Proud,with three clapping emojis.
OUR HOMETOWN QUEEN.
The comments with support for Jordan are endless.The fans love her. The fans have claimed her as their own.
“Jordan?” I look to her. “Any words?”
“You said it best.” She pauses. “Can you all hold on a second? I need to make a quick wardrobe change.”
She steps into the hall, and the guys glance at each other. Volkov cuts me a curious glance but I shrug.
A moment later, Jordan returns to the doorway and what she’s wearing makes me soar.
“That’s better,” she says, and everyone hoots and hollers at her jersey.
“Who’s on the back?” Walker yells. “It better be me.”
She turns and I press a fist to my mouth, overcome, because I can already see the number on the arm.
WARD, her jersey says. Number eighty-seven.
“In Ward We Trust,” she says simply, and everyone cheers.
Once the room quiets down, everyone looks back to me.
“Thank you, Jordan. We couldn’t have gotten here without you.” I look to the guys. “Do you love this game?”
They cheer.
“Do you want to win?”
Another round of cheers, louder.
“Are you ready to fight for it?”
More cheers, whistling, sticks tapping the floor.
“Alright. Let’s have some fun and show them a good time.”
The guys disperse through the door, and the announcer starts calling their names, one by one, while the music in the arena plays and the fans roar.
Jordan lingers, eyes on the doorway to the ice, before she turns to head up to the owner’s box.
“Jordan.”
She stops and turns, eyes meeting mine.
“Join us on the bench tonight.”
She presses her lips together, taking a deep breath as hesitation fills her eyes. A dozen reasons why she belongs out there rise in my mind, but I stay quiet, because this is her battle.
Maybe she’ll say no, and that’s okay, but I’d really like her to say yes, because she’s the reason the Storm made it to the fourth round.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?” My eyebrows lift, and I’m smiling again, relieved and proud. “You will?”
She nods. “I will.”
