TATE
That night,the Vancouver Storm players stand in the hallway that leads to the ice, buzzing with energy as the lights in the arena go down and the opening notes of the music start to play.
At my side, Jordan wears a jersey with my name on the back beneath her suit jacket, and pride expands through my chest. Bea’s out in the crowd, wearing her own Storm jersey, cheering us on.
I bring my mouth to Jordan’s ear. “I like the way you look in my jersey.”
She cuts me a dry glance, but her eyes are sparkling. “Now is not the time to flirt with me.”
“Who’s flirting?” I give her an innocent look. “I’m just saying you look good with my name on your back.”
Her eyes narrow.
I lower my voice so no one else can hear. “Am I thinking about bending you over my desk and fucking you while you wear it? Sure. But that’s beside the point.”
Her cheeks go pink. “Tate.”
“Jordan, please.” I nudge my chin to the doorway. “The game’s about to start. Be professional.”
She rolls her eyes, laughing.
Rory looks up and down the line of players. “Playing with you all this season has been an honor. Let’s show them a good time.”
“And now,” the announcer’s voice rings out in the arena, and theguys stand up straighter,“for the last time this season, please welcome the Vancouver Storm!”
“Ready?” I ask Jordan at my side.
She looks up at me, eyes sparkling, and nods.
“Win or lose, honey.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Finally, we don’t have to hide. “It was all worth it.”
“Win or lose.” She studies me with a wistful smile.
She feels it too—that it’s not the result. It’s the process. It’s the journey.
She slants me a look, a determined glint in her eyes. “I really want to win, though.”
I laugh, that competitive spark flaring in my chest. “Me, too.”
“Please welcome,” the announcer calls.“Luca Walker!”
Walker does a lap around the ice, grinning at a group of people holding signs of his face.
“He loves the attention,” Jordan says beside me, shaking her head. She’s smiling, though.
“Carey Colworth!”
Colworth hits the ice, skating hard as the fans cheer. He’s only been with the team for a couple months but a few fans wear cowboy hats and Hawaiian shirts over their jerseys in homage to him.
“Rasmus Hallstrom!”
More cheers as the Swede skates with a serious, stoic expression.
“Warren Kilgour!”
Kilgour does a lap, and I glance to the seats where his dad and sister sit, proud of him.
“Goaltender Jamie Streicher!”
