Page 93 of Goalie Interference

“The whole summer?” I ask hopefully.

“Yes. The whole summer. From the night us Mules lift the Stanley Cup until first puck drops for training camp. The entire offseason. Me and you. Wherever you want to go.”

Relief washes over me. Elated with this decision, I grin at him. “You know it’s unlucky for you to touch the cup if you haven’t won it. The entire team lifting it is basically asking to be cursed.”

“Yes. Which is why I do not intend for us to lose. I am sorry, Ander. It is my cup party you are going to have to attend this time.”

A memory of Nikolai in his speedo flashes across my mind. My mouth goes dry. “Will you wear the speedo again for me?”

After all, that was when this all started, even if it took me months to realize it. Nikolai in that damn speedo woke up a whole new side of me. A side of me that I’m so grateful for. A side of me that has given my life meaning outside of hockey.

He pulls me in and kisses me. “When I win cup, you are the one who will be wearing speedo.”

Nikolai

These last few weeks before the playoffs are the dog days of the season. Especially so as it’s been almost a month since Ander and I snuck in some time together in Anaheim. I miss him. But at least I have his game to watch tonight. Seeing him on my television screen does offer me the occasional relief. It’s so good to see him in his element when I can’t see him face to face.

Holding my dinner in my lap, I sit forward in my seat as I watch Ander anticipate blocking a shot coming at him from a skater on a breakaway. The chopsticks holding my next bite of pad Thai are lifted halfway to my mouth, but I’m frozen here as I hold my breath waiting for Ander to make the save.

The puck slides towards him so fast it’s hard to see on the screen. Ander drops down to his knees and clamps them shut as his shins push forward, putting him in textbook butterfly position. I don’t see the puck in the net behind him. He must have made the save.

The ref blows his whistle, putting a stop to the clock.

Ander rises, revealing the puck had been stopped by his right shin pad. Phew. I let out my breath, then shove my food into my mouth and smile as I chew. “That’s my boy.”

It’s good to see him back to the Ander of old. Pride surges through me as I watch him continue to prove his naysayers this season wrong. Proves me wrong but in an entirely different way than everyone else.

This thing with Ander has exceeded all my expectations. Like him, I am also looking forward to the offseason and getting to know all that there is to know about him. Getting to spend the days unhurried. Sleeping in and staying up late. Watching movies instead of hockey. Seeing his family, and maybe even getting to know what his life is like in Buffalo.

Suddenly there’s a lot more to look forward to outside of the playoffs. Suddenly I’m building the life I’ve wanted in every way possible.

So, for now, I just need to relax and wait. Practice patience, because due to our schedules, we’re unlikely to see each other for quite a while. Maybe not until we see each other in the finals, if we both make it there.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ander

This might be a risky plan, but I’m so desperate to see Nikolai that I don’t care. It’s been three weeks since we saw each other in Anaheim and the playoffs are literally around the corner. There’s only a week left of the regular season. Once the playoffs begin, the real chaos kicks off.

So yeah, crossing the border from Buffalo to Toronto when my team has the day off is an opportunity I can’t resist. Once I’m in my hotel room, I send him a text.

Come to room 2118.

He texts back almost immediately.

Why?

Because I’m up here naked and waiting for you.

It’s a lie. I’m still in my sweats, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to give him a little more incentive.

This feels like trap.

Yeah. A trap that involves you coming down my throat. Now get up here. I know you’re back from morning skate.

Now, I wait. The Mules are all staying on the eighteenth floor. He just needs to slip away. This should be a quick journey for him.

And it is. There’s an urgent knock on my door not even five full minutes after I sent the last text. I swing the door open and he pushes me inside, slamming the door shut behind him with his foot.