Page 8 of Claimed By the Goalie Alpha
By the second period, it was worse. Another goal slipped past Renard, and the booing started. It wasn’t overwhelming, but enough to make me wince. I wanted to stand up and tell everyone to shut up, that he was having a bad night and deserved better than this.
But that was bonkers. We'd had a couple of brief conversations. I had no right to feel this protective.
"Maybe we should go," I said.
"It's only the second period."
"I know, but watching this feels wrong as if I'm intruding on something private."
Marshall gave me a look but said we were staying.
In the third period, the coach pulled Renard from the game. I watched him skate to the bench. His shoulders were rigid as the backup goalie took his place.
Final score: 4-2. It was a loss, but not the disaster it could have been.
"Well, that was depressing." Marshall was in front of me as we filed out with the crowd. "Let's get a drink."
"You said we'd go straight home."
"One drink isn't a bar crawl." He was already steering us toward the exit. "There's a place right near here. The Penalty Box. Everyone goes there after games."
"Marshall—"
"One drink. Then we'll go home and you can resume your sulking in peace."
The Penalty Box was exactly what its name suggested: a sports bar packed with people in Storm jerseys. We found space at the bar, and Marshall ordered us both beers.
I was halfway through mine, listening to Marshall complain about his coworker, when people stilled and the energy became charged. Several players had come in and they were immediately swarmed by fans wanting photos.
"Should we ask for autographs?" Marshall was already pulling out his phone.
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, it'll be?—"
He stopped mid-sentence and I followed his gaze to the door.
Renard stood at the entrance, glowering at the crowd. He scanned the room as if he was looking for an escape route. His hair was curling at the ends, and from across the bar I noted the exhaustion in his face.
Our eyes met and I swear the noise around us faded. He stared at me with an intensity that made me squirm and my legs turn to jelly. I gasped, trying to get enough air in my lungs. But someone bumped into him, breaking the moment and Renard headed toward his teammates.
"Holy shit," Marshall said. "Did you see that?"
"He probably didn't even recognize me."
"Are you kidding? That was the most intense eye contact I've ever witnessed."
I took another sip of my beer, trying to slow my breathing. My hands were shaking.
"I need to use the bathroom," I put down the beer.
The hallway to the restrooms was quieter and away from the main crowd. I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection. What was I doing here? Renard had made it clear he wasn't interested. He’d walked away and hadn’t acknowledged me. I needed to accept that and move on.
When I came out of the bathroom, Renard was in the hallway. The space was made narrower by someone trying to squeeze past us toward the restrooms. Renard moved closer tome to let them by, and suddenly there were only inches between us.
"Julian." My name sounded different in his voice.
"Hi." My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "Sorry about the loss."
