. I can only imagine how Tyler feels right now.
As the third period winds to a close, the score is tied five-five, and we’re sitting on the edgesof our seats. If it ends in a tie, it goes into sudden-death overtime. And if that carries on long enough, it goes into a shootout—which is probably one of the highest-pressure scenarios imaginable for a goalie.
The play carries down to our side of the net, and there’s a ton of traffic in front. I crane my head, trying to see where the puck is.
“Can you see?” I ask. “I see Dallas, but some guy is blocking Tyler.”
“Why isn’t their defense clearing the net?” Bailey gestures with her drink. “They’re letting Callingwood stand there cherry picking.”
The fun part about Bailey is she knows as much, if not more about hockey than the guys. Since she’s invested in both teams tonight, we’ve been getting a detailed running commentary the entire time. It’s highly entertaining. For someone who’s largely soft-spoken and reserved, hockey really gets her fired up.
Our attention stays fixed on our net, waiting to see if Boyd clears the puck. There’s a huge commotion out front, blocking Tyler from my line of sight, and the buzzer sounds to signify another goal.
Bailey stands up, her eyes darting between the scoreboard and the ice. “What? That was goalie interference again. And they’re just going to let it go?”
“I couldn’t see what happened,” I admit, hoping she’s right. Maybe it would be some small consolation for him, even if it wasn’t called.
My stomach aches as Callingwood skates off to their end, exchanging fist-bumps and hollering with excitement. Boyd’s team surrounds the net to give Tyler props, but the mood is decidedly somber.
More than anything, I want to hug him right now, and I can’t.
CHAPTER 26
ALL THE LITTLE PIECES
TYLER
Sometimes I think losing by one goal is worse than a blowout. If I’d just played a little better, been more on my game, and stopped that one fucking shot…
The rest of the team admittedly played like shit tonight, but even that feels like my fault. Letting in that initial goal so early in the first period shook our morale and left us playing catch up for the rest of the game. For all my talk about being able to shake off bad losses, it’s a lot harder to do when one rests squarely on my shoulders.
Sitting on my bed, I open the game tape from tonight on my phone and cue up all the goals I let in from start to finish. Easy to do when I know exactly what time each of them was scored. It happens every time I let a puck slip past me. The numbers on the clock are seared into my brain.
One or two of tonight’s goals could be chalked up to bad luck, and there’s a third I’ll give myself a pass on because it was a shot anyone would’ve struggled to stop, but the other three are the result of definite errors on my part. Shrinking down instead of holding my form, thereby creating more openings for the other team to target. Staying too far back into the crease when I should’ve been cutting down the angle. In short, not playing well enough.
The second time I watch the goals, I’m even more pissed at myself. The fourth goal was so fucking weak I can’t believe I let it in. The fifth, borderline embarrassing. What was I doing out there?
Since Christmas, I’ve been rock solid. Three shutouts, and several more wins. This is one loss, and somehow it’s still fucking with my head.
A soft knock draws my attention, and I pause the video, glancing up. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?” Seraphina opens the door partway, peeking inside.
I don’t hesitate. “Always.”
Expression cautious, she quietly closes the door and crosses the room to me. She’s changed for bed, wearing a dark purple tank top and matching shorts, and her face is freshly washed. I hate how hesitant she looks; like she’s not sure I want her here. The truth is that I always do, but it felt wrong to seek her out when I’m in such a dark state of mind. I know I’m not great company at the moment.
As soon as she’s within reach, I wrap my arms around her and pull her onto my lap. Her body is soft and warm, fitting perfectly against mine. Fuck, she smells amazing. Faint traces of her perfume, hints of her cherry-scented lip balm she must’ve put on after brushing her teeth, along with something that’s just uniquely her.
“Everyone else went upstairs so I thought I’d check on you,” she says softly.
Tension winds through me, and I choose my next words with care. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I don’t want to talk about the game, Tink.”
“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk.” Soft hands grasp mine, sliding the phone out of my grip. The screen darkens as she locks it, setting it on my nightstand. “Maybe you should put this away for the night, though. It’s late.”