18. Jaymie
Jaymie
Another win.
Three in a row now, and the buzz of it clung to my skin like sweat under my pads.
We’d owned the third period…controlled the tempo, read every line change like a playbook.
I could still feel the way the puck kissed off my blade when I fed that last assist to Connor.
Smooth, sharp. Like it had always belonged there.
The locker room was chaos in the best way—elbows knocking, skates half-untied, jerseys peeled down to the waist. The air smelled like effort and victory and the sour tang of Gatorade spilled on the rubber mat flooring.
Someone had cranked Logan’s “pregame pump-up” playlist again, but now it was postgame, and the song blasting was pure pop trash. The kind of thing none of us would ever admit to liking, but the whole room was shouting along like we were drunk at a college party.
“Tell me that wasn’t the cleanest assist I’ve had all season,” Connor hollered, voice hoarse from shouting on the ice. He was propped against his locker, one knee bouncing, cheeks flushed red from the cold and the win.
“You’re welcome,” I shot back, tossing a strip of athletic tape toward the trash. It missed. “You owe me at least three goals for that feed.”
“Two,” he corrected. “The third was pure magic.”
“You tripped into it.”
“Gracefully.”
I laughed, the kind that came from somewhere deep in my chest. My gloves were off, fingers flexing slow from the grip I’d had on my stick all night. I peeled the sweat-damp jersey from my torso and tossed it into the laundry bin, muscles still warm, adrenaline still coiled low in my stomach.
God, it felt good. Like I belonged here. Like the ice and I were speaking the same language again.
Con fidence didn’t hum like it used to—shaky, unsure. It settled. Quiet and steady, like it had taken up permanent residence in my bones. Every stride tonight had felt strong. Every shift—tight. Controlled. I wasn’t just reacting anymore. I was leading.
By the time we got back to the hotel, the energy had dimmed into something looser.
That slow-drip satisfaction of a game well played.
My thighs burned the right way. My shoulders ached with use.
The bus ride over had been full of chirps and chirps-back, Logan half-asleep against the window while Darren critiqued his playlist choices like his life depended on it.
Inside our suite, Darren and Logan dumped their duffels in the corner, unceremoniously kicking off their shoes. The room still smelled faintly like old carpet cleaner and something lemon-scented from the hall.
Connor made a beeline for the mini fridge and squatted down, rummaging with a frown.
“Beer or mystery liquor in a hotel shot glass?” he asked, holding up two bottles—one clearly domestic, the other unlabeled and suspicious.
He raised both like a bartender offering salvation and sin.
I toed off my sneakers and dropped onto the end of one of the double beds, stretching my legs out. My calves protested, but I welcomed the ache. It meant I’d left everything out there tonight.
“ Beer,” I said, grabbing the one with the actual label. “Let’s not relive Vegas.”
Connor snorted and cracked his open. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Logan has video.”
“Logan’s a traitor.”
“Logan’s also the only one who knows how to upload footage to the group chat,” Darren pointed out, sprawling on the other bed like he owned it.
Connor grunted but accepted the beer like a man defeated by truth.
I was just about to sink into the corner of the bed, beer in hand, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Mallory.
Her name lit up the screen and it felt like a secret, one I hadn’t shared yet.
“Give me a sec,” I said, stepping out onto the tiny balcony attached to our room. The cold hit me immediately, but I welcomed it, grounding.
I answered the FaceTime, and there she was—bundled up in a coat, her cheeks flushed pink, hair curling in wisps around her face.
“Hey,” I said, smile stretching without effort.
“Hey,” she echoed, breath puffing into the chilly air behind her. “You win?” she already knew the answer but loved to get me riled up.
“We crushed it.”
“ You and Logan are killing it,” she said with a soft laugh. “You get cocky when you play well.”
I leaned against the railing. “How was your appointment?”
Her expression shifted, something more serious brushing the edges of her features.
“Good, mostly. The nausea’s eased up, which is a dream. But…” she paused, chewing the inside of her cheek, “I’ve been feeling weird at work. Dizzy, foggy, kind of out of it.”
“Mal—”
“I told the doctor. She’s not overly concerned, but she wants to run a glucose test. Gestational diabetes stuff. Just to be sure.”
“Shit. Okay.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Do you want me to come back? I can have Logan call Ava and have her come with you?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No. You’re on the road, and busy. I’m fine. Really.”
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like not being there. I didn't like her being alone
“But I wanted you to know,” she added, her voice softening. “That’s all. It felt good to talk it out.”
Before I could respond, a loud voice rang from inside the room.
“Who’s does Ave need to go to the doctor with?”
Connor.
Of course.
Fuc king big eared, loud mouth. Mallory’s face paled in real time. “Oh my god.”
“Connor, what the fuck?” I hissed over my shoulder.
“What?” he called back. “Didn’t realize it was a secret conversation!”
“No secrets but you do not need to be obnoxious!”
Mallory groaned and covered her face with her hand. “I wasn’t ready to tell them. It bad enough I lied to Eliza about being 'sick'. I'm going to have to tell her I'm pregnant soon enough.”
“Well, cat’s out of the bag now,” I said, grimacing.
She peeked at me through her fingers. “This is so not how I imagined this conversation going.”
Darren appeared behind Connor and me in the doorway, both looking wildly entertained.
“Wait,” Darren said. “What's going on?”
"I'm pregnant, Coach doesn't know yet,"
"Hot damn, hottie Mallory is making a mini me," he slapped me on the shoulder "Look at that Jay man, you are going to have two of her to oggle over!"
Mallory blinked. “Technically, yes.” she completely ignored Darren's extra comments.
Connor squinted. “And you’re—Jaymie’s—so are you two—?”
I turned to face them fully, my cheeks red. “No. We are just friends… I'm just a shoulder to lead on, sinc e we live in the same building,” I was prattling on, clearly not keen to talk about the subject either.
Darren leaned against the frame, curious now. “You’re helping her though?”
“Yeah,” I said simply. “She’s doesn't have any family or much friends in the city. We are two floors apart, it would be cruel to ignore a friend in need.”
Mallory spoke up from the screen. “It’s a long story. well, shorter than this pregnancy.” she joked, she always found the silver lining even at her own expense.
There was a pause. Then Connor, softly: “Damn.”
She smiled then, just a little. “I’ll let you get back to it, talk to you guys later."
I waited until the screen went black before turning to the guys. “Can we please keep this private? She’s not ready for the team gossip mill.”
Connor nodded. “Of course. Sorry, man.”
Darren clapped me on the back. “She’s a strong gal. And so are you.”
I shrugged, heart beating heavier than it had on the ice. “Trying to be.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur of cheap beer and chirping each other over highlight reels, but I kept checking my phone like it owed me something. At one point, Logan nudged me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just… invested.”
Lat er, in the quiet of our shared room after lights-out, my phone buzzed again.
Mallory
Glucose test tomorrow morning. Gross orange drink and all.
Rescue me asap.
You’ll be fine.
You’ve survived worse.
Like what?
The mens locker room, post game
Accurate but not nearly as bad as this
Thanks for earlier, by the way. For having my back.
Always.
Night, Jay
Thanks for making this feel less heavy.
Anytime.
Sleep well, Mal.