“Jordan.”
This is why women don’t belong in sports,another reads.And now she’s on the bench?
This is exactly what the team doesn’t need—a flurry of terrible press, the morning of the most important game of their careers. Everyone looking at us for the wrong reasons. Just like with Rory’s injury, the team’s morale will plummet, they’ll lose tonight’s game, and it’ll all be my fault.
They’ll turn on me. They’ll never forgive me.
It’s over. No matter what happens after tonight, my time with the team is done. No one will take me seriously after this. Whatever career in sports I had up until now, it’s gone.
It was too good to be true. Good things are temporary, and I forgot that.
Stupid, stupid Jordan.
“Jordan.” Georgia has urgency in her eyes and voice, and I crash back to the horrible present. She starts to say something but I’m already standing, crawling out of my skin.
“I have to go.” I have to get out of here, away from them. I can’t even look at them, because if I see the blame on their faces, I’ll just—I don’t know.
This is already going to be hard enough.
I hurry out of the café, ignoring my name called after me, and head to my safe place.
CHAPTER 92
JORDAN
The Filthy Flamingo is dark,empty, and silent.
I flick the lights on, lock the door behind me, and head to my old office. A cup with the new manager’s pens sits on the desk, the frayed spot on the chair has been patched, and there’s a framed picture of her and her girlfriend.
Being alone used to be comforting, but now, it just feelslonely.
Or maybe it always did, and I told myself differently. Being alone used to be a solace, because I didn’t need anyone or anything, but now, I sit here in this quiet office with the horrible reality of my situation looming at the edge of my thoughts, and none of it is the same. I don’t feel better, hiding from the world.
I don’t want to be alone; I want Tate. The bar isn’t my safe place, anymore—Tate is.
Something shifts in my mind. All the puzzle pieces slide around, rearranging. Yes, the team could be decimated by a stupid decision I made, butImade that decision. I let Tate take my hand in public and I didn’t care. And now I’m hiding from the consequences of my actions while he’s probably scrambling to handle it?
How is that fair to him? How can I tell him I want a life with him while I let him clean up a mess we created together?
How is that setting an example for my team? For Bea?
And how does this look to the team, that I abandon them whenthey need me? That’s not a leader. That’s not someone who would do anything for her organization.
Urgency grows within me. People will say I’m only with the team because I’m fucking the head coach. Maybe no one will take me seriously, anymore. Maybe the fans will turn their backs on me.
What if they don’t, though? I’ve worked so hard these past months. I’ve done everything I can to show how much I care about the Vancouver Storm.
If I walk away now, I’m showing the team they never mattered to me. That I’m not willing to fight for my place with them. Hiding here in the bar, I’m a coward. Something to regret when I’m old and gray.
A renewed sense of courage grows in me. I’m scared, but I’m doing this anyway.
I love Tate, I love this team, and I know what I need to do.
Outside the bar, after I’ve turned the lights off and locked up again, I turn on my phone and call the Storm’s head of PR.
“Finally,” she answers with relief. “I’ve been calling you and Tate all morning.”
So he’s still with Bea, with his phone off.
