Chapter 95
JORDAN
After winning the Stanley Cup, the Vancouver Storm celebrates at the Filthy Flamingo.
Everyone is here—the players, partners, team staff, parents, and the friends—high on life, taking pictures and reliving moments from the game.
Filling the space with love and laughter.
The photo of Rory holding the Cup above his head, grinning ear to ear, is making the rounds on the internet.
The players’ families have joined them here and the small bar is more crowded than ever.
I’ve tacked up at least a dozen new Polaroids.
My mom would love this. Maybe the good old days never end. Maybe they just change.
“I love this place,” Bea tells me cheerfully, drinking a Shirley Temple at the counter.
“Me, too.” I snap a Polaroid of her. My mom would love her, too.
The manager I hired as a temporary solution happily agreed to stay permanently, but tonight, I can’t help but step behind the bar.
It’s different this time, though. I’m here because I want to be.
Not because I think this is the only place I belong.
Not because I want to keep distance between myself and the people I love.
The Grand Finale is the special cocktail of the evening, with gin, vermouth, and to my horror, blue curacao. An intense, bittersweet drink to match the team colors.
“Am I allowed to be here?” Bea asks me and Tate.
“Definitely not.” I gesture around. “Take a good look, Bee, because this is the last time you’re going to see the inside of this place until you’re nineteen.” The legal drinking age in British Columbia.
Tate raises his eyebrows at me with a teasing look. “Sounding like a stern parent, there.”
“Ew, you’re right.” I make a face at Bea. “How about some coffee? Candy? Want to get tattoos?”
She giggles. “My dad got a tattoo today.”
I give her a surprised look. “What?”
She nods. “He did. This morning.”
I look to Tate but instead of laughing, he just looks—oh. Patiently amused, with that steady smile. Maybe a little bashful.
“You got another tattoo?”
My hopeful little heart lifts.
“Yes.” He gives Bea a look that’s half-entertained, half-scolding. “I was going to tell you later.”
“Sorry.” Bea grins.
“Can I see?” I ask.
Tate starts unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt and my eyebrows go up. He pulls the left panel of his shirt aside and my heart drops.
Beside the Big Bear and Little Bear constellations, right over his heart, is a new constellation.
“What is that?” I ask, holding his eyes while my heart trips over itself.
I know what it is, though.
“The Little Fox,” he answers, eyes on me. “You belong with us.”
Like it’s so simple.
Bea looks between us with a smile, and I can’t take it anymore. I round the bar, step into Tate’s space—he’s already standing to meet me—and kiss him.
People whistle at us and I don’t care.
“I guess you like it,” Tate says when I break the kiss.
I nod. “Yes. I like it. And I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he says with affection in his eyes.
How did I get so lucky? How is this my reality? I shake my head at him. “I can’t believe you got a tattoo for me.”
His eyes soften. “I’d do anything for you, honey.”
My heart squeezes. He said that about Bea, once. “I’d do anything for you.” I smile down at her, who’s watching us with delight all over her face. “And you, Bee.”
“I know.” She swings her feet off the stool.
The door opens, and my father walks in. He takes a hesitant glance around before he spots Tate and me.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Tate.
He nods, taking a seat beside the smiling Bea, and I head over to my dad at the door.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He takes a deep breath, taking in the celebration, the packed bar full of hockey players, like he isn’t sure where to look. “Look at this place.”
“Welcome to the Filthy Flamingo, Dad.”
He smiles softly, eyes snagging on the string lights across the ceiling, his smile turning wistful, before his eyes come to me.
“Congratulations, Jordan. I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I believe him. I believe that he thought I could do it all along.
He looks around again. “I always wanted to come here.”
“Maybe you should have.”
He hums, nodding. “Yes. I should have.”
I make the first move, wrapping my arms around him tightly, and a moment later, he embraces me back with a strength that surprises me. My heart aches at his familiar scent.
“Your mother would be so proud of you,” he tells me.
“She would be proud of you, too,” I admit. “And of us.”
I can feel his smile against the top of my head. “Yes. She would.”
Tate, Bea, my friends, my team, my father. I’m loved. I’m so loved.
We pull apart, both slightly embarrassed by the vulnerability, darting glances at each other.
“Hi, Ross, Jordan,” Darcy says at our side, and my dad and I relax at the interruption.
She gestures at a woman in her early twenties with dark hair that ends just above her shoulders.
“This is my co-op student from Queen’s.” A university in Ontario.
“Briar Young. Her term starts in September, but I wanted her to meet everyone first.”
“Nice to meet you, Briar.” My father shakes her hand. “Welcome to the Vancouver Storm.”
“We’re so happy to have you,” I tell her with a welcoming smile. “Maybe I can take you for lunch during your first week. I can help introduce you around.”
Briar gives me a shy but pleased look. “I’d love that. Thank you.”
“What are you in school for—”
“Hey.” Luca’s suddenly in front of her with a puzzled expression before his mouth starts to curve. “You. I know you.”
Briar’s eyes go wide and she takes a step back. “What? No.”
Right. Luca went to Queen’s, too. He played hockey there.
“Yeah, I do.” He takes a step forward, full attention on her. He looks at Briar like he found something he lost. Like he’s spellbound. “I remember you. I looked for you.”
Briar, however, looks like she wants to disappear into the floor, eyes darting around all of us. Anywhere but Luca. “You’re thinking of someone else. Sorry, I have to go.” She glances between me and my dad. “Nice meeting you.”
She disappears into the crowd, and Luca watches her walk away with a lovestruck expression.
“Rookie,” I warn.
He stares in the direction Briar disappeared. “I’m going to marry her.”
Darcy and I exchange a bemused look and Luca’s gaze swings to Darcy, determined and focused. “What’s her name?”
Darcy narrows her eyes. “Briar.”
“Briar,” he repeats, looking back over the packed bar, searching for her. “Pretty name.”
“Do not make this weird,” I tell him, and like he’s clearing his head from a dream, he blinks back to the present, looking down at me.
“What?” He blanches. “Why would I make things weird?”
Darcy and I stare at him.
“I won’t make things weird,” he promises us.
“And you won’t make her uncomfortable,” Darcy tells him in a firm tone.
“I won’t make her uncomfortable.” He takes a deep breath like he’s nervous. “But I am going to marry her.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. A slow song starts playing in the bar, and Tate catches my eye.
“Excuse me,” I tell them. “Someone’s waiting for me.”
Tate’s eyes stay on me as I make my way to him and he holds his hand out to me.
“Would you like to dance with me, Jordan?”
I nod, and he pulls me to the back area. People see what he’s doing and clear the way, some pairs joining us. He puts his other arm around my waist, and holds me close.
“What do you think about getting married at the summer house?” he asks as we sway.
My eyes lift to his, my heart in my throat. “I love that idea.”
His gaze goes soft like velvet, like I’m cute and he loves me. “This is not me asking you.”
“Oh, really?” My eyebrows go up. “Sounds like it.”
“Uh-uh. I still need to get a ring.” He searches my eyes. “With an indigo stone, like your eyes.”
“I’d love that.”
He hums, holding me close. We’re surrounded by people, and yet it’s the two of us in our own little world.
“I can’t believe you got a tattoo for me.” I shake my head. “Tattoos are forever, Tate.”
“I know.” He leans down, kisses me, and smiles against my lips. “So are we.”