Page 74 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Noted, but…”

He rolled his eyes. “What?”

“You’re close, but the puck snuck by you.”

His forehead wrinkled as much as a twenty-three-year-old’s forehead can wrinkle. “What the hell are you trying so horribly to say?”

“You said is depressing.”

“It is.”

“Not anymore.”

Cash stared at me.

“What did you do before?”

“Before what?”

“Before you became a sad sack of shit who apparently celebrates Christmas by performing knee replacements.”

“I don’t perform knee replacements on Christmas.”

“Thank God. There’s hope for you yet.”

He started toward the kitchen.

The crutches hit the floor in an even rhythm.

I followed him with my eyes until he reached the island, stopped, and shifted one crutch so he could grab his water.

His gaze cut sideways.

“See something you like?”

I looked at his face.

His mouth curved.

“Your eyes were lower than that, Daddy.”

My cock twitched.

Fucking brat.

“I was watching your crutch.”

“Sure you were.”

“You’re my patient.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

Cash twisted the cap off his water. His eyes held mine as he lifted the bottle to his mouth, watching me watch him. He paused before taking a drink to say, “I’d rather be something else. But anyway, you need a tree.”

“No.”