Clinching the Play (Vancouver Vortex #1)

Chapter 1

One

Taylor

“You’re telling me that you don’t like bowling?”

The question is loud, obnoxious, incredulous, and exactly what I was expecting from my dear friend, Winnie.

Winnie, our slightly deranged goalie. I think you have to have a few screws loose if you want to be good between the pipes.

But she's a good friend, just, you know, outraged at odd things. And bold, she’ll stick her nose in your business and provide unsolicited advice, but it’s appreciated most of the time.

Her vivaciousness makes her extremely likable and loud.

Like Brynn, our captain and another good friend, but where Winnie is loud, Brynn is quiet, more chill, and unfortunately for Winnie, doesn’t like bowling.

“There’s just something off about it,” she whines into her drink. I snort as she takes a gulp of the beer, the amber liquid shining brightly in the late October sun.

We’re making the most of the beautiful warm fall weather by sitting on the patio.

By we, I mean Winnie, Brynn, Aurora and me—the top line of PWHL’s Vancouver Vortex.

We’re one of the newer expansion teams that have joined the league, but we’re looking hot, and in our third season— the league’s tenth—we have all the makings of a really good season ahead of us.

“What can be off about bowling? It’s like, one of the third best things to do on a date.” Winnie complains, flicking a red pepper from her martini olives at Brynn.

Brynn’s dark eyes crinkle as she says, “You’re not going on many dates then.” She sighs, “There’s so much more to do than bowling,” she drags the last word out.

“You’re one to talk,” I mutter. “You haven’t gone on a date in a year.”

Winnie gasps, and Aurora—Rory—smirks into her cider.

I watch Brynn’s mouth gape open, appalled at my betrayal.

“You little backstabber,” she hisses. “You’re not allowed to say anything about the dating game when you’re engaged to Mr. Perfect.

” There’s a tone to Mr. Perfect that settles heavily.

I know they don’t love him. It’s evident from the way they’ve tiptoed around him in conversation. Still, they’ve accepted him.

I bite back the frustration that bubbles at my throat.

Mr Perfect has been dragging his feet with planning for the wedding, and it’s been driving me crazy.

“Just because I was able to lock someone down doesn’t mean that you can’t,” I roll my eyes, “The right woman is just around the corner for you.”

Brynn snorts, and Winnie still looks absolutely appalled.

“Yeah, come on, Brynn. Like, we can find you so many women. In fact, I bet—” Winnie stops, whipping her head around, trying to find someone that has all of us feeling a bit uneasy.

“I bet I can pull the love of your life off the sidewalk in ten minutes or less,” she says conspiratorially.

Rory pats Winnie’s hand, trying to calm her down. “Win, babes, you know Brynn takes time.”

I roll my eyes at the way she releases a hysterical sob and sinks into her chair. “But she’s missing out on so much!”

“Win,” Brynn says lowly, “You have run of the market. Just keep me entertained.”

“Wait, are you at least on a dating app? You know you don’t have to be on more than one, but tell me you’re at least on one,” Win asks, peeking through her cracked fingers. I have to stop myself from snorting as Brynn bites back the bad news that she really isn’t looking.

I can’t blame her because I’ve heard the market has dried up. I wouldn’t know, of course.

“You can’t possibly be getting decent matches on the apps, Win,” Rory teases, pushing her drink closer to her. “You’re taking too many pucks to the head if you think you are.”

Still sunk in the chair, Winnie crosses her arms. Her bottom lip’s out, plump, pouting. “That’s your fault,” she playfully scowls. “If you guys could shoot better, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“You chose the pipes,” I say.

“The pipes chose me,” she says wistfully. “But, back to bowling, what’s wrong with it, Brynn?”

She chews on her bottom lip for a minute, and I have to blink and look away, pretending the sun is in my eyes. Rory catches my eye for a split second, and my heart sinks before she looks away. I don’t stare at them. I would never.

“I don’t know, I think it must just be sticking my fingers in the holes of the bowling ball. There’s something insidious about it,” Brynn shudders at the thought. “It’s not my favourite place to put my hands, if you know what I mean,” she winks.

Win’s loud laughter has people looking our way as they walk by; my cheeks feel inflamed. I get the joke, but never in public.

Those kinds of thoughts need to stay inside or be shared in private.

Not on a patio in October.

I finish up the last bit of my drink, a larger gulp than I expected, and throw some cash on the table.

Rory watches me as I gather my stuff. “You know, I just remembered that I have a meeting with Frank to go over things for the wedding.” There’s the responsible “Oohs” that I was expecting before waving to them.

“See you at training camp next week!” Brynn calls and I nod, waving them off before heading back to my apartment.

We live close to the arena, and everything is within walking distance. I can still get by in my anonymity, but every day—especially during the season—I get recognized more and more. It’s something that I’ve had to get used to, but I love it.

I get paid to play the sport that I desperately love, that I would be lost without. The one that’s gotten me through high school and my accounting degree, the one I could fall back on when I was down, when I was struggling with friends, and through the ups and downs of being with Frank.

I love the man. We’ve had some rough patches, but each time, we get back stronger and more in love.

He proposed to me a few months ago, a consolation prize after losing in the playoffs in the first round for the Walter Cup. It certainly was a bright spot that week, but it’s been six months now, and we’re not anywhere close to setting a date, let alone anything else we need.

I don’t even think he’s told his parents yet. That’s not odd; they don’t talk frequently. They’re not as close as my family. He was adopted pretty quickly when I first brought him home from university. My parents love him.s

s

The walk back to our apartment is lovely. The sun keeps me warm as the vodka tonic that I was drinking settles into my veins, making everything fuzzy and light. I feel completely at peace.

I’ll reach out to Rosie tomorrow to see how she’s doing, if she needs anything before training camp, and hopefully, Frank and I can get some details nailed down for the wedding.

I fumble with my key in the door, blinking away the bleary vision—the vodka has hit me harder than I expected—but it pushes open without me. Weird. Frank said he wasn’t going to be home until five, and it’s four thirty now. My blood freezes when something clatters inside my apartment.

I sneak in, grabbing my phone and trying to dial 9-1-1. My thumbs fumble, and my phone falls to the ground with a crunch. Well, that’s not optimal. The noise stops, and I realize it’s coming from the bedroom. Shit, they must’ve found my jewellery.

I look around and find an umbrella, brandishing it like a baseball bat as I move closer to the bedroom door, listening to the voices start to get a bit more concerned.

“Babe, don’t worry– There’s no one here. She’s not–”

“I swear I heard something.” The female voice is much more insistent, breathy, and my eye twitches a little. I know that voice; I’m sure of it.

“Do you want me to go and check?” The other voice is familiar, but it can’t be him. It’s deeper than Frank’s. This guy almost has a teasing tone to his voice. Shit, did they break in just to fuck? What kind of nightmare is this? “Because if I do, then you owe me,” he says.

I can hear the springs of the bed— my bed—move and then the small groan of the engineered floors as he gets up, moving towards the door. My heart pounds in my throat as I tighten my grip on the umbrella as I move closer to the door too, waiting for him to open up.

The door creaks open, and I swing the umbrella fast, with as much might as I can, and listen to him cry out before falling to the floor. The woman screams, and I listen to her scrambling off the bed.

“Who the—?” I hear him say, and as I look down my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. “Oh, shit.”

Frank sits in a crumpled heap, desperately trying to catch his breath. The woman in my bed is short, petite, blonde, and blue-eyed. She looks like a ballerina.

“Oh,” she says, gathering the sheet around her tits to cover up. “Hi.” It’s weak and awkward, desperately trying to say something that I can’t fathom.

I take the ring on my finger and, on autopilot, drop it at Frank’s knees. He tries to call out, but I take myself, my eyes, the umbrella, and leave.

I don’t seem to know where I am until I’m knocking on another door, a familiar one. When Brynn opens up, black hair tied up and her freckles prominently on display, I sniffle and a tear falls down my cheek. “Taylor?” she asks, “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, and she wraps her arm around me, holding me tightly against her.

“Can I stay here for a few days?” I ask and she nods.

At least this happened before the season started.