O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

FOSTER

“ D o you know why you’re my best friend, Fozzie?”

Here we go.

Anytime Ben Michaels starts a conversation with those words, I can be certain of two things:

He’s about to compliment me until I’m uncomfortable.

He’s going to ask me for a favour.

I sigh and continue stripping out of my goalie gear. It’s just the two of us left in the locker room; the rest of our teammates are either still in the showers or gone for the day. “No, man. Why am I your best friend?”

He sits down on the bench next to me and I brace myself for the imminent praise.

“Because you’re selfless. Even though you’re one of the top goalies in the NHL, you always put your friends first. You look out for me off the ice like I look after you on the ice. I know that I can always count on you at any time of any day to drop what you’re doing and help a brother out. I love you, man.”

Christ. He’s laying it on thick today.

I manoeuvre out of my shoulder pads and turn to face him, biting back a laugh at the expression of sheer earnestness on his face. He’s looking at me like a kid begging for the puppy he knows his mom is allergic to.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re about to ask me for a kidney?”

His facade crumbles as his face splits into a grin, those famous dimples making an appearance. “I promise, you won’t need general anaesthesia for what I need you to do.”

“Spit it out, Michaels. I need to shower.”

“You remember my sister, Beth?”

“I remember Beth,” Austin Crawford pipes up as he struts in, fresh from the showers, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Stopping at his locker on the other end of the room, he removes the towel and runs it roughly through his wet hair. He pumps his eyebrows and grins at Ben who tosses a dirty towel at him as he tells him to fuck off.

I happen to know that Ben has three sisters. “Which one is Beth? The teacher, the one who married the clown, or the one that scares the shit out of you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ally married a magician, though he is a total Bozo. And it’s Tara that scares the shit out of me.”

“Isn’t she barely more than five feet tall?”

“Terror knows no size limitations, Fozz. Have you ever seen a tarantula? They’re also a lot smaller than I am, and, like my sister, fucking terrifying. Now, back to Beth. ”

Right. Beth. My brain conjures up a memory of meeting his sisters after games. Beth was the taller one? The school teacher with big brown eyes? “I vaguely remember making awkward conversation with her once or twice.”

“Most of your conversations are awkward, big guy,” Ben drawls, causing Austin to snort with laughter as he pulls on a pair of jeans.

He’s not wrong, but I glare at him anyway. I don’t mind talking to people one-on-one, but I’ve never done well in crowds. There are too many distractions and I have a hard time focusing. I’m usually so worried that I’ll say the wrong thing around people I don’t know well that I opt to say nothing at all. “You know, I’m pretty sure I’m busy tonight, so–”

“No, no, no. I take it back,” he begs. “You’re a sparkling conversationalist. A real crowd pleaser. You talk so, soooo good.”

“I’m going to shower.” I stand and start tearing off my remaining sweat-soaked gear.

“Please man, I’m desperate. Beth got a job at an elementary school in Stittsville. She wasn’t supposed to start until the new year, but the teacher whose maternity leave she’s covering needed to go on bed rest, so they asked her to come early.” He’s talking very fast now, pleading his case before he loses me.

“Where exactly do I come in?”

“She was supposed to be arriving this afternoon, but her flight got changed and now she’s due to arrive tonight at six. I’ve got plans to go to a restaurant opening with Valentina that I can’t get out of. ”

I frown at him. “Can’t you pick Beth up and just show up to the restaurant a bit late?”

His shoulders slump as he mumbles, “Valentina said that wouldn’t be possible.”

“Hold on.” I run a hand through my hair that’s drenched in sweat from the two-hour practice that just ended. “You can’t pick up your little sister at the airport because you’re going to a party with the model you’re fucking?”

“Don’t minimise my relationship, man. What I have with Valentina is special. I think we’re soulmates.”

Valentina is a model Ben met three weeks ago at some fashion show in Toronto. Eighteen days ago, to be exact. How do I remember that? Because the idiot has done nothing but talk about how he’s sleeping with a supermodel for the past eighteen days.

To be honest, it’s out of character for him. The guy hasn’t had a girlfriend in the four years I’ve known him, preferring to keep things casual with one-time hookups. He meets Valentina and suddenly she’s the centre of his universe. If he hasn’t already gotten her name tattooed somewhere on his body, I’d bet my Olympic gold medal that he’s going to soon.

I resist the urge to tell him I’m pretty sure a soulmate would alter her evening plans to help one of his family members. It’s not like it would make any difference. Besides, I’ve been letting him talk me into things I don’t want to do for the last four years. Why stop now?

“So, you want me to pick her up at the airport?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And drop her off at her new apartment.”

“I’m available,” Austin offers, now fully clothed and sporting a shit-eating grin. The team’s hotshot rookie never passes up on an opportunity to stir the pot. He’s not a bad kid, but he’s got more charisma than common sense and a smile that will either land him on the cover of a magazine or in prison. “I’d love to pick your sister up.”

Ben lunges for him, but I step between them, blocking his assault. Austin blows him a kiss before striding out of the locker room, laughing his ass off.

I exhale defeatedly and start for the showers. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Before I can get past him, Ben throws his arms around me and lifts me off the ground. As a 6’2” man that weighs 210 pounds, I’m not used to being picked up and I don’t like it. Especially when I’m naked.

“Put me down, Jackass.” I growl, shoving him away from me. “Text me her flight info and the apartment address.”

“I will. Thank you, Fozz. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” He continues to shout as I walk away. “You’re a god. A king amongst mortal men. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, after Valentina.”

I don’t know if he’s finished praising me or if I’m just out of earshot, but I welcome the silence. I stride into the shower room and am greeted by wet floors and lingering steam. Most of my teammates book it to the locker room as soon as practice is over, but not me. I’m always the last player on the ice and that’s how I like it. Not only does it give me extra time to work on strategy with the coach, but the locker room is usually cleared out by the time I get there .

Unless an annoying friend is waiting to ask me for a favour, like today.

Don’t get me wrong; I like my teammates. For the most part, I’ve gotten along with the guys that have come and gone on the team. I even consider a couple of them to be close friends, especially Ben and another defenseman, Will.

But I’ve always felt the need to keep a bit of distance between me and everyone else. I need a certain amount of solitude to be at my best both on and off the ice. When you play at this level, you’re often surrounded.

I replay the butterfly drills my goalie coach just put me through in my mind as I shower. I’ve become a lot better at staying tight to the posts, but there’s always room for improvement.

Once I’m clean, I head back to the now empty locker room where I dry off and dress quickly, eager to get home and grab something to eat.

“Excuse me, Mr. Foster?”

Tony, one of the arena’s security guards, waves at me as I’m on my way to the parking complex. I smile at him as I approach.

“Just Foster is fine, Tony.”

The guy is a few years older than me, but insisted on calling me “Mr. James” when he started. I told him to call me by my first name and since then it’s been “Mr. Foster.”

“My nephew, Hunter, is turning ten this weekend. He’s a huge fan of yours. I was hoping you’d sign his jersey for him?”

“Of course,” I answer without hesitation, taking the marker and pint-sized jersey from him. This isn’t the first time I’ve signed merch for him or even the tenth, but he’s a good guy and a loyal fan so I’m more than happy to oblige. I scrawl my illegible signature to the top left shoulder.

“Still the best-selling jersey on the team,” Tony reminds me.

For five years straight.

I’ve been incredibly fortunate to play for this team. I was drafted by the Ottawa Otters at age eighteen late in the first round. I spent the next twenty months finishing up my junior career before moving on to Ottawa’s AHL farm team, the Belleville Badgers. I got called up to the Otters five years ago and have been their starting goalie ever since.

Growing up in Renfrew, Ontario, the fans immediately embraced me as a hometown boy, making me a fan favourite from the very start.

I hand the jersey back to him and pat him on the arm. “Wish Hunter a happy birthday for me.”

“Thanks, Mr. Foster. I will. And good luck in Florida this weekend!”

“Thanks, Tony. I’ll need it.”

We’ve lost the last two times we’ve played the Panthers on their home ice and I plan to end that streak on Saturday.

A text comes in from Ben with his sister’s flight information and address as I’m climbing into my Lexus LX.

As much as I don’t want to spend my evening making forced conversation with someone I barely know, it’s not like I have anything else going on. I’ll pick her up, drop her off, and still be home in time to stretch and be in bed early. We leave for a full week of away games tomorrow and I want to be rested .

When I pull out of the parking garage I’m momentarily blinded by the midday sun. It may look beautiful, but the temperature has been dropping steadily over the last few weeks. We haven’t had any snow yet, but it can’t be long now.

I turn on the radio hoping to hear the weather forecast, but instead the radio announcer gives me unwelcome news.

“It’s November first and you know what that means! You better watch out and you better not pout! Only fifty-five days until Christmas, folks!”

As if on cue, snowflakes start floating through the mostly clear sky, melting the moment they land on my windshield.

Humbug.