I take in the scene, unable to breathe. The guys are all smiling. But no one as brightly as JJ.
Told you, his eyes say.
My stomach flips over. He did. When it comes to this career, he has always believed in me.
He waves his arms, and when the chanting dies down, he says, “She’s got her own locker room.”
I jolt back, blinking. What?
“But we’re going to make sure she can come hang with us in here before games. Clothes, men.” His jaw hardens as he scans each of them. “No dicks out. I’m serious.”
“What are you talking about?” I choke out.
Demeanor softening, he looks my way. “Your dad didn’t do the honors?”
I open my mouth, only to shut it again when no sound comes out. Finally I just shake my head.
He reaches for my hand, but he catches himself quickly and then slips it into his pocket instead.
I’m not the only one who catches it. Bray is watching him, eyes narrowed.
JJ clears his throat. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
I follow him out the door and across the hall to the door that leads to the film room. Inside, the space is unrecognizable. Where the huge screen used to be mounted, there’s now a mirror and two sinks. The white marble of the vanity is oddly similar to that in the bathrooms inthe brownstone.
I chuckle. When my dad likes something, he sticks to it.
To the right is a spacious shower, and to my left is a bench and four stalls in the same design as the equipment in the men’s locker room.
Four stalls. Enough space for three other players. A thrill shoots through me. It’s suddenly easy to imagine a time when another woman will join me in here. When I won’t be the only female on the team.
The best part has been stored inside one of the stalls.
It’s my goalie gear. Complete with my new uniform.Myjersey.
I snag it, spin it around, and suck in a breath.Langfield. I admire the way my last name—the last name of the man who gave me everything, of the family that has never once not shown up for me—is emblazoned across the shoulders. But the next part makes my heart stutter. “Thirteen. But that’s?—”
“My number.” My Uncle Brooks appears out of thin air, leaning against the open doorframe.
“I don’t understand. Your number was retired. You’re—Brooks Langfield.” A manic laugh bubbles out of me. “Number Thirteen. Greatest of all time.”
He grins. “There’s not another person in this world who could wear that number, Addie. Do it proud.”
I blink back tears and turn to JJ. “Did you know about this?”
Smiling, he dips his chin. I so badly want to rush into his arms. I want to hug him. Crash against his chest and celebrate this wrapped in his warmth. Instead, I simply suck in a breath and nod at my uncle. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Get dressed. We’ve got a lot of practice ahead of us.”
That statement ends up being the theme of the week. Despite the exciting media signing my Aunt Sara organizes and my own eagerness to play, Brooks and Gavin keep JJ as our goaltender for every game over the first two weeks. Jarred and I practice as if we’ll be playing, but it isn’t until the second week of November that I’m given the green light.
“You’re on tomorrow night.”
Jarred, JJ, and I are all seated across from Brooks, going over tomorrow’s game plan after watching film.
I peek over at JJ, apprehensive about his reaction.
But I should have known better. I should have guessed he’d be smiling.
