Chapter 19
Jasmine
Harper drops the idea in the group chat on Monday.
Girls trip to Toronto. The guys play the Wailers on Friday. We fly up Thursday, game Friday, home Saturday. The boys already booked us first-class tickets. Who's in?
Avery responds in four seconds: I'm packing already.
Natalie: Ethan just told me. I'm in.
Olivia: I can't. Maya has a doctor's appointment Friday morning. Have the best time and send me photos of everything.
I stare at my phone. I've traveled for work dozens of times but I've never flown to another country to watch a man play hockey. This is new territory. But the idea is exciting.
I type back: Count me in.
Harper sends back a string of champagne glass emojis, Avery sends a Canadian flag and Natalie sends a heart.
I check my calendar. Thursday and Friday are clear of client meetings. The Renegades account gives me flexibility that my other work doesn’t. Mabel approved travel to away games months ago as part of the sponsorship visibility review.
Technically I'm attending the Toronto game to assess the Renegades' brand presence in a Canadian market. I email Mabel's assistant and log the trip as a client site visit. Then I call Clara into my office.
“I need you to cover my Thursday afternoon meeting with the Tier 2 partners.”
“Where are you going?”
“Toronto. For the Renegades game.”
“For the Renegades game or for the Renegades defenseman?”
“For the account, Clara.”
“I'll cover your meeting. Bring me back a souvenir. And have fun with Logan,” she says with a grin, then grows serious. “You deserve all the happiness, Jaz.”
I grin back at her. “Thanks.”
On Thursday afternoon, we meet at the first-class lounge at LaGuardia. Harper is already there when I arrive, tucked into a leather chair with her carry-on at her feet and a glass of champagne in her hand.
“Cole called the airline and got us into the lounge,” she says.
Avery arrives next, pulling a carry-on that's twice the size of mine. Natalie follows five minutes later, slightly out of breath, apologizing about the traffic from her and Ethan’s home.
We settle into the lounge chairs, and Harper orders champagne for everyone. Our flight leaves in ninety minutes.
“When was the last time we did this?” Avery asks. “Just the four of us, going somewhere that isn't a local team event or a charity gala?”
“Never,” Harper says. “This is a first.”
“Then we need to make it count,” Natalie says, raising her glass. “To Toronto.”
“To Toronto.”
We clink glasses. I lean back in my chair and let the excitement settle over me. Going somewhere with women I care about to watch the men we love do what they do best. A year ago, my Friday nights were spent alone in my apartment with takeout and contract drafts.
Now I'm drinking champagne in an airport lounge, about to fly to Canada with my three closest friends.
My phone buzzes. It’s Logan.
You at the airport?
Me: First class lounge. Harper ordered champagne.
Logan: That sounds fun. We landed an hour ago. Hotel is nice. You'll like Toronto.
Me: I've never been.
Logan: I'm going to show you around tomorrow. I have a few hours free before I need to report to the arena.
Me: Can’t wait!
Logan: Me neither.
I put my phone away and pick up my champagne.
“That must have been Logan,” Harper says, then laughs. “You're doing the face where your eyes go dreamy when you text him. It's disgusting, and I love it.”
Avery leans across. “What face? Show me the face.”
I laugh. “There is no face.”
“There's a face,” Natalie says. “You did it at the last game, too. Every time he was on the ice, your whole expression changed.”
“Tell us about Maine,” Harper says.
I tell them about the house, the beach walks, and the shrimp scampi he made for dinner. I tell them he said I could bring my books to his study.
“He said you could put your books in his house?” Avery says.
“He said I could knock down a wall if I wanted,” I say happily.
“That man is gone,” Natalie says. “Completely and totally gone.”
Our flight is called. We gather our bags and walk to the gate. The first-class seats are wide with blankets folded on the armrests. I take the window, and Harper takes the aisle. Avery and Natalie are in the row ahead of us.
The plane takes off and New York drops away beneath us. The city shrinks to a grid of lights and then to nothing and we're above the clouds heading north.
Harper orders another round of champagne from the flight attendant. “Two hours. Nap, drink, or talk?”
“Talk.”
“About?”
“Tell me about away games.”
Harper settles into her seat. “It was our second month together.
The Renegades were playing in Montreal. Cole left my name at the hotel front desk with a room key and a note that said, 'Wear something warm, the arena is freezing.
' The room had flowers and a box of macarons from a French bakery he'd found near the hotel.”
“Cole Maddox bought you macarons.”
“He buys me macarons in every city he plays in. It started as a joke, and now it's a thing. I have a ranking system.”
“What's number one?”
“Paris. Montreal is a close second.”
Avery turns around from the row ahead. “Liam left me a jersey on the bed the first time I traveled to watch him play. It had his name on the back. I nearly killed him because we weren't public yet, and having a jersey with his name on it felt like a billboard announcement.”
“Did you wear it?” I ask.
“Under my coat. Nobody saw it, but I knew it was there.”
Natalie is quieter. “Ethan doesn't do grand gestures. When I traveled for his first game back after the injury, he just texted me after warm-ups. Two words. You're here. But the way he typed it, I knew what it meant.”
We talk for the rest of the flight about the men, the lifestyle, and the strange and wonderful reality of loving someone whose job involves getting hit by strangers while thousands of people watch.
Harper tells me about the first time she saw Cole fight and how she screamed so loud that the woman next to her spilled her beer. Avery talks about learning to read the game so she could understand what Liam was doing on the ice.
Natalie explains hockey injuries in detail, which makes Harper cover her ears.
The plane begins its descent into Toronto Pearson. The city appears below us, sprawling and lit up against the darkening sky. The CN Tower rises above everything, a needle of light against the clouds.
We land, collect our bags, and pile into a black SUV that Harper arranged. The drive to the hotel takes forty minutes through evening traffic. Toronto is beautiful at night. It’s clean and modern, with wide streets and glass towers that glow against the sky.
The hotel is the Shangri-La in the entertainment district. The lobby is all marble and soft lighting with enormous flower arrangements on every surface. Harper checks us in, and we take the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor. Two rooms with a connecting door.
Harper and I in one, Avery and Natalie in the other.
Our room is large with two queen beds and a wall of windows overlooking the city. The CN Tower is right there, lit up in blue, so close it dominates the entire view.
I drop my bag on the bed and pull out my phone. A text from Logan spreads pleasure all over my body.
You land okay?
Me: We're at the hotel. The room has a view of the CN Tower.
Logan: Wait until you see it during the day. Meet me tomorrow morning? I know a coffee place in Yorkville that's worth the walk.
Me: What time?
Logan: Ten. I'll send you the address. Wear comfortable shoes.
I put my phone on the nightstand and change out of my travel clothes. Through the connecting door, Avery and Natalie are arguing about who gets the bed closest to the window.
We reconvene in the lobby at eight and take a cab to a Japanese restaurant in Yorkville that Harper found. The hostess leads us to a corner table, and we order everything on the menu.
Edamame, sashimi, tempura, gyoza, two kinds of ramen, and a bottle of sake. The food is exceptional. By the second round of sake, we're loud enough that the table next to us glances over.
Natalie does an impression of Ethan trying to use chopsticks that reduces Avery to tears. By eleven, we're back at the hotel, full, happy, and slightly drunk.
Harper and I brush our teeth side by side at the bathroom sink.
“I'm glad you came,” Harper says through a mouthful of toothpaste.
“Me too.”
“Tomorrow is going to be fun. Seeing the city with Logan and then the game.”
“It's not just about Logan. It’s also being with you girls. I haven't had this in a long time. A group of women who just show up for each other.”
She spits and rinses. “That's what we do. We show up.”
I get into bed and pull the covers up. The city glows through the windows. My phone buzzes one last time.
Logan: Goodnight, baby. Can't wait to show you my Toronto tomorrow.
I type back: Goodnight. Sleep well. Score a goal for me tomorrow night.
Logan: I'll see what I can do.
I put the phone on the nightstand and close my eyes with a smile.
On Friday morning, I take a cab to Yorkville. The neighborhood is tree-lined and upscale with boutiques, galleries, and cafes with empty patio seating because it's November in Canada. The coffee shop Logan mentioned is on a quiet side street with a green awning and a chalkboard menu in the window.
He's already inside at a table in the back corner, and when he sees me, he stands.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” He pulls me into a hug. He smells like cedar and a masculine cologne that sends heat pooling low in my stomach. “How was last night?”
“We ate our body weight in Japanese food, and Harper drank enough sake to fuel a small country.”
Logan laughs. “I’m glad you girls are having fun.”
He's already ordered me a latte. “So what's the plan?” I ask.
“I have until three before I need to report to the arena. Four hours.”
“Four hours in Toronto. What are you showing me?”
He gives me a boyish grin. “Everything I can fit in.”
After coffee and catching up, we leave the coffee shop and start walking.
The November air is cold and bright. Logan takes me through Yorkville first, pointing out restaurants he's been to on road trips, a bookstore he found last season with a first edition he nearly bought, a gallery that had a landscape exhibit he spent an hour in while his teammates went to a bar.
“You went to an art gallery instead of a bar?” I ask with a laugh, even though inside, I’m loving who Logan is.
“Don't tell Liam.”
“Your secret is safe.”
We walk south through the university campus. Students bundled in coats cross the quad with coffee cups and backpacks. Logan tells me about playing the Wailers his rookie year and how the crowd was brutal.
“I was so nervous I almost threw up before warm-ups,” he says. “Seems so long ago.”
“You? Nervous?” I ask.
“I was nineteen, and twenty thousand people wanted me to fail.”
“And now?”
“Now I just want to win. The nerves turned into focus around year three.”
We find a market near the St. Lawrence neighborhood. Stalls selling cheese, bread, pastries, and smoked meats line the market. Logan buys me a butter tart from a vendor who swears it's the best in Ontario. The pastry is flaky and sweet, and the filling is warm and sticky.
“Better than jollof?” he asks.
“Don't push your luck.”
We walk along the waterfront. The lake is enormous, gray-blue and flat, stretching to the horizon. The wind off the water is bitter, and I pull my coat tighter.
Logan takes my hand. Nobody knows us here. No Renegades fans looking for autographs. He laces his fingers through mine, and we walk along the boardwalk.
“This is nice,” I say.
“Which part?”
“Holding your hand in public.”
He squeezes my fingers. “We could do this in New York.”
“Not yet.”
“I know. But someday.”
“Someday.”
We stop at a bench overlooking the water. He sits down and pulls me along with him. The wind is cold on my face, and his body is warm against my side.
“Thank you for coming,” he says. “Having you here tonight means a lot to me.”
“I'll be the one in the Renegades hoodie screaming your name,” I say.
“Please don't scream my name. Blake will never let me hear the end of it.”
“Then I'll scream Blake's name. Really confuse everyone.”
He laughs, and a couple walking past turns and smiles. I love being the person who draws that sound out of him.
We walk back toward the hotel at two-thirty. At the corner near the entrance, he stops. He cups my face with both hands. His fingers are cold against my cheeks.
“I'll see you after the game,” he says.
“Play well.”
“I'll be playing for you.”
He kisses me on a street corner in Toronto with people walking past and the CN Tower rising behind him against the gray sky. When he pulls back his blue eyes are bright.
“Go get ready,” he says. “I’ll see you later. Love you.”
“Love you,” I reply and give him another quick kiss. He walks away toward the arena, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders straight. I stand on the corner and watch him until he rounds the block. Then I turn and walk into the hotel to get ready for the game.