Chapter 63
TATE
“Something wrong?” Volkov asks during the second period, when I miss a penalty call against the Storm because I’m sneaking glances up at the owner’s box instead of paying attention.
“No.” Yes. Everything. Jordan wearing the necklace and Noah flirting with her and spending time alone with her and putting his fucking arm around her the way I want to.
Volkov gives me a look like he doesn’t believe me. “Who’s that guy with Jordan?”
“My brother, Noah.” I’m trying to sound like I don’t care but it’s not working.
He grunts an acknowledgment.
“That was some stunt you guys pulled the other week with the fake dinner,” I add, my eyes on the game even though every cell in my body wants to look at Jordan.
Besides fucking Noah smiling at her, as the jumbotron keeps showing, she looks good up there. Confident and at ease, like she’s where she should be.
If I want to stay with the team, she said the other night. She’s actually considering it.
And here I am, letting my emotions get in the way of her future. I had my selfish years, and they almost ruined everything.
“You’ve had your fun,” I tell Volkov, glancing at Jordan and Noah one more time. “But nothing’s happening between Jordan and me.”
I sound so certain, I almost believe it myself.
It’s a commercial break during the third period when the kiss cam starts. Unease spreads through me as the crowd cheers for the first three couples, and then the fourth couple appears on screen and everything in my body tightens.
“Please welcome special guest Noah Ward, brother of Coach Tate Ward!” the announcer calls as their smiling faces appear on screen. The fans cheer. “Accompanying Jordan Hathaway!”
They cheer louder for her, their appreciation cutting through the jealousy in my chest.
Until the camera lingers on them.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” the fans cheer.
“KISS HER!” Miller yells with his hands cupped around his mouth. “KISS HER GOOD!”
“Miller,” I snap, and he gives me an innocent look. “What the hell are you doing?”
The guys on the bench cheer and holler. Even Volkov applauds, but when I give him an outraged look, he stops, clearing his throat and looking away.
“What?” Miller asks, all innocence. “Why shouldn’t Jordan kiss Noah? They’re both single, right?”
My teeth grit, and I’m about to say something stupid when movement on the screen yanks my attention.
I love my brother, I remind myself, as he leans down with a cheeky grin and taps his jaw. I love him and I would never hurt him, even if I want to rip his stupid fucking head off as Jordan laughs and leans up on her tiptoes to press her soft lips to his face.
“Get them off the kiss cam,” I call down the hall to the coordinator, who gives me a wide-eyed look. My voice booms through the hall.
I’m not yelling. I don’t yell. But it kind of sounds like I’m yelling.
“Please,” I add, but my heart is racing and I think I yelled that, too. “And thank you,” I add, but the coordinator still looks startled as she talks in her earpiece and the image on the screen changes.
I see why Jordan and I can’t be together. Bea, the team, whatever.
Noah, though. Noah’s a great guy. He’s a menace and a shit disturber, but he’s smart and responsible and funny and kind. He’s an incredible uncle to Bea. He’s been looking for the right job out here for years so he can be closer to us.
Noah and Jordan would be perfect together.
Back on the bench, the guys are oddly quiet, watching the ice and not talking.
I let the PowerPoint thing go because it didn’t hurt anyone and it’s good for the team to make fun of me. And maybe a very small part of me didn’t mind Jordan seeing my career highlights.
I let the fake dinner go because it gave Jordan and me a chance to talk. For work. And because I like spending time with her and no matter how much I do, it never seems to be enough.
But this?
“A fucking kiss cam, Miller? Really?”
He shrugs. “They make a good-looking couple. They’ll probably have beautiful children.”
“They’re not a couple,” I snap. I’m not this guy, this caricature of a coach who’s pissed and yelling at his guys. “It’s inappropriate to put her in a position like that. She was uncomfortable.”
“She seemed fine,” Volkov says, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Jordan wouldn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that she laughed and kissed Noah’s cheek. Fucking Noah. Ruining everything. I love the guy, but I wish he wasn’t standing up there with Jordan right now. I wish he wasn’t the one kissing her for everyone to see.
I wish it was me.
We win the game, and I’m ashamed to say I hardly notice or care, my attention and gaze shifting to the owner’s box and the two figures watching the game.
I’m catching a ride back with Jordan, Noah texts as I follow the players off the bench. See you at home.
He’s coming back to my place? Why? He has a hotel room.
Maybe he and Jordan hit it off. Maybe they’re going to hang out in her guesthouse.
Maybe they’re going to hook up.
A mind-obliterating sense of absolutely fucking not races through me.
I call Noah, but no answer. I call again, and it goes straight to voicemail, like he’s ignoring my call. My blood simmers with an unhappy, frustrated feeling.
“Coach, you coming to the bar to celebrate?” Miller asks.
I’m already prowling down the hall to the elevators, on my way to the parking garage. “No. I have to get home.”
He salutes me with a knowing spark in his eyes. “Good luck.”