My phone is in my hands, but I’m not looking at it. I can’t concentrate. I can’t stop reliving moments from last night’s game. It was another shutout, but just barely. Each save cost me. I was in butterfly more than I was out. It hurt every time I dropped down.
Prior to getting signed by the Rays, I already had one of the highest shutout rates in the League. My size helps, and my skill. I wouldn’t be in the NHL if I wasn’t skilled. But shutouts aren’t only about the goalie doing his job. I need my team. But they’re not a team yet. These first several games have proven that. We need more time on the ice, more time playing when it counts. And I can’t carry all the weight alone—
“So, tell me about yourself, Kinnunen.”
I blink, glancing over. She’s sitting next to me. Doctor Price. Rachel. I like her name. There’s a music to it. In Finnish we would say it Raakel. It’s so close to Rakas. My love. My darling. So soft, so sweetly feminine.
But there’s nothing sweet about the woman sitting next to me. My mind floods with images from last night—her striding across the hotel lobby like she owned it. Her perfect breasts swayed in that black outfit, and those cherry lips parted in a sexy smile as Compton rushed forward to take her arm. I watched the whole thing from my seat at the hotel bar.
Not much can hold my attention outside of hockey or a good book, but she can. And I don’t like it. I don’t like that she’s sitting next to me. I really don’t like that I can smell the soft notes of her perfume each time she leans up to adjust the air. She overwhelms me. I feel out of control. Why did I go to her? Why did I make her sit with me? Why do I dread the idea of her sitting anywhere else?
Damn it, she’s still looking at me. She’s not wearing her nose ring. She was wearing it last night. It was the first thing I noticed. That and the tattoo inching down between her full breasts.
“What?” I know exactly what she said.
She purses her lips. She knows too. “I said tell me about yourself,” she repeats, taking a sip of her cola.
I reach for my drink too, wanting something to do with my hands. “You know enough.”
She scoffs. “I know your name: Ilmari Kinnunen. I know you’re Finnish. You’re a goalie in the NHL. I know your stats. But I don’t know you.”
I’ve never been good at this. Small talk. If there was a trophy for the smallest talk, I would win that every time. I talk so little that most guys assume I don’t understand English. Ignorant Americans. My English is better than theirs.
As if she can read my mind, the next words out of her mouth are, “You don’t like talking very much, do you?”
“No,” I reply.
She lets out a little laugh, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Okay, tell me the truth—how often do you pretend not to speak English just to get out of talking to people?”
I smirk, crossing my arms. “Often.”
I watch the motion of her throat as she swallows another sip of her drink. “Okay, so new game.”
“Game?”
“Yep.” She turns her shoulders, her dark eyes locked on me. They’re walnut brown with flecks of gold near the iris. “You have to ask me three questions.”
“I need to concentrate,” I mutter, dropping my gaze back to my phone.
“Ohhh, no you don’t.” She reaches out, covering my phone with her hand. “I’m not buying your ‘I gotta stay in the zone’ bullshit, Kinnunen. You played another shutout. Which was awesome, by the way,” she adds, nudging my shoulder. “I can respect that in the lead-up to your games you need to be in the zone. But now we’re flying home, and you won’t have another game for five whole days. You can stand to human with me for a bit.”
My mouth quirks. “Are you implying that I’m not human?”
She narrows those pretty brown eyes at me. “Undecided. Which is why I want you to ask me questions. Ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer.”
“I don’t have questions.”
Her smile falls and I suddenly feel like kicking myself. I was making her smile and now she’s not smiling anymore. “Can you not pretend that you care about anyone or anything other than hockey for five minutes?”
Her words sting. It’s not the first time someone has accused me of being too focused on my game. But you don’t get to my level by being complacent. Obsession is a necessity. Drive. Tenacity. They’re almost more important than natural skill on the ice.
“I’ve been watching you, you know,” she goes on. “You always keep to yourself.”
“Goalies have a different schedule.”
“You don’t go to their dinners either. You don’t participate in their group chats. There’s more to being a hockey player than the game, Mars.”
“And how would you know? You’re not in the group chat.”
“Hockey players are notoriously a chatty bunch. Present company excluded,” she adds. “They want to know you, Ilmari. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this team. For the next few years, Jax is your home, and so are the Rays. Throw them a bone. Every once in a while, say yes to dinner.”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, my elbow hitting the bulkhead. “Is this an official medical recommendation from my doctor?”
She laughs, taking another sip of her cola. “You know what, yeah, it is, actually. Because I think it’s unhealthy the way you keep yourself so isolated from the rest of the guys. Hockey is a team sport, Mars. And you don’t have to be a goalie all the time either,” she adds. “You’re so busy keeping pucks out of nets that I don’t think you realize you’re keeping everyone else out too. It might be nice for you to think of letting some of us in occasionally. Put down your stick, take off your blocker, and let us be nice to you…let us get to know you.”
“I’m a private person,” I reply. “I don’t know any other way.”
“I can appreciate that. I’m protective of my family, my private life. But I can’t just sit here trapped in your silence all season, Mars. I’m a chatty person, and I can’t sleep on planes. And I didn’t ask for this,” she adds, gesturing between us. “You’re making me sit here, even though you’d clearly prefer that I leap out the side—”
“I don’t want that,” I say quickly. My pulse races at the very idea of harm coming to her. I watched her trip down the aisle earlier and I acted without thought.
She stares at me. “Well…thanks for not wanting me to plummet to my death.”
I’m ruining this. Somehow, I’m making her madder at me.
“Here’s the deal, Kinnunen. Ask me three questions, alright? I’ll answer the questions, and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the flight. Deal?”
My heart is in my throat. I’m afraid to ask her questions. Talking seems to be making this worse, not better. Besides, my mind is a total blank. “And if I don’t?”
Her frown deepens. “Well, if you can’t show me the bare minimum of interest, then I’m moving seats. It’s too awkward for me, okay? I can’t just sit here, Mars. I feel…chained to you. Or like I somehow lose agency each time I feed into your tic by sitting here like a house plant, purifying your air of bad juju.”
“Joo-joo?”
She waves her hand. “Nevermind. Will you just ask me a damn question before I get totally stressed and chug your glass of milk?”
I let out a slow exhale, my mind a humming blank room of nothing. How long can two people sit on a plane, staring at each other, saying no words?
Think of a question, Ilmari.
Why don’t you wear your nose ring all the time?
No, too invasive. You can’t ask a woman about her body. And she’s not just any woman, she’s your doctor.
What is your brand of perfume?
Damn it, no. You want her to know that you sniff her now too?
“I…” Nothing else comes out.
“Great,” she mutters. “I’ll see ya.” She reaches for the buckle of her seatbelt with both hands and my own hand flashes out.
“No—please—” I don’t want her to leave.
She just stares, those brown eyes locked on me. “Hey, Mars?” she murmurs. Her voice is so soft. Her eyes are luring me in deeper, like two dark pools I want to swim inside.
“Hmm?”
“Take your hand off my crotch.”
I glance down to see that I’ve got my hand pressed flat over her seatbelt, which means my hand is pressed in her lap—
“Mitä vittua,” I curse, jerking my hand away.
Now she’s laughing. “You okay there, big guy? You gonna make it?”
I huff, dropping my hand to my lap.
“I’ll show mercy, okay?” she teases. “Two questions. Just ask me two lil ole questions and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the flight.”
I shake my head, letting myself glance back over at her. “Do you…always drink diet cola?”
Her smile falls and she rolls her eyes. I’m ready for her disappointment. “Seriously, Kinnunen? You can ask me anything, and that’s your question? No, I don’t always drink diet cola. In fact, you’ve been sitting right next to me as I’ve ordered an array of beverages to include coffee, water, and ginger ale.”
She’s right. Of course, she is.
“We’ll call that your warm-up question, okay? Try again,” she says more gently. As if she knows this is difficult for me, she adds, “You can do this, Ilmari. If it helps, just think of me as a doctor. Free medical advice can be yours, my friend. Or we could talk books, music, movies, food—”
Medical advice.
My heart beats faster and my hands clench into fists on my knees. Could it be this easy? Could I finally get the help I’ve been too afraid to ask for?
“Or we could talk about—”
“What is the most effective way to treat a groin pull?”
