She makes a stifled, happy yelp, and my heart lifts. Jordan Hathaway loves this team, and she’ll do anything to help them win.
“Alright.” I nod. “Let’s try.”
Two days later, game one of the second round starts, and I stand on the bench with Volkov and Miller on my left. Warren Kilgour, the mid-twenties brick wall defenseman with cold eyes and an intimidating glower, is suited up in his new Storm uniform after receiving the go-ahead from the new league commissioner.
Only Jordan knows what really happened with his expulsion.Do you trust me?she asked.Because Warren trusts me, and it’s not my story to tell. He’s solid, Tate. I’m telling you.
After we swept the first round, the city is more excited. The arena is packed. Every bar has the game on. All day, I’ve been seeing jerseys and flags and Storm hats everywhere. The sports world is buzzing with interest about the return of Warren Kilgour.
He’s a complete asshole, it turns out, but that’s what the team needs. And that part of me that sees potential in people wonders ifmaybe he just needs the right group of guys. Maybe it’s a front, like it was for Jordan.
Five minutes into the first period, Walker gets the puck and Kilgour covers him. Fraser hits the ice and goes straight for the Rookie, skating hard and fast with hate in his eyes.
Kilgour blocks Fraser with ease, protecting Walker, and the fans cheer for their new enforcer.
We win the game, and when we step off the bench, Jordan’s there to meet me, smiling brilliantly.
“Satisfied?” I ask.
She grins. “Very.”
We win the first two games in the series, lose one, and win two more, and with Kilgour on the Vancouver Storm, we move on to the third round of the Stanley Cup playoffs.
CHAPTER 81
JORDAN
“Nervous?”Tate asks as we follow Bea up the front steps of Holly and Jeff’s place for her birthday dinner.
“Nope.” Yes. Extremely.
He gives me an amused look, holding Bea’s birthday cake. “Holly already loves you. Bea talks about you all the time.”
I clutch the bag with Bea’s presents a little harder. “She does?”
“Of course.” Tate gives me a warm, easy smile, like it’s all going to be okay. “You’re one of Bea’s favorites.”
Oh god. My heart. I can’t take it when he says things like that. It’s too nice, this feeling of being part of something.
“After Phoebe,” he adds, and I laugh.
“High praise.”
Bea throws the front door open. “It’s my birthday,” she sings into the house, kicking her shoes off and racing inside.
My heart pounds, my nerves jump in my stomach, and I’m sweating.
“Remember our safeword?” Tate asks with that look in his eyes. He lowers his voice. “Horny screamer.”
“Hornedscreamer,” I say just as a woman rounds the corner into the foyer.
“Hi.” She beams at us. “What’s this about horny screamers?”
Oh god. I close my eyes, ready to die now.
“Just going over the safeword Jordan and I like to use,” Tatesays, tucking an arm around my shoulder as I stand frozen. “Hi, Holly.”
“Hi, Tate.” She’s grinning like she’s used to his weird sense of humor as she turns her attention to me. “Andthismust be the famous Jordan.”
