O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

BETH

“ E xcuse me…I’m so sorry, could I just get by you…thank you…oh I’m terribly sorry…I just need to grab my bag.”

I manage to make my way to the baggage carousel without stepping on anyone, but just barely. The flight in from Charlottetown was full, and apparently every single passenger checked a bag. I spot my luggage coming around the bend of the conveyor belt, easily identifiable by the shockingly pink scarf my mother insisted on tying around the handle before I left.

I don’t even like pink.

My hand grabs the brightly adorned handle and I haul the overstuffed suitcase off the conveyor belt before it goes around for another trip, nearly pulling a muscle in the process.

Man, that’s heavy. What on Earth did I put in this thing?

Oh, yeah. Everything.

I had a plan. I was going to spend the first three weeks of December prepping for my move to Ottawa. Then, the day after Boxing Day, I‘d make the fourteen-hour drive with my sister, Ally, and her husband, Mitchell, in my dad’s minivan. They’d help me move in, we’d do some touristy things, and then they’d drive home after New Year’s.

It was a great plan and I was genuinely looking forward to having an adventure and getting to spend time with my sister and her new husband.

But plans change. One minute I was making road trip playlists on my phone of the bangers that got me through junior high school; the next, I was booking a one-way flight and attempting to pack my life into one regulation-size suitcase.

After reading a self-help book titled The Answer Is Always Yes , I’ve been trying to step out of my comfort zone. I’ve been getting steady work as a substitute in Prince Edward Island’s Public School Board, but decided to look at job postings in other provinces.

Ottawa has always been one of my favourite cities and I cried when I received the offer to cover a maternity leave at Stittsville Elementary. My mom also cried, but those were tears of sadness about her baby moving thirteen hundred kilometres away.

“I just don’t like the idea of you all alone in a big city,” she’d said when I announced the move to my family over Sunday dinner.

“Ottawa is one of the safest cities in Canada, Mom,” I insisted.

“But they have bears!” In my mother’s defence, she has lived her entire life in a province where the largest wild animal is a coyote .

“Lots of places have bears, dear,” my father told her gently as he passed me the mashed potatoes.

“Prince Edward Island is the only province that doesn’t have bears,” Ally confirmed, matter-of-factly.

“Don’t waste your time worrying about bears, Mom. She’s way more likely to get attacked by a human,” my older sister, Tara, chimed in, unhelpfully.

After a lot of hand-wringing and reassurance from my brother that he’d look after me, my mother begrudgingly gave me her blessing. She also gave me bear spray which I “forgot” to pack.

Even though it didn’t happen the way I planned, I couldn’t be happier about the move. I can’t wait to explore all the historic sites, museums, and restaurants that the city has to offer.

In addition to being excited about moving, this will also be the first time Ben and I have lived in the same city since I was twelve and I’m really looking forward to spending more time with him.

With my suitcase dragging behind me, its wheels straining under the weight, I scan the vast arrival bay for my brother. As I’m searching the area, my eyes snag on a wall of a man standing alone off to the side. He looks like he’s trying to blend into the pillar he’s leaning against, and failing miserably. When he turns his head I see his face in full profile and my stomach does a somersault.

That’s Foster James.

What are the odds that the Otters’ starting goalie is also picking someone up from the airport? I wonder if Ben knows he’s here. Gripping my ridiculous pink handle, I debate whether or not to say “hi” to him. We’ve met twice before, although I doubt he’d remember me .

I don’t have the same problem. The man is entirely unforgettable. He’s tall and broad like every other hockey player I’ve met, but his face is one-of-a-kind. A chiselled jaw that looks like it never learned how to relax. Piercing green eyes a person could get lost in, and a mouth that looks inviting even when it’s frowning. He’s the definition of “broodingly handsome” and “I can change him” in one. Plus he seems to have all his original teeth, by some miracle.

I recently succumbed to clickbait ranking the hottest players in the NHL and was shocked to see him at number twelve. I’d have ranked him much higher.

Someone wheels a suitcase over my foot and I yelp in pain. The man throws an apology over his shoulder as he hurries away. When I look back up, Foster’s steel eyes are narrowed in my direction.

He can’t actually remember me, right? We talked so briefly each time we met. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think he spoke at all. It was just me babbling at him while he nodded politely and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

But what if he does recognize me and I ignore him? That would be rude and I wouldn’t want to insult my brother’s friend. Should I approach him?

The answer is always yes, Beth.

I square my shoulders and quickly close the twenty feet between us, dragging my comically large suitcase behind me.

“Hi, Foster.” Why is my voice so high? Does it always sound that way? I swallow and try again. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Ben Michael’s sister.”

“Of course I remember you. How are you, Beth?” His voice, both deep and powerful, elevates my blood pressure. Strands of light brown hair peek out from beneath his Blue Jays hat, somehow making his green eyes stand out even more.

“I’m good! Just arrived, obviously.” I laugh to mask how nervous I am. Foster freaking James is just as impressive in real life as he is in the net. And he remembered me. “And yourself?”

“Also good,” he nods.

“Good.” I nod back. Conversation comes to a standstill as we continue nodding at one another like a couple of human bobbleheads.

Finally, he clears his throat. “So, are you good?”

Bless his heart, the man is gorgeous but he’s even more awkward than I remember. “Yeah. I’m good.” There’s a stretch of silence that borders on uncomfortable.

“Great. Can I take your bag for you?”

“Take my bag where?”

Another awkward pause. “To my car.”

My confusion must be written all over my face, because his expression clears and he shakes his head before continuing. “Your brother didn’t tell you that he asked me to pick you up, did he?”

At first, I think I must have misheard him. I mean, there is no way that my brother would have sent Olympic gold medalist Foster James to fetch me like a chew toy, right? But then I pause long enough to think about some of the stunts Ben’s pulled over the years. Like the time he made his buddy attend our cousin’s wedding because he was too hungover to go. This is one hundred percent on brand for him.

Goddammit, Ben .

Embarrassment makes my face heat. I start to panic and when I panic, I ramble at warp speed.

“I’m so sorry that he imposed upon you like this. I’m sure you have much better things to do than chauffeur me around Ottawa. I mean, I get that he’s busy, but he could have just told me he couldn’t make it. I would have figured something out. I’d have gotten an Uber. I mean, I’ve never ordered one because we don’t have them on the Island, but I’m not a complete moron. I’m sure I could have figured it out. I will figure it out right now. Is there a website or a phone number I can call?”

Please don’t cry , I silently beg myself. Not yet, at least. Once you make it to the new place, you can shut the door, curl into a ball, and cry as much as you like. Remember your mantras.

I am self-sufficient.

My past does not define me.

Obstacles help me grow.

I risk a glance up at Foster whose narrowed eyes regard me with concern.

“Ben wanted to be here, but he had plans he couldn’t get out of. He really wanted to make sure you made it to your new place safely.” He’s being so nice and it just makes me want to cry more.

“I understand, but did he have to send you ?”

His eyebrows lift and I realise how rude that came out.

“I just mean, because you’re you. You’re Foster James. You’re a Vezina trophy finalist with a ten-million-dollar a year contract. He could have asked someone else, like an equipment manager or the guy that wears the mascot suit.”

Amusement flickers in his eyes and his mouth twitches. “It’s actually a twelve-million-dollar a year contract. And our equipment manager has had it out for Ben since he pranked him last year. I won’t go into the gory details, but it involved several gallons of maple syrup and an upsetting amount of human hair.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or gag.”

“Both are completely suitable reactions. As for Otto The Otter, he’s almost impossible to book. We’re lucky he still shows up to the games, he’s that popular. Also, he’s a shit driver. When he drives the zamboni at games, he’s all over the place. He’d probably do better if he took off the mascot head.”

This time, I do laugh and he quietly joins in. This is a side of Foster James I’ve never seen in person or on television. He’s more relaxed and almost playful. I wonder briefly how many people get to see him like this.

“Let’s try this again,” he says, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Can I take your bag?”

I sigh and pass my suitcase to him, not missing how he picks it up with ease. I’m still pissed at my brother, but I suppose there are worse things than spending my evening with Foster James.