His eyes dip to my mouth and my stomach does a slow roll forward. That sounded more suggestive than I meant. I’m toeing the line of flirting, if I were the type of person to flirt.
He pulls his gaze up to my eyes. “Something about your sparkling personality, I suppose.” A pause. “I’d like to talk.”
“I’m busy.” I start to move past him but he steps into my path.
“Well, I came all the way here to talk to you, Jordan, so maybe you can spare thirty seconds.”
Oh. There we go. Another slip in his controlled exterior. Point Jordan. Satisfaction spreads through me.
He runs a hand through his thick hair. “Ross is going to sell the team.”
The air—it’s gone from my lungs, sucked out of me. I stare at him in disbelief, the sounds of the city, car horns and sirens and music from other bars and restaurants in the neighborhood, fading away.
“How do you—no.” He’s wrong. “He’s not selling. He loves that team.”
The Vancouver Storm has always been my father’s whole life. When he was a player, when he was a coach, and now as theowner. Nothing, not me or my mom, has ever mattered as much as his team.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper as my mind reels.
I do, though. Tate Ward doesn’t lie. I don’t think he has the ability.
He exhales, watching me. “You know what a new owner means, right?”
“Change.”
They bring their own philosophies, their own management style, their own people. They make big changes to show their value, or even just to be talked about in the media.
I glance past Tate, inside the bar, where they’re all celebrating. They all have jobs and family here. Vancouver is their home.
A new owner means trades. Jamie, Rory, Hayden are all in their prime. They’re high-value stars. They’re at the top of the league.
A cold, hard stone forms in the pit of my stomach.
“A new owner could ruin everything,” I say quietly.
I can’t lose these people, and I can’t let their lives be torn apart. I can’t let them lose each other. This is why I wasn’t supposed to get attached, because now I care.
Now I have to watch them leave. I knew it would happen one day, and yet I’m not ready. It’s too soon.
I’m not ready for the good old days to be over yet.
“You know what you have to do, right?” Tate dips his head to catch my eyes, and I’m struck by the intensity in his gaze.
I rear back. “What amIgoing to do about this? You’re besties with Ross.”
“He’s not interested in what I have to say. He might actually listen to you.” He moves past me and starts walking down the alley.
“What am I supposed to say?” I call after him.
“You’ll think of something,” he says without looking back. “I believe in you.”
I stare after him, mind spinning and scrambling, holding the fate of the Vancouver Storm in my hands.
Before I head back to the bar, I glance down at the plate.
It’s empty.
CHAPTER 4
