Chapter 10
JORDAN
Late that evening, I lie on my living room floor, headphones on, listening to one of my mom’s old records.
The cat is hiding under the kitchen table, glaring at me with her dumb little squished face.
My body is tired from closing the bar after I left the arena—I’m still on the schedule until I can find someone to manage the place temporarily—but my mind is active, replaying the day.
She’s not the type of person I’d put in team management, Tate said the other day.
I think about the ridiculous goal my father gave me, to get the Storm to the Stanley Cup. To win it. I suspect he’s trying to motivate me to fall in love with the team and carry on his legacy, but that’s not going to happen.
I think about my mom, and what she’d say if she were here.
She’d want me to make up with my dad, for one. She wanted that even in the final stages of her cancer, not that we had much time after she was diagnosed at stage 4. Someone doesn’t have to be sorry for you to forgive them, she said.
It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.
She’d want more for me, though. My having the bar wouldn’t be enough for her.
Natalie Hathaway had a million friends—true friends, not just acquaintances.
She had this way about her. Within minutes of meeting someone, she knew their life story and they knew hers.
They’d exchanged phone numbers and had a plan to meet up the next week.
Georgia’s the same way. Small talk is impossible with people like them.
Maybe that’s why we’ve been friends for so long.
You’re brave, Hazel said today, but I’m not brave. I’m terrified. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
For a couple months, it seemed like my recommendations helped the UBC team, and everything was fantastic. But then they started losing. They were right to blame me. It was my fault.
If that happens again with the Storm, I’ll just—I don’t know.
My mother would want me to try, though, even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Even if I’m terrified. Even if Tate doesn’t think I’m worth having around.
I made my father a deal. I’ll stick with the team until the end of the season. Persistence and determination and motivation begin to thread through me. She would say that I do know hockey, and I know this team. And I won’t make the same mistakes as before.
She would want me to prove them all wrong—especially Tate. She’d like him, I remember her saying how handsome he was when she met him at a hockey event with my dad, but she’d still want me to prove him wrong.
His expression when I didn’t wear his jacket appears in my mind and a quiet laugh slips out of me. He’s not used to being challenged like that, and it’s been replaying in my head on loop all day.
Movement catches my attention, and I look to see the cat batting at the window I’ve cracked open for fresh air.
“No. Hey!”
I jump up. My lease doesn’t allow pets, and the landlord is just waiting for a reason to evict me. She shouldn’t even be near the windows, in case someone sees her.
I reach to nudge her aside, but she hisses at me, all snaggleteeth and enraged wonky eyes, fur on end. She bats at the window again and it nudges open a crack.
“Stop that,” I shoo her. “You can’t be near the window.”
She pushes the window open an inch more, and without thinking I grab her and pick her up.
Big mistake.
The cat makes a noise straight out of the underworld and the claws come out. She swipes those razor blades across the back of my hand and I drop her on the floor. She takes off, a streak of dark fur, and hides beneath the table again.