Page 86 of The Goalie in Room 1

Tomorrow morning was going to be interesting.

I woke up and gagged. My mouth tasted like something had crawled inside it and died.

Worth it.

Mostly.

The only thing that could’ve made it better…

Don’t go there, Benjamin.

I stayed in bed long enough to determine the room wasn’t spinning, my head wasn’t going to explode, and my stomach had no immediate plans to revolt. My knee felt stiff but otherwise fine. After taking care of the usual morning shit, I got dressed, grabbed my crutches, and headed out.

Thad’s door was still closed across the way.

Last night came back with absolutely unnecessary clarity. Both fucking parts of it. A grin pulled at my mouth as I headed for the kitchen.

I started the coffee, then looked across the dining area toward the tree standing in front of the wall of glass. Morning sunlight poured through the windows, making the Christmas lights completely unnecessary.

By the time I settled on the sectional with my coffee, the presents I’d bought Thad were under the tree and the lights were on.

Because it was fucking Christmas. Which I loved. Why I don’t know. Most of the ones I celebrated as a kid sucked. But the spirit bit my ass every year.

I’d been sitting there maybe ten minutes when sound carried from the other end of the house. Thad was up.

I took a drink and waited. It took long enough for him to reach the kitchen that I almost laughed. Then I heard the coffee maker, followed by the unmistakable sounds of someone finding the mug I’d left waiting for him.

A minute later, Thad came into view beyond the floating stairs, coffee in hand.

“Morning.”

“Merry Christmas.”

His gaze dropped to my leg stretched across the sectional, then came back to my face. If he was embarrassed about last night, he hid it better than I would’ve. No awkward throat clearing. No avoiding my eyes. Nothing.

I was almost disappointed.

Almost.

Then his eyes narrowed. “What?”

My mouth was doing something. I flattened it. “Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“You don’t smile like that about Christmas.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You’ve known me for two months. How the fuck do you know how I smile about Christmas?”

“Because I’ve seen that smile.”

“Maybe I’m happy to see you.” I lifted my mug and took a drink, watching him over the rim.

There.

A pause. Tiny enough most people wouldn’t have noticed, but I’d spent most of my life watching a puck come at me at ninety miles an hour. Goalies noticed everything.