Regardless of my personal feelings about Jordan, I owe it to the team and to Ross to use her to the best of her ability.
“Are we done?” Volkov asks, nudging his chin at the ice.
“Yeah. We’re done. He’s not our guy.”
Upstairs, when I walk past her empty office, the box I left on her desk is gone. I sit at my desk, pull my phone out of my pocket, and make a call.
“Well, well, well,” Coach Jay Choudhury answers. “If it isn’t Daddy Ward.”
“Come on.” I can feel the smile pulling across my face. Some things never change, like the way teammates rib each other as a form of affection. My heart tugs with nostalgia.
He laughs. “It’s been what, ten years?”
“Something like that.” Ten years since I blew out my knee, fell into a deep depression, and stopped talking to all the teammates I used to consider my family. “How are you doing, Jay?”
“Great, actually. I’m in your old job at UBC, coaching women’s hockey.”
“I know. That’s actually why I called.” My gaze wanders out the window and I think about her telling me Hutton wasn’t our guy. “I want to ask you about Jordan Hathaway.”
CHAPTER 14
TATE
On Saturday night,I slide into one of the bar seats at the Filthy Flamingo, my suspicion about Jordan Hathaway confirmed. She appears in front of me, one eyebrow raised. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Jordan.” I lean back in my seat, looking around the small bar. It’s not a game night, so it’s just a few regulars sitting near the back.
This is why she’s so tired. She’s been working her tail off this past week.
Guilt twists in my chest, hard. I should have noticed sooner. I should have done something about it. For anyone else, I would have.
“Tate.” She holds my eyes, and I like the way she says my name. “What are you doing here?” she asks again.
“Why are you still working at the bar, Jordan?”
“I’m trying to find a manager.”
“How long is that going to take?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. How long do trades take? They take as long as you need to find the right person.”
Fair point, but I still find myself hauling in a deep breath, raking a hand through my hair in frustration.
“The team can help you find someone for the bar.”
“No, thanks. I’ve seen how you recruit. I’m all set.”
“About that.” I hold her eyes. Under the twinkle lights she has strung up along the ceiling, they sparkle. “You were right.”
She blinks once, like she isn’t sure she heard right, before her mouth curves. It’s not a full, genuine smile, but it’s not the guarded look she normally wears.
It’s a start. A start of what, though, I have no clue.
“Excuse me?”
“You were right,” I repeat. “He didn’t work out.”
Her lips part in surprise and something flares in her eyes. She likes being right. No, shelovesbeing right.
