Does he need me to bitch slap him off this jet?
I take a deep inhale, trying to compose myself, and refuse to respond. Just begin the checklist, and it’ll be over before I know it.
“Oxygen?”
“Tests at one hundred percent.”
“Flight instruments?” I say, giving him the next item on the list.
“Heading, zero-one-one. Standby heading, zero-one-two. Altimeter, two-niner-niner-two.” He lists off the readings as we mark them complete and verify everything is in working order. I notice him peering over to my side of the panel to ensure I’m giving him the correct values.
A pit forms in my stomach knowing that if a man were in my place, he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t fucking trust me simply because I’m female. Theynevertrust me to fly.Great.I roll my shoulders back, remind myself I earned my spot here despite whatever fucking Chadd believes, and finish the damn checklist.
As we wait for fueling to wrap-up, this already feels like the longest sixty-minute flight I’ve ever flown, and we haven’t even taken off yet. My eyes flutter closed as I force a breath deep into my lungs. Not to mention what the rest of this long-ass season will be like if this asshole is on the jet.
Can this day get any worse?
First, I had to witness the spectacle that is Bougie on Ice while listening to all his adoring fangirls, and now I’m forced to sit next to another cocky, pompous, better-than-everyone man-child.
I’m officially changing this flight plan to take me directly to the nearest spa.
7
jordan
Late in the third, we’re only up 6–5. Wewereup by four, but the Chicago Saints must have done some sort of sorcery between periods and went on a goddamn run. The way Vladi just slammed his water bottle down in his net lets the entire arena know he’s fucking pissed.Great.And in the most unsurprising news of the night, Tay is not on his game. He puked on the bench after his last shift and is now back in the locker room getting fluids.
Guess him getting shitfaced drunk the night before a game wasn’t the brightest of ideas after all.
So here we are, up by one goal with only minutes left on the clock, and I have one objective – keep the puck the fuck out of here.
Chicago pulled their goalie, risking the empty net for an extra man to cover in the defensive zone. My heart races, every one of my senses on high alert—this is my time to shine. The puck heads my way, my eyes laser-focused on the black disk, and I clear it away from the crease, sending it toward Chicago’s empty net. Thank fucking God it’s out of our zone.
Chicago’s defenseman Miles King races to the puck, taking it behind his own goal, setting up a play with thirty seconds left onthe clock. I shift my weight back and forth, trying to anticipate what their move is.
“Bougie, watch Fox—he’s been sneaking in the crease all night shoving Vladi and the refs aren’t calling shit.”
“Got it, Larsy!” I scream at Hayes Larson, our center and badass motherfucker. He’s a great leader on the ice—I can only hope to be like him one day. He’s earned his alternate captain title ten times over. And he’s a fucking good guy.Andthe love he has for his wife, Olivia, is straight out of a fairy tale.One I wish I had.But now King is skating toward us to try and tie it up and force overtime. He crosses the blue line, firing off a shot on goal. Vladi blocks it, but there’s a scrum in front of the net over the rebound. His stick gets caught in one of the other team’s skates as he fights to free it, but it’s no use.
I watch in horror as it skids across the ice just as Chicago’s center passes to Fox. Right in front of me. Right in front of the net. The blood drains from my face as Fox unleashes a shot, the puck moving in slow motion toward the goal. My stick can’t reach it, Vladi’s stick is gone, which means he’s scrambling to do something,anything,to stop this shot.
I’ve got to do something.I lunge toward the other side of the goal, diving on the ice between Fox and Vladi, releasing a sigh of relief as a sting of pain hits my chest.
Shot. Blocked.
The horn signaling the end of the game goes off, and I, Jordan Joseph Boucher, have made a defensive play to win the game. My teammates rush the goal to tap Vladi’s helmets with their own, afterward treating me with a round of pats on the back and echoes of ‘nice dive’ and I let out a yell, my lungs still burning from the game. This is one of those moments that make me love hockey. We have a lot of shitty games, losses, injuries, workouts, practices…but when we all come together as a team,when we do whatever it takes to win and succeed? That makes it all worth it.
“Great job in the o-zone tonight, boys! We kept them on their toes the entire sixty minutes, had good shots on net, and continued firing them in until they hit. Defense, we need to do a better job of keeping pucks out of the crease. Tonight’s game puck goes to EJ with his goal and two assists,” Coach Cal says after the game in the locker room. We all shout and cheer him on. EJ’s had a rough few games, but he’s finally found his groove again tonight.
“Thanks, Coach,” EJ says, taking the puck, eyeing it for a moment, lips pressed together before making the usual post-game celebratory speech. “I felt great tonight, and that’s all thanks to everyone in this locker room. Onto the next one!”
“Boucher!” Coach barks as I jolt in my seat. “My office.Now.”
Shit.I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this, but to get called out in front of the entire team?I might have gone too far this time…
I follow him down the tunnel to his office space here at the arena. I swallow hard, waiting in the doorframe as he walks behind his desk.
“Sit,” he growls, staring me down like a grizzly bear about to attack—and I’m his next victim.
