Chapter 48
jordan
“Fuck you, Walton!” I shout at the Colorado Storm player who will not get off my goddamn back, shoving me into the boards again.
“I mean, if you’re into that, I can make the arrangements,” he chirps back, panting and out of breath. “But how about I fuck your jaw with my fist instead?”
I grit my teeth, dropping my shoulder into his pads. God, I hate this guy.
We’re in game seven of the second round against the team with the player I hate more than the fiancé villain guy in The Notebook—fucking Chase Walton.
Every time we play the Storm, one of us ends up in the box with bruised fists.
He’s a cocky, pompous, over-the-top son of a bitch, but shit…
he’s a damn good player. Wait…why is this description sounding so familiar?
Rage sets in my jaw like a puck to the face.
Shit on a hockey stick…he’s the ‘me’ of the Storm.
Well, now I hate him even more. I have no choice but to prove I’m the better Bougie of the two of us.
And in a game seven, series-clinching, ‘if we win, we go to the final round and play for the Cup’ situation, that means only one thing. Full-on Bougification.
“You know what, Walnuts? I would like to make arrangements for that. You, me, a romantic rendezvous in the locker room? Sounds like heaven.”
“Shut the fuck up, Doucher. Guess that new girlfriend of yours isn’t fulfilling your needs. Clearly, you need a stud like Chase Walton to satisfy you.”
“You sound sexually frustrated there, bud. Maybe you’re the one who has the problem with your woman fulfilling your needs?”
His face turns redder than the goal light as he throws his stick and gloves. Got him. As much as I hate the guy, I do keep up on my celeb gossip, and he has it bad for his woman. Relatable. My chest surges with pride—I knew exactly how to get him to drop gloves first.
I drop mine as the crowd goes wild. A game seven on the road is never easy, but if I can get this motherfucker to throw the first punch because of my stellar chirping and sprinkle in some of my top-notch acting skills…our power play is killer.
“Talk about Zoe like that again, you won’t have a mouth to speak with, Boucher!” he spits.
“You started this, Walton! And we all know the Zamboni gets more pussy sitting on it than your dick.”
A sharp pain hits my jaw. I was waiting for it.
I knew it was coming. But he doesn’t know what I have up my sleeve.
I dramatically collapse to the ice as if I just got knocked out by Mike Tyson.
I lay on the ground for a moment, acting dead to the world.
I’ve done this before. It’s another Bougie special.
I call it The Opossum. The arena goes silent, gasps and murmurs humming around me.
I fight my smirk. If nothing else, my acting skills are great.
“Walton, in the box. Roughing,” the ref announces.
“What the fuck? He’s fine! He’s fucking faking! You’re not giving him an embellishment call?”
“He’s out cold, Walton; now get in the goddamn box.”
“Boucher started this!” he screams as the official skates him across the rink.
A whiff of smelling salts hits me before I crack my eyes open and find Zack Reeves and Hayes Larson standing over me, along with the Riders’ medical personnel.
“You okay, Bougie?” Larsy asks.
“My jaw hurts like hell, but we could use a break and a power play.” I wink. “I’m fine, but keep acting like you’re really worried, and we’ll be all good.”
A wicked grin twists Larsy’s face while Zack seems more than a little pissed.
“This could have gotten you, us, in even more trouble, you know that, right?” Zack admonishes.
“Z, the fact that you doubt my acting skills is really hurtful.” I pout, shifting my jaw side to side. “What’d he get? Two? Four? Five?”
“Two, but we’ll make it count,” Larsy says.
“I have to walk you back to the bench, Bougie,” Dr. Gregory says as he helps me sit up. I hear half of the crowd clapping, the other half booing me. I may have been known to embellish a time or two, but I actually got punched here, so that helps me sell it.
We head back to the bench, Walton still screaming from the box that he knows I was faking.
He’s a smart guy. I fight the smirk I’m dying to send his way.
He really is the ‘me’ of the Storm, but today I was the wind that blew that storm in another direction.
I’m restless on the bench as I get evaluated, but my team is up a player, so mission-fucking-accomplished.
I glance at the Jumbotron. We’re tied. Getting another goal before the second period is over is crucial.
We need the momentum to swing in our direction, and the fist that swung at my face was the exact directional change we needed.
As I look down the ice to see my teammates set up a play, the red lamp lighting up behind the goal, I know it was worth it.
Everyone on the bench jumps to their feet, cheering and screaming. We’re up 2-1.
I’m proud of myself. My antics. The way I served them up on a silver platter to get our team an advantage.
Until I look at the crowd.
In the box where the WAGs are sitting, I see Maggie and Olivia on either side of Kennedy.
They all flew out since we are either going to the next round or our season’s done.
But they aren’t just standing beside her, they have her in their arms, almost like they are…
consoling her? Fuck. Is Kennedy…is she crying?
My breath catches in my throat, knowing she’s right here but still out of reach.
The game isn’t over. I’m stuck. I’m stuck here.
Unable to ask what’s wrong. Unable to comfort her.
The horn sounds signaling the period’s over, and the team heads back to the locker rooms. But I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My heart sinks. What’s wrong? What’s going on?
“Bougie, you okay, man?” Larsy asks as he bumps me on the bench, my frozen ass blocking his way. “I thought you said you were good after that hit.”
I stand up, my eyes still fixed on her.
“Yeah…I just…” I jut my chin toward the suites. “Kennedy looks like she’s crying up there, and I’m kinda freaking out.”
He looks up, his brows narrowing as he sees what I’m seeing. Larsy sighs, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Come on; let’s go back to the locker room. We’ll text them real quick and figure out what’s going on.”
I nod, following his lead. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea. We’ll text them.” I glance back. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“Jordan, listen. Olivia and Maggie have been at this for a while. They’re used to the violence of what we do. You took a nasty punch and literally played dead. If I had to take a wild stab in the dark at what’s going on, she’s worried about you.”
Oh my God. The blood drains from my face.
I never thought to walk her through this.
She’s not a super huge hockey fan like Olivia and Maggie.
She doesn’t know shit about what I’ve done in the past or the lengths I’ll go with my antics.
She doesn’t come to many games. She doesn’t know.
I feel sick to my stomach, like Walton punched me there instead of my face.
God, I never wanted to hurt her. I never wanted to make her cry.
But in the midst of all this chaos, something else hits my chest. Something I never had with a woman that wasn’t my friend or family. Something that makes me feel like I’m flying through the clouds above the arena.
My smile feels almost manic. She’s worried about me.