The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Wesley

It’s six in the evening, and we’ve beaten Philly in an afternoon game on their turf when I finish reading her letter. I’m heading out of the home team’s arena to the Sea Dogs bus, but I’ve got five minutes before we go, so I duck down a quiet hall and dial her number, since she clearly needs to talk, and I want to be there.

“Why did you have a bad day?” I ask when she answers.

“Because everything went wrong,” she says, frustration in her tone, but not like she’s mad at the world. More like she’s upset she couldn’t fix everything. “The screen froze during my class, which wasn’t the worst thing because I knew the material, but it was still challenging—I don’t love improv, as you know. But I handled it. Then later, I was trying to help a patron digitize some home movies and the computer ate one of his movies and he yelled at me.”

I growl at that asshat in Boston. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know. It was just a computer glitch, but he was angry and wanted to lash out. He’d been telling me he was getting a divorce and wanted to copy over these old movies before his wife took them. I figured he was going through something.”

“It’s no excuse to be mean,” I say. “If I were there, I’d give him a piece of my mind.”

I hear her smile as she says, “I know you would.” She pauses, then soldiers on. “But it was one of those days where everything went wrong. Another guy was waiting to pick up a book and it was taking a while to find it so he oh-so-helpfully yelled at me that his taxes paid my salary. Our circulation software went down, and it was like one thing after another. But there was one bright spot.”

“Yeah?” I say, eager to hear her good news.

“There was a woman in the library who’s been living out of her car recently. And, she’s trying to transition out of homelessness. Her name is Justine, and she was sniffling while working at one of the terminals, and people were looking at her. It’s so hard because other patrons don’t always want the unsheltered and those less fortunate there, but it’s part of what we do. We serve the community and that includes everyone.”

Her heart is so big. “I love that about the library and you. So tell me, what did you do?”

“I gave her some tissues and asked if she needed help on the computer.”

Such a simple, practical way to help someone. “What did she need?”

“She was trying to apply for housing, and struggling with the application, so I sat down and worked with her for an hour. And she was telling me her story, and how she lost her home when she was laid off, but she had just gotten a job at a roadside diner so things are starting to look up for her a bit.” Josie lets out a long breath, filled with obvious relief, and hope. “And I was glad I was there for her.”

“You had the tools. It doesn’t always happen, but when it does, it’s great to be able to help someone in the exact way they need.”NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

“Exactly.” She takes a beat and sighs somewhat contentedly. “Thanks. I just needed to share. It was hard, but it was fine. The job is hard sometimes, just like yours. How was your game in Philly?”

“We won,” I say.

“And you take the train to DC tonight?”

“Yep,” I say, and the trip’s too tight to squeeze in a visit, but then I start doing the math a second time.

A few hours later, I send her a text saying I’m at your door, then I knock on it. It’s past her bedtime, but she must have her phone on since thirty seconds later, she’s swinging open the door.

She’s wearing fuzzy jammies with penguin illustrations on them, a white T-shirt that slopes off her shoulder, and her glasses. She’s never been more beautiful as she blinks, parts her lips, then flings herself at me. “You’re here? How the hell are you here?”

“You had a bad day,” I say, as if the answer’s obvious. Because really, it is. “I wanted to see if you needed another bright spot.”

She tugs my sweater, pulling me inside her warm apartment and out of the bitter cold night. “You’re my bright spot.”

I didn’t grab the last flight out of Philly to Boston for sex, but I know, too, that what she needs right now is connection. So I gather her close, hold her face, and kiss her senseless. It’s a kiss that says I’ll do whatever it takes to make her days better, to show her she’s special, to hang the moon for her.

Right now though, she doesn’t want the moon and the stars. She wants me. Josie pulls me to the bed, and our clothes vanish in seconds, then I’m inside her. Everything is right in the world for a few delirious, mind-numbing moments as we come back together, limbs tangled, breath hot and fast, skin slick with sweat. Words like miss you, need you, and love you are traded as if their store is infinite.

I suppose it is with her.

After, she curls up against me. “I needed that.”

“I could tell. I want to lift your spirits.”

“Orgasms do that. But really it’s you,” she says, then she sighs heavily as she settles into the crook of my arm. “I love my job, Wes. Even on the bad days it’s everything I want to do. But I miss you so much it hurts.”

My chest hollows out, aching in a fresh, new way. I hate that she’s hurting. That this is hard. It’s hard for me too. It’s painful not to see her like I did in San Francisco. At first, her letters seemed too happy. Too perfect. But she’s human after all, and it’s a strange relief to know she’s struggling like I am. I wish I could do something about it. But she’s doing all she can—applying for jobs in San Francisco that might start when she’s done with this assignment.

All I can do is reassure her that I’m waiting, and wanting, and loving. “You’ll be back soon,” I say, and I try to remind myself that that’s all that matters.

Especially since time keeps unwinding for us. Before the sun is even up, I’m out of there, catching a crack-of-dawn commercial flight to DC. Up in the air, I’m staring out the window, wishing we weren’t so far away. But soon, she’ll be back.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

That’s what I have to believe.

One day in mid-March, my phone rings as I’m heading to my empty bedroom for a pre-game nap. Josie’s name flashes on the phone. Weird. She doesn’t usually call me during her workday. It’s two on the East Coast.

I answer right away. “Hey, baby. What’s going on?”

“Hey!” She sounds cheery, but also…wary.

My chest tightens with worry. I cut to the chase. “What’s wrong? You seem…off.”

“I have good news and bad news.” My gut sinks. I brace myself as she continues, “The foundation asked me to stay on. Permanently. Out here in Boston.”

I stop and grab the wall as the floor buckles under me. Of course I knew something like this could happen. Of course it could happen to me, too, and I could be asked to move. But somehow I didn’t think that her dream job could be across the country from me forever.

“What do you want to do?” I ask evenly.

She’s quiet for a beat, pensive. “I really don’t know.”

I lean against the doorway, staring into the room under the staircase. And all at once, I know what’s next for me. “When do they want you to decide?”

“Sometime next week.”

That should be enough time.