Chapter 7
jordan
Guess him getting shitfaced drunk the night before a game wasn’t the brightest of ideas after all.
So here we are, up by one goal with only minutes left on the clock, and I have one objective – keep the puck the fuck out of here.
Chicago pulled their goalie, risking the empty net for an extra man to cover in the defensive zone.
My heart races, every one of my senses on high alert—this is my time to shine.
The puck heads my way, my eyes laser-focused on the black disk, and I clear it away from the crease, sending it toward Chicago’s empty net. Thank fucking God it’s out of our zone.
Chicago’s defenseman Miles King races to the puck, taking it behind his own goal, setting up a play with thirty seconds left on the clock. I shift my weight back and forth, trying to anticipate what their move is.
“Bougie, watch Fox—he’s been sneaking in the crease all night shoving Vladi and the refs aren’t calling shit.”
“Got it, Larsy!” I scream at Hayes Larson, our center and badass motherfucker.
He’s a great leader on the ice—I can only hope to be like him one day.
He’s earned his alternate captain title ten times over.
And he’s a fucking good guy. And the love he has for his wife, Olivia, is straight out of a fairy tale.
One I wish I had. But now King is skating toward us to try and tie it up and force overtime.
He crosses the blue line, firing off a shot on goal.
Vladi blocks it, but there’s a scrum in front of the net over the rebound.
His stick gets caught in one of the other team’s skates as he fights to free it, but it’s no use.
I watch in horror as it skids across the ice just as Chicago’s center passes to Fox.
Right in front of me. Right in front of the net.
The blood drains from my face as Fox unleashes a shot, the puck moving in slow motion toward the goal.
My stick can’t reach it, Vladi’s stick is gone, which means he’s scrambling to do something, anything, to stop this shot.
I’ve got to do something. I lunge toward the other side of the goal, diving on the ice between Fox and Vladi, releasing a sigh of relief as a sting of pain hits my chest.
Shot. Blocked.
The horn signaling the end of the game goes off, and I, Jordan Joseph Boucher, have made a defensive play to win the game.
My teammates rush the goal to tap Vladi’s helmets with their own, afterward treating me with a round of pats on the back and echoes of ‘nice dive’ and I let out a yell, my lungs still burning from the game.
This is one of those moments that make me love hockey.
We have a lot of shitty games, losses, injuries, workouts, practices…
but when we all come together as a team, when we do whatever it takes to win and succeed? That makes it all worth it.
“Great job in the o-zone tonight, boys! We kept them on their toes the entire sixty minutes, had good shots on net, and continued firing them in until they hit. Defense, we need to do a better job of keeping pucks out of the crease. Tonight’s game puck goes to EJ with his goal and two assists,” Coach Cal says after the game in the locker room.
We all shout and cheer him on. EJ’s had a rough few games, but he’s finally found his groove again tonight.
“Thanks, Coach,” EJ says, taking the puck, eyeing it for a moment, lips pressed together before making the usual post-game celebratory speech. “I felt great tonight, and that’s all thanks to everyone in this locker room. Onto the next one!”
“Boucher!” Coach barks as I jolt in my seat. “My office. Now.”
Shit. I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this, but to get called out in front of the entire team? I might have gone too far this time…
I follow him down the tunnel to his office space here at the arena. I swallow hard, waiting in the doorframe as he walks behind his desk.
“Sit,” he growls, staring me down like a grizzly bear about to attack—and I’m his next victim.
“First of all, you’re lucky I didn’t bench your ass after that goddamn pre-game stunt.
Just because you have a fucking giveaway on a game night doesn’t entitle you to do whatever the hell you want.
That was disrespectful to me, to your teammates, and to the league.
” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know you’ll be fined for this.”
“Yes, sir,” I solemnly whisper. I’m not naive enough to know there won’t be a fine, but I am enough of a prick to not care. I can pay for it, I can always pay for it, but if I hint at all that I am not worried about the money, that’s going to make this worse.
“Second, you are a damn good player. You have the potential to be one of the top defensemen in the whole goddamn league.” My heart lifts, the idea of finally being seen for me rushing to the surface.
“But your attitude and your lack of maturity are becoming a problem. A big one. I try not to say anything when I see you in the press with your flavor of the week, but when this type of immature bullshit spills onto my ice, it becomes my issue, and we can’t have that. Not on my team.”
“Sorry, Coach.” My stomach knots tighter than the laces on my skates.
I wish I could spit out the words that I don’t want to have to fake having a girl every night.
I regret the mistakes I made. I regret the outcome.
I regret all of it. I wish I could tell him the truth.
Except for the bobblehead skating routine—that was one-hundo percent worth it.
I run my hands through my hair, wanting to pull the strands out at the direction my life has taken.
“Don’t ‘sorry Coach’ me. Fucking fix it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get dressed and get ready for the flight. This is your last warning, Boucher. I will place you as a healthy scratch if you ever do something like that again.”
I nod and walk out of his office, feeling like a kid who got sent to the principal’s office.
I deserve it. I was an idiot for doing that, but I’ll own up to my shenanigans.
But the fact that my coach, and everyone else, thinks I am actually sleeping with all those girls?
I exhale every last bit of air from my lungs, hoping it takes the weight of the last few years with it.
I want something real. I want something meaningful.
Blonde hair and a silk scarf flash through my mind. I want her.
“Bougie got in trouble! Bougie got in trouuu-ble,” Mac sings as I shuffle down the aisle to my seat on the plane.
“Shut the fuck up, Mac.” I tighten the grip on my bag, stopping at his row. “At least I made a save tonight.”
“Enough,” Vladi grunts behind me. “Both of you.”
“Fine,” Mac spits. “But if I got called into Coach’s office like that, he’d sure as shit be making fun of me.”
“I didn’t say he wouldn’t,” Vladi growls. “I simply said shut up. And that means shut the fuck up.”
Mac raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide as we walk past him to our seats. I plop down against the window, my muscles tense as I try not to throw my bag beneath the seat.
Vladi sits next to me, calmly stowing his luggage as if we didn’t nearly fight one of our own.
He is my seatmate on every flight. I’m basically his good luck charm, and despite his pretend hatred of me, he never lets me sit anywhere else.
I hold back the smile threatening to crack across my face.
He kind of just totally defended me. I’m not sure if I should be scared or…
I look at the mountain of a man out of the corner of my eye.
Actually, I don’t know what the hell to think right now.
“Jordan,” he says, taking his earbuds out of their case.
I snuggle up to his arm. “God, I love it when you call me that.”
“You love it when I call you your name?”
“It makes me feel special.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes me off before speaking in his slight Russian accent that makes everyone swoon.
“That pre-game shit was absolutely ridiculous. Yet, sadly, not out of the ordinary. However, you’ve been pleasantly distant from me lately. It’s not normal. So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
Goddammit, this goalie really does see everything. But…this is very friend-ish of him, something I genuinely never expected, so I’ll allow it. My shoulders slump as the weight of everything that’s been going on the past few months settles over my body.
“It’s nothing. I’ve just…I’ve got some stuff going on. But I swear, Vladi, I’m not letting it affect my game. Those goals were not my fault.”
“No. They were Tay’s fault. You saved him from my wrath with your dive to block the final shot. Thank you for that. But it’s not your game I’m concerned about. It’s your demeanor. Dare I admit it has been slightly less peppy than usual? Not un-peppy by any means, but not fully obnoxious.”
My brows raise to my forehead. Wow, he’s good. I haven’t been my normal exuberant self since I started getting the threatening texts, their presence constantly gnawing at the back of my mind. And now that Tay brought up the fact that Kennedy could be in danger, I’m even more worried about it.
“You know you can talk to someone about it, yes? Perhaps Larsy? Or Zack?”
I snort. I know this is his broody goalie way of telling me I can talk to him without ever admitting it.
That’s his personality, and I fully accept it.
He’s one of my best friends, whether he will ever admit it or not.
He couldn’t give two shits about my money or my family’s status.
And that’s why I love that damn goalie so much.
I buckle my seatbelt, settling in for takeoff, and see Vladi about to pop in his earbuds.
“Wait! Before you zone out, can I ask you about it?”
He lowers his hands with a loud sigh. “If you must.”
“You know what, nevermind.” I sink down low into my seat.
“Jordan. Tell me.”
I dart my eyes around the plane, making sure no one is listening.
My teammates are still filing onto the aircraft, too absorbed in their own worlds, as well as the coaches, equipment managers, the social media and broadcast personnel, team physicians, and everyone else who travels to away games with us.
To be honest, some of these folks are new this season, shoot, even the last few games, and I haven’t seen them before.
Still, I don’t want anyone to hear my business.
Clearing my throat, I fiddle with my headphones. “Let’s say I like this girl. But she wants nothing to do with me. And every time I try to talk to her, she kind of, totally, entirely ignores me. I didn’t know what to do, so I started sending her presents anonymously, and now—”
“Jordan,” he interrupts, “Are we talking about Kennedy?”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head as I swallow hard. Fuck…how does he know too?!
“What? No. I mean…maybe? I mean…shit! How do you know?!”
“Do you truly think Maggie wouldn’t drag me down the hall to see Kennedy’s diamond-encrusted leopard? No one else would send a gift like that but you.”
Goddammit. “Okay, so let’s pretend it is her.
” He raises his brow. “What…what do I do? I stopped sending gifts because that wasn’t working, and I realized I don’t even know how I’m going to tell her they were all from me.
But that doesn’t matter because I still don’t know how I can get her to talk to me. ”
He rubs his hand along his jaw, staring at the back of the seat in front of him.
“I can tell you she doesn’t seem to be into grand gestures.
She travels a lot, and she’s seen parts of the world we’ve probably never been to.
A giant animal statue is not the way to her heart.
She seems like the type to be more about small gestures—ones that don’t cost anything but have meaning.
You actually do many of those things despite hoping people never know that about you.
Try to find a way to show her that side of Jordan Boucher. Obnoxious gifts will not work.”
Apparently, Russian Yoda is back now that he has his own love life figured out.
“Let’s say you’re right. I wouldn’t even know how to do that.”
Vladi nods with a smile as he slides his earbuds into his ears. “You’ll figure it out.”
Well, that was zero help. I groan, banging my head against the seat. Russian Goalies.
“Thanks anyway, Vladster.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“But you love my nicknames, Vladinator!”
“I do not. Now, leave me to my music, or I will rat you out to Olivia, who we all know can’t keep a secret.”
I swear my eyes pop out of my head. “Point taken.”
When we finally land, I jump up to grab my things and walk single file toward the front of the plane.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing even more than usual.
Standing in the front galley is Kennedy, smiling and nodding at everyone as they exit.
And there, in her hand, is my bobblehead.
She’s holding me. In. Her. Hands. Oh. My.
God. Breathe Jordan. Breathe. Holy shit.
What do I do? Do I say something? Do I see if she wants me to autograph it?
Is this one of those moments where I can do something that doesn’t cost any money?
As I step closer and closer, she’s still smiling.
Does she see me? Oh God. I’m going to vomit. Pull it together. You can do this.
As I finally make it to the front of the line, I stand right in front of her. This is it. This is my moment.
“Hi. Did you, um…want me to sign that for you?” I ask with a shaky voice, pointing to the box in her hand.
She tilts her head, her eyes squinting at me like a book she’s trying to decide if I’m worth keeping or donating to the library. Be brave. Stay calm. Maybe she’ll read the first chapter and want to get to know me more.
“I have a Sharpie in my bag; I don’t mind…if you want—”
“I’m good.” She dismisses me with a snarky smile, turning around to grab her roller bag, acting like she’s busy with anything else so she doesn’t have to talk to me.
Donation bin, it is.
Shit. I nod quietly, hoping none of my teammates paid much attention as I step off the plane.
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach as if it were the Heart of the Ocean necklace from Titanic.
And it’s probably going to stay at the bottom of the ocean for eighty-four years with how bad this hurts.