Chapter 71
JORDAN
“Bye, guys.” I wave as Rory, Hayden, Jamie, Alexei, Luca, and Carey leave. They call their goodnights, walking off into the dark, and an uncomfortable weight of emotion lodges in my chest.
Hayden and Darcy’s wedding is in a week. Who’s going to feel like celebrating now? They’re going to look back on photos of their wedding and pair it with memories of not getting into playoffs.
“Wait.” Luca runs back and wraps me in a tight hug. “I’m sorry we let you down,” he says and my heart cracks.
Yes, I will have to return to the bar now, but the part that’s killing me is that these guys wanted to win the Stanley Cup more than anything. It could have changed their whole careers. They’d look back on memories of winning for the rest of their lives.
“You didn’t.” I give his shoulders a light shake, even though he towers over me. “I promise, Luca. I’m proud of you no matter what.”
He gives me a lopsided smile like he doesn’t believe me but nods, stepping back. “Well, goodnight.”
I close the door behind him, chewing my lip. I meet Tate’s eyes where he sits at the counter. Sad country music that Carey put on still plays on low volume.
“I’m really going to miss those guys,” I tell him.
They’ll come back to the bar, but it won’t be the same, now that I’ve failed them like this. And eventually they’ll move on like they were always meant to.
He nods, gaze gentle and soft.
And you, I want to say. I’m really going to miss you.
Our deal was until the end of the season, and we’re not getting into playoffs, so whatever fun Tate and I were having is done. My heart tightens into a tiny little stone and sinks through me, down to the floor.
“I’m fine to close up if you want to head home,” I tell him, heading back behind the counter.
His gaze is all over my face. “I’ll stay. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” I welcome it, tonight.
“I know how much you love being alone.”
I smile. “Not tonight.”
He studies me for a beat. “Are you lonely, Jordan?”
An ache moves through my chest. He asked me this once before, and I said no before I could even think about it.
“I don’t know,” I admit, feeling exposed. “I think I’ve been alone for so long that I don’t know what anything else feels like.”
I don’t feel lonely around you, I don’t say.
He makes a noise of acknowledgment, and when our gazes meet, my heart does a flip.
I don’t know what it means, that I want to be around Tate when things go horribly wrong.
That his presence makes everything hurt less.
The affection in his eyes makes me ache.
I want to wrap myself in him like a blanket.
“Will you dance with me?” he asks, and when I nod, he takes my hand and leads me to the open area of the bar.
We sway to the song’s twangy slide guitar and I sink against him, inhaling his comforting, clean scent. I let him lead, let him sway me around, my focus on the areas where we touch—our hands, his arm around my waist, my hand on his shoulder.
I have no delusions about a life with him and Bea. The team will be sold, and Tate and I will probably both be fired, and we’ll have no reason to see each other.
It’s not like it would work out, anyway, an ugly voice says. People like me don’t get chosen. People like my mother do, like Georgia, those outgoing, sparkly, charismatic types.
Not me, though. I tried to belong, I gave it everything, and the universe proved me wrong.
“I thought we had more time,” I whisper.
With the team. With each other.
I picture a different way it could have been. If we got into playoffs.
“I’d shake things up,” I say without thinking.
Tate gives me a questioning look.
“If we got a wild card spot.”
The four wild card spots are the lowest-ranking teams to make it into playoffs. They’re paired with the highest-ranking teams for the first round and rarely make it further.
Ideas start pinging in my head, a welcome distraction from the things I don’t want to feel.
“I’d get the farm team up here for a practice, and we’d try every possible line and pair combination.
What we were doing wasn’t working, so I’d start fresh, give the guys a sense of something new, a clean slate.
Maybe there’s someone we missed with the farm team or some combination we didn’t think of. ”
Tate studies me with interest and momentum builds in my chest. It feels good to finish the season differently, even if it’s in my head. To do it on our own terms.
“But before that,” I continue, “I’d do something fun.”
Tate’s mouth curls up in that affectionate way.
“Something dumb and competitive. Get them working together as a team again, to pull at the parts of themselves that love a challenge.”
Tate nods, smiling more. “There was a team dinner a few seasons ago, when Miller joined. We played a game of Assassin.”
Pippa teased Hazel after that, something about a victory kiss with Rory. “Exactly like that. I’d do it with the whole organization, though.” I bite my bottom lip. “Because each person matters.”
Emotion rises in his eyes. “Maybe we should do that, anyway. Let’s end the season on a high note. Give them one last good memory.”
This must be what bittersweet feels like. “Ross can pay,” I add, and Tate laughs.
There’s that odd, flipping feeling in my chest again. Tate’s eyes drop to my mouth, and he presses his lips in a firm line like he’s holding back.
“Do something for me, Jordan.” The strong line of his throat moves as he swallows. “Put your head on my shoulder.”
There’s a scrape to his voice like he needs this, and I have the unbearable urge to give Tate Ward exactly what he needs. Instinctively, I lean into him, resting against the crook of his neck.
“Like this?” It’s so comfortable, as if this spot was designed for me.
He lets out a long, slow breath. “Exactly like that.”
The song ends but Tate doesn’t let me go, and I don’t move, and the next song starts. I could stay here all night, leaning my head on Tate’s warm chest.
A knock has us pausing, the music still playing around us.
“Ignore it,” Tate says in my ear.
“It could be important.”
I feel the shake of his head against my temple, his lips pressing against my hairline. “This is important.”
When he says things like that, like I’m something to be cherished, something he values, my heart can’t take it. I lift my head to look up at him, my heart beating up into my throat.
His broad chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and around my fingers, his hand flexes. “Jordan, I—”
Another knock at the door, more urgent, like a fist pounding.
Tate swears under his breath and breaks away, heading to the door.
Jordan, I—what? What was he going to say?
Tate unlocks the door and opens it to Rory standing on the other side on his crutches, grinning ear to ear. Alexei, Jamie, Hayden, Luca, and Carey are all behind him. All grinning. A total one-eighty from the somber, depressing atmosphere of the bar half an hour ago.
“Got some news for you,” Rory says.
He glances past us at the dim bar, taking in the low music playing, and something knowing sharpens in his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word. Thank god.
“What’s going on?” I ask, fidgeting behind Tate, tucking my hands into my sleeves.
“Florida lost the game.”
I pull back like I’ve been slapped. Tate looks at me with surprise.
Rory’s nodding, eyes sparkling. “L.A. scored four goals in the last six minutes of the game and another in overtime.”
A strange expression washes over Tate’s features, like he isn’t sure whether this is real, or if he’s dreaming.
“They lost,” Tate repeats, staring at Rory.
I’m not breathing but my heart’s still beating, I can hear it and feel the heavy thumps in my chest.
“They lost,” Rory confirms. “You know what this means, right?”
The guys all watch with their own smiles—even Alexei doesn’t look quite so serious and surly, with the corner of his mouth pulling up a fraction of an inch—and I’m filled with affection and appreciation for them, that they knew how important this was to not just Tate but me.
That they wanted to be here to see our reactions.
“We got the last wild card spot,” I whisper, relief crashing through me.
A brilliant smile grows on Tate’s handsome face, his eyes sparkling, and I can feel my own smile right back at him.
We’re not finished. It’s not over yet. We still have a chance.
Tate holds my eyes. “We’re going to playoffs.”
Later, at home, I knock gently on Tate’s bedroom door as he lies against the pillows, watching replays of the Florida-L.A. game.
His eyes cut to me, surprise and what I hope is relief flashing in them.
I nudge my chin at the TV. “Can’t sleep?”
He gives me a wry smile, and I head over to the bed. A question rises in his eyes.
I haven’t been avoiding him, these past few weeks, but I haven’t been going out of my way to fool around with him. Every time we do, it seems like I fall a little deeper.
But tonight, he needs me.
“You need to sleep.” I give him a small smile as I slide into his bed, uninvited, a tiny part of me worried he’ll ask me to leave. “Tomorrow’s a big day. We need to figure out a plan.”
He turns the TV off, wraps a big arm around me, and pulls me against his chest.
“Thank you,” he whispers, before he falls into a deep sleep.