Chapter 7
Jordan
Driving away from Victoria that morning last week was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I don’t know why. It should have been easy. Not just because of our history but also because she fundamentally turned me down when I asked her out.
And yet, it’s been a week, and I’m still thinking about it. About her.
It’s March, so I should be thinking about nothing but hockey.
Maybe making some plans for summer, although that’s still a ways away.
The last thing I need is to continue pining for my ex.
I barely pined for her when we were freshly broken up, so it makes no sense that I’m so preoccupied with her now.
The worst part is, I can’t really talk to anyone about it.
I told Jude and Chloe a simplified version of our meeting, about the miscommunication and how we were essentially lied to and manipulated by everyone around us, but not about the end.
Where I asked her out and she said no but then didn’t seem to want to get out of the SUV.
I’m kind of confused about that. I know damn well she wanted to say yes but I guess her father still controls her, just like he did before. It’s better for me that we don’t see each other again, I know that, but I’m still frustrated by the whole thing.
Tonight’s home game is against Nashville and it’s bobblehead night at the arena.
Mine. They made me a freakin’ bobblehead, which is both cool as fuck and ridiculous.
My mom made me promise to get her one, so I have one stashed in my locker, but it feels a little surreal to have this much attention on me.
Of course, I’m having a hell of a season, and I’ve become a fan favorite of late, so the marketing department decided I was the perfect player for this special event.
The first five thousand people to arrive at the arena get it for free and last we heard, people started lining up at noon. It’s kind of crazy considering it’s like a ten-dollar item, but anything that gets our fans excited is a good thing.
“You ready, bobblehead?” Milo asks with a laugh.
I lift my middle finger in response.
He just grins as he moves past me and into the tunnel. We’re about to start warmups, and for some reason I’m a little nervous. I don’t get stage fright or anything, but it feels like tonight is all about me, and it’s weird.
I move down the tunnel, trying to stay focused, and the rush of cold air from the arena hits me at the same time someone calls my name.
It’s a woman’s voice.
One I instantly recognize.
And against my better judgment, I look up.
Victoria.
Leaning over the rail, holding out her hand, her face a mask of nothingness.
Then she nods, motioning that she wants me to take whatever is in her hand.
There are a million people watching and I know this is going to bite me in the ass but I take the small, folded piece of paper anyway. Then I keep walking without looking back. It’s killing me not to know what it says so I drop my head and look down.
954-555-0001
Her phone number.
Why does she want me to have it? Is she letting me know she wants me to call her? I’m so damn confused. And a little pissed off that she chose right before a game to drop this on me.
Of course, she has no other way to get in touch with me so I guess it makes sense.
I glance back to where she was standing, but she’s gone now.
“Who was that?” Milo asks, skating up next to me. He’s younger than I am and wasn’t around during my rookie season, so he probably has no idea what went down. Or who Victoria is. Despite being with me at the club the other night.
“An old friend,” I say casually.
He grins. “The same one from that night at the club? She’s hot.”
That she is.
“Yeah.” What else can I say?
“Why do you look rattled?” he asks curiously.
“It’s a long story. Not one for right before a game.”
He nods. “Gotcha.”
We get into position and start shooting pucks at the net but my mind is a million miles away.
954-555-0001.
I’ve already memorized it.
Because I know I’m going to call her.
I don’t know why, and I’m probably going to say something stupid, but the digits of her phone number are already burned into my brain.
The last week has been a blur of anger, frustration, disappointment, and…
yearning. Like I’m desperate for something I don’t even want.
I’m not talking about sex. God knows, I’ve had so much of that the last few years, it’s almost embarrassing.
No, there’s something more intimate about my need for Victoria.
She was my first love, and if I’m honest, the only woman I’ve truly loved.
We were young but everything burned so hot, so fast.
Everyone warned me it was too soon, she was still in high school, but I couldn’t resist her then and it seems like I can’t resist her now. I sulked when she turned down my offer to go out again, and now that she’s extended some kind of olive branch, I’m equal parts giddy and wary.
Asking her out had been impulsive but the desire to spend more time with her—get to know her again—was genuine. And she was conflicted. I understand that; if her father is even half as grumpy as he was four years ago, he won’t be happy to see me back in her life.
And yet, I’m still going to call her.
* * *
The game feels like it lasts forever, but we manage to win 2-1.
I even got an assist, though I barely remember passing the puck to our team captain, Vaughn Elliott.
I rarely allow myself to get distracted during games, but it was hard to concentrate, wondering if Victoria is still here.
If she cheered for me. If she’s waiting for me to reach out to her after the game.
Does she still own the jersey I bought her for Christmas that year?
I’m an idiot.
I already know this, and as soon as the game is over, I join Jude in the dressing room.
“She’s here,” I say without explanation.
He nods, as if he was totally expecting this.
“That’s it? Just a nod?”
“You’re a grown man who can make your own decisions. I’m assuming there’s a reason you invited her.”
“I didn’t. She was standing along the rail before warm-ups, handed me a piece of paper with her number. I don’t know what that means.”
He arches a brow. “It means…she wants you to call her.”
“But I asked her if she wanted to go out sometime and she said no!”
The bastard actually laughs. “Do you know women? I mean, at all?”
“Fuck you,” I mumble, leaning against the lockers.
“Chloe is the love of my life, I would do anything for that woman—but do you know how often she changes her mind?” He shakes his head.
“I want a blueberry muffin—no, wait! Poppyseed. I’m going to wear the red dress on Saturday.
Then she comes out wearing a blue one. And she’s not the first woman I’ve dated like this. ”
“Yeah, but that’s tame stuff. This is bigger. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe she left her hair tie in your car and wants it back. Maybe she’s mad about something she still wants to get off her chest. Or maybe, you caught her off-guard and now that she’s had time to think about it, she just changed her mind.”
I sigh heavily.
I’m not good at this shit.
I’ve dated a lot of women in the last four years, but I haven’t been in any kind of relationship.
In the beginning, I missed Victoria so much it was hard to breathe.
Then it morphed into survival mode, showing up to the arena every day determined to make my way back to the Knights. Now I’m just…treading water.
Unsure what I want in life beyond hockey.
“You’ve been trying to figure out your next steps for the last year,” he says, as if reading my mind.
“Maybe there really is unfinished business with her. They make a lot of jokes about your first love, but some of those relationships are more intense than others. Mine was not—high school love that fizzled out. Yours was different. So go see what it is you’re still holding on to. ”
“You don’t think it’s a mistake?”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” he says, chuckling. “But you’re your own man and you have to make your own mistakes. Just try not to blow up your life this time.”
“There will be no blowing up my life,” I say firmly, pulling on my shirt. “Under no circumstances am I blowing up anything.”
I don’t feel nearly as convinced as I sound but he’s right that the situation with Victoria feels unfinished. No matter how hard I try to put her out of my mind, it doesn’t work. Apparently, not for her either.
Yanking out my phone, I type out her number.
954-555-0001.
Then I send her a text.
JORDAN: Are you still at the arena?