Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ADDIE
Twenty-One Years Old
Salt Lake City, Utah, Olympics
JJ: Not that you need it, but good luck today.
Me: Thank you again for coming yesterday. It meant a lot to me.
JJ: You mean a lot to me. We’ll talk soon. Go focus.
JJ: Holy shit, Addie Angles! A goddamn shutout!
Me: Ahhh! It was wild!
JJ: Call me when you can.
Me: Tried calling but it went to voicemail. Heading to bed.
JJ: Sorry, I forgot to charge my phone. Game tonight, but I’ll call you after.
Me: Ah, sorry I missed your call. Was super loud in the Olympic village. Tomorrow?
JJ: Sorry I was short on the phone. I’m irritated.
Not at you. At this situation. I miss you.
I’m proud of you. And I hate that I’m not there to watch you kicking ass.
Adeline, your photo is everywhere! There are grumbles in locker rooms. Two fucking shutouts during the Olympic games? You are incredible and I’m a dick.
Me: you’re not a dick. I’ll be home in a week. Is it bad that I can’t wait? I want to enjoy this. I’ve been working toward it for my whole life, and now…I feel like…
JJ: I know. But I’m not going anywhere. Promise. Enjoy this.
“Time to go.” My roommate’s voice sounds in one ear as the familiar robotic voice telling me to leave a message plays in the other.
Shit. Yet another day without talking to JJ. These two weeks should be the most joyful time in my life, yet I’m nothing more than a pathetic girl wondering if the boy she likes really likes her.
It’s disturbing.
But it’s JJ.
And two weeks ago, he almost kissed me.
It was the first time he’s ever truly surprised me. I’d given up hoping that one day he would see me the way I see him. That one day he would want me.
And I’m so damn nervous that he only did it because he was jealous. That it was an irrational reaction to the idea that Ryan—my freaking coach—had any interest in me.
He should know by now that men don’t see me like that.
JJ friend-zoned me years ago, and in all these years, no one else has interested me.
But hockey has always interested me. And right now, I’m about to head into the biggest game of my career—the final game in the Olympics. If we win this, we win the gold medal.
I owe it to my teammates to focus.
I owe it to myself too.
At the sound of the beep, I sigh. “Hey, it’s me. Headed to the game. Just wanted to say hi and hear your voice. But, um, hopefully I’ll talk to you after. Tag, you’re it.”
With that, I power down my phone. It’s time to win a medal.
Sometimes, if we’re lucky, goalies have this moment when we can sense what’ll happen next.
I’ve played enough to recognize when this sense overtakes me, so when the Russian center is on a breakaway, I lean into the instinct.
By every indication, she’s about to take a slap shot.
Instead, she flips the puck with her stick, tossing it in the air, with the intent to send it toward the net, past my shoulder.
I shouldn’t have enough time to correct, and if I hadn’t anticipated it, I wouldn’t.
But I’ve been playing against Aiden Langfield all my life, and that’s a move right out of his playbook.
So while it’s not a pretty stop, I fling my body upward like a damn starfish. The puck hits my chest, and as it bounces back, the buzzer sounds.
And we win the fucking gold medal.
Immediately, my teammates are on me, hugging and cheering and laughing.
We win, 2-0. Another freaking shutout.
On the way to the locker rooms, a microphone is shoved in front of my face.
“Addie Langfield,” the reporter says, “you just pulled off quite the hat trick.”
I give him a polite smile. “Not quite what a hat trick means, and it was a team effort.”
“Right, but no goalie in Olympic history has ever completed three shutouts.”
A burst of pride shoots through me. It’s not new information. There were murmurs about it going into the game. Still, I tried to ignore it. My mission was to win today. Not allowing a single goal is more than a freaking cherry on top.
“I’m very proud to be part of Team USA.”
“What’s next for you? Word on the street is that Las Vegas has an open goalie position.”
I frown. “The Las Vegas Lions?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “No, not the PWHL. The Las Vegas Vices. Can you confirm whether you’ll be a free agent after this?”
I shake my head. The question is ridiculous. Only one woman has ever played goaltender in the NHL, and she lasted a single game.
“I’ll be returning to college.”
“But—”
“Adeline,” a familiar voice calls.
A thrill shoots up my spine. There’s only person who calls me Adeline, so when he shouts my name again, my heart flips over on itself. I push past the reporter, and when I spot JJ rushing my way, it all hits me.
This moment, everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve dreamed of, didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as it should. Until now. Until the boy who worked by my side helping me chase this goal all along appears.
“What are you doing here?” I say as he approaches, big smile spread across that handsome face, dimple popping, and blue eyes blazing with a wild heat in them.
He wraps me up in a hug, squeezing me tight, and I inhale the familiar scent of him. “You won the gold medal, Adeline. Where the fuck else would I be?”
Laughing, I push back so I can see him properly. He’s wearing a Team USA jersey, a team USA hat, and the biggest smile.
“I see someone went shopping today.”
Scoffing, he holds out his arms and turns in a circle. When I see Langfield on his back, my heart stutters. “I had this made. Though after today, I have a feeling everyone is going to want a Langfield Team USA jersey.”
I roll my eyes, even as excitement floods me. “Right.”
With a huge smile on his face, he shakes his head. “You still don’t get it. Adeline. The whole country isn’t just proud of you, they’re in awe. Just wait. You’re the talk of Salt Lake.”
I bite my lip, my face, which has only begun cooling after the game, heating. “I can’t believe you’re here. Aren’t you supposed to be playing tonight?”
His expression turns sheepish. “Sidney’s playing.”
I smack him and gasp. “JJ.”
Chuckling, he pulls me back into his chest. “Like there was a shot in hell I’d miss this.” He peers down at me and cups my jaw. “I’ve been waiting too damn long to do this. Can I finally kiss you, baby?”
“I’m a sweaty mess,” I mumble, my insides quaking more than they have during a single Olympic game.
He shrugs. “Kiss me anyway.”
“Everyone’s watching.”
He grins. “Kiss me anyway.”
My heart is lodged in my throat, making it hard to breathe. “This is going to change everything.”
JJ ghosts his mouth against mine. “Kiss. Me. Anyway.”
So I do. I wrap my arms around him and press my lips to his, and finally, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting. I kiss JJ Hanson.
It’s not like fireworks. Those would be shocking and loud.
Something for others, a show. This is slow.
JJ takes his time. It’s gentle, not exactly tentative because I don’t think the man has a tentative bone in his body, but it’s reverent.
And when I get greedy and slip my tongue into his mouth, he growls and buries his hand in my hair, and then he ravages me.
Gone is the softness, and in its place is this fire.
It consumes me. It’s like he threw gasoline on top of kindling that had been burning for years beneath the surface, and now an inferno has overtaken me.
My heart races as I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer.
“I want,” I mumble, breathless. “I need.”
His blue eyes are fathomless as he pulls my mouth to his again. “I need to get you alone.”
“Oh my god, I’m gonna be sick,” Finn groans from somewhere off to the side.
I pull back from JJ, eyes wide. We’re surrounded by reporters, my family, and about a hundred thousand spectators. Fuck.
JJ doesn’t spare anyone else a glance. His focus remains on me.
Cautious. Waiting. Like he expects me to push him away.
Or disappear right in front of his eyes.
Silly man. I’ve been waiting my entire life for him to look at me this way.
There isn’t a chance I’m going to let him go.
Though I do need to do something. “I need to shower,” I say with a smile.
JJ groans, his hands fisting my jersey. “Fine. Shower. Then you’re mine.”
If only he realized that I always have been.
“So this is your room,” I mumble as he leads me into the fancy suite.
“Yup.”
I doubt JJ has felt awkward a day in his life, so as he removes layer after layer, tossing his hat, gloves, scarf, and jacket onto a nearby chair, he does it like a fucking model. Smoldering at me the entire time.
I, on the other hand, take an awkward step back and trip over my own two feet, landing on the couch, still in full winter clothes.
A smirk plays on his lips. “You okay there?”
Cheeks burning, I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Obviously I meant to do that. I’m tired.
” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop as nerves sweep through me.
“I just won an Olympic medal and dealt with my parents, not so subtly trying to avoid the topic that is now trending online—you kissing me—while we had, like, a ten-course meal.”
He chuckles like he finds me endearing. It’s infuriating. “I thought dinner would never end.”
“Seriously.”
He meanders my way, and with every step closer, my insides burn hotter.
“What—um, what are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m going to take your jacket.” Chuckling, he holds out a hand.
He waits like that while I not so sexily pull off my many layers.
I toss my jacket and all my warm gear his way.
With a content hum, he takes it over to the table, folding it nicely and setting it on top.
Then he turns around, crosses his arms over his very inviting chest, and leans against the table.
“What are you doing now?” I ask.
“Giving you a minute to get used to me.”
“I’m used to you,” I scoff. “I’m, like, so used to you.”
“Oh yeah?” Eyes dancing, he takes a step my way. “So you won’t freak out if I do this?”