Chapter Twenty
JENNA
How I got my fingertips on that strike will forever remain a mystery to me.
That’s my exact thought as I stand beneath the jet stream of my postgame shower and replay the final three minutes of the last game of the regular season.
Maybe it was good timing on my part? I have a good leap on me, thanks to my obsession with plyometric training, or maybe the Orlando Waves center forward didn’t put as much power as she usually does behind the shot. She could’ve scuffed the ground before she connected with the ball.
Either way, I made the fucking save, and we take home the shield for the first time in our team’s history. It’s seismic, life-changing, and I get to captain a league-winning team next season.
As I squeeze the shampoo from the tips of my hair, it feels like the smile I’m wearing has been absent for way too long.
“Babe, your cell keeps ringing over and over.” Kendra’s bright voice cuts through the billowing steam in my shower stall.
Reaching over the door, I grab my towel and wrap it around my chest.
“It’s Holt,” she confirms when I open the door and step into the changing area. “He wants to be the first to congratulate you.”
Her smile is as wide as my own when she hands me my phone and blows me a kiss before pushing through the door into the locker room.
“All right, superstar.” I don’t know how my brother can tell I’m listening when I put the phone to my ear, and he immediately starts speaking. “That save was wild, and it’s all over social media.”
My stomach churns with a mixture of excitement and nerves. While our sport gets some exposure online, it’s rare for it to trend like Holt is suggesting.
I snag another fluffy white towel from a hook next to the mirrors and begin drying my hair, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder to free up both hands.
“By ‘all over social media,’ I assume you mean it’s been covered by a couple of news outlets, and our former neighbor shared it to his Facebook?” I say, trying to play it cool.
Holt just snorts out a laugh. “You never were good with having the attention on you, Jen. I think it’s fair to say that there are a few more than just a couple of news channels reporting on the game. Orion Hardman just went really bold—claiming your winning save was one of the best of all time.”
I practically choke on my own tongue.
“Umm … come again? You mean the Orion Hardman? The same Orion Hardman who captained London Villa to three separate Champions League titles as well as England to World Cup victory?”
Even though I can’t see him, I know my brother well enough to recognize when he’s smiling, and right now, I have no doubt.
“Yes. That Orion Hardman. The English goalkeeper you still have plastered on your bedroom ceiling back in Mom’s house.”
Immediately, my smile falters. The game wrapped up well over an hour ago, yet still no word from my parents.
Dad—I never really expect much from him.
I doubt he’d even show to my own wedding.
I guess I always hold out some hope that Mom watches my games.
She says she does when we speak on occasion, but normally, that’s when I call on her birthday, or vice versa.
Today was the biggest day of my career. Bigger than any World Cup game. Winning the shield has been at the top of my bucket list forever.
“She said she’s going to call you later tonight.”
Like he can read my mind, Holt’s voice pulls me back from a spiral.
Grabbing my shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, I zip them into my wash bag.
“No offense, but I’ve heard that promise from her a few times.”
“She hasn’t been well,” he replies on a breath. “She caught that flu virus that’s been going around and has been out of action for weeks.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply. “Still, it doesn’t account for the other twenty-seven years of my life.”
I sound bitter in my retort, and that’s something I’ve always tried not to be—bitter or resentful toward Holt. I know he doesn’t deserve my attitude; it’s not his fault that she calls him weekly. He didn’t ask to be put in this position.
“Why don’t you call her?” he suggests, which does kind of piss me off.
When I push through into the locker room, there’s only our current captain, Hollie Browne, remaining as she packs up her kit bag and silently motions toward the exit.
I give her a thumbs-up, confirming I’ll meet everyone in the players’ lounge before we head out for celebratory drinks.
Tonight is going to be messy, and I’m all the way here for it. Fuck knows I need to let my hair down.
Again, my stomach knots. Ordinarily, a night like this would end with me falling for another guy’s charm and empty promises before jumping into bed with him.
It hasn’t been all that long—less than a week, in fact—since Tommy told me to be on my “motherfucking way” after I freaked out on him.
All I need is one hot night with a guy to fuck the memory of the Blades bad boy out of my system.
“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? It seems a bit fucking odd for me to call her so she can congratulate me,” I finally reply to Holt as I dump myself down on the bench and put him on speaker so I can quickly get ready. I’ll do my makeup in the taxi into town.
“Why don’t you come back to Mom’s with me for the holidays? It might be a good chance to get closer to her again.”
My second knee-length boot hits the floor with a thud.
“Holt,” I say in an exasperated tone, “I love you more than life, but you cannot be serious when you suggest a couple of nights’ stay back home in Nebraska, singing carols and eating turkey, will solve a lifetime of parental issues.”
He hums softly, and I can tell he’s grasping at straws on my behalf.
“I just don’t want you to feel hurt or like you don’t belong, Jen. You are always welcome back home, and you know that.”
Shoving my Storm hoodie into my bag harder than I need to, I fight back tears as I recall the last time Mom and I spoke.
It was maybe three months ago, and it ended in a fight between us, where she hung up the call.
I’d told her that living in Brooklyn was heavy-going financially, and she suggested that it was time for me to grow up and get a proper job that would pay better.
That cut deep.
Holt has never earned a ton of money. As fly-half for his team, he typically earns better than most of his teammates.
Still, it’s hardly an NHL salary. Yet I never once heard her question Holt about his choice in career, and that was what I called her out on when we spoke.
She didn’t want to hear it and told me I should either get a different job or quit complaining altogether.
Mom doesn’t believe in women playing sports.
I could tell from the passive-aggressive comments she mumbled over it “not being very feminine.” And once, when I was in high school and one of my friends took a cleat to the eyebrow that needed stitches, she insinuated to my friend’s actual face that her boyfriend would probably dump her for being way too manly.
I never told Holt any of that since I couldn’t see how it would improve my relationship with Mom.
We simply aren’t on the same wavelength, and she’s stuck with outdated views steeped in misogyny.
If I thought she’d listen, I’d educate her and help her see how fundamental sports was to women and younger girls.
Picking up my bag, I throw it over my shoulder and then grab my cell from the bench, bringing it to my ear.
I’d love to be really honest with my brother and tell him that despite his efforts and concerns, I was lonely, and I couldn’t feel any more cast out of my family if I tried.
But that would be me wallowing in a pity party that wouldn’t change anything between me or my parents.
All it would do is put my brother under pressure when he already carries so much on his shoulders.
I refuse to let negativity taint my relationship with him.
And I refuse to hold on to bitterness that I didn’t get the relationship with my mom that I’d desperately wanted as a younger girl.
“You’re right.” Holt speaks softly. “Mom should be the one to call you, and when I end this conversation, I’m going to tell her to pick up the damn phone and contact her only daughter.
” His voice is filled with emotion—a blend of frustration, sorrow, and awe.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, Jen. You slayed out there today, and when I come over to see you at Christmas, we’re heading out for beers and chicken wings. ”
I release a single burst of laughter as I swing the locker room door open and head for the player’s lounge.
“I’m down for the beer and wings, but please don’t contact Mom. Your phone call is enough for me.”
I pause at the door to the lounge and watch Kendra at the bar, handing drinks out to the team. Her rosy cheeks are more prominent as she takes a sip of her soda and clinks her glass with Coach. She and Jack haven’t announced the pregnancy yet, but I hear they plan to soon.
“Are you celebrating tonight?” Holt asks while I stare through the window set in the top half of the door.
“Is it going to get dark tonight? Naturally,” I answer.
Something like a rumble echoes from my brother’s throat. “Okay, well, have fun and all that, but—”
“Don’t go home with strange men?” I finish for him. “You’re so transparent, Holt.”
He chuckles at that, knowing I’m right. “Speaking of guys, has Tommy Schneider been staying away?”
I practically pass out on the spot, grabbing hold of the door handle to keep me steady. I guess part of me hoped that Holt had forgotten all about his run-in with Tommy back in January. He’s barely mentioned him since.
I swallow thickly and pull the door open, music and voices instantly hitting me. It’s deliberate on my part since all I want is to end this conversation right now.
“I’ve seen him around when I’ve gone to watch Blades games, but, yeah, I think he got the message when you threatened to end his hockey career if he ever bothered me again.”
Jesus Christ, I’m a terrible liar.
When Holt doesn’t respond, I check my phone just in case we got disconnected.
“He’s probably going to get traded soon anyway,” I continue.
Finally, Holt speaks, and I breathe a sigh of relief. If he could see my flushed cheeks, he’d instantly know I was lying. To be honest, I can’t be sure he’s buying my bullshit right now.
“Stay away from him, Jen. You know I never interfere with your life because who the fuck am I to get involved? But that guy …” He trails off, and I can practically hear his molars grinding.
“He’s bad fucking news. Men like him wouldn’t know how to treat a woman right if they had a decency chip planted into their brain. He’s a prick. Plain and simple.”
As Holt finishes up his warning, Kendra approaches me with a beer, and I take it from her.
She cocks her head to the side, studying me carefully. I know my expression is the complete opposite of the one I was wearing in the shower, and that’s not something I can hide from my best friend.
“I need to go,” I tell Holt. “Kendra just handed me a beer, and the girls are waiting for me to finish it so we can head into town.”
“You heard what I said, right, Jen?” Holt presses me for at least an acknowledgment.
I take a small sip of beer and catch Kendra’s concerned gaze.
“I heard,” is all I say, shifting from one foot to the next.
Holt makes something akin to an agreeable noise, and my shoulders drop from around my ears. “All right, sis. Go have fun, and I’ll catch up with you soon.”
When I disconnect the call, I can feel a pair of brown eyes boring into my skull. Kendra is on the warpath.
“You’re hiding something from me, Jenna, and I want to know what it is.”
I’m scrambling for something, anything, to satisfy her and throw her off the scent of Tommy. And while I know I technically should keep this to myself until the team officially makes an announcement, it’s the only plausible alibi I can think of on the spot.
I pocket my phone and look up at her, plastering on a faux smile.
“Can you keep a secret?” I ask, knowing full well she can. Kendra is a vault.
She steps closer, one brow quirked. “Spill.”
“Well, tonight, we aren’t just celebrating the shield.”
Her eyes grow wide. “We aren’t?”
I shake my head, and my real grin returns. “Nope. Tonight, we can secretly celebrate my recent appointment as your new captain for next season.”