Chapter 16

16

JACK

Ella shares her sea salt and caramel popcorn with me as our conversation takes flight for the duration in the air. I temporarily forget about the decision I have to make tonight.

When we touch down, I shoot Carlos a quick message about the jersey. The guy is anything but succinct and asks me questions about “the Jersey” that I don’t have answers for. He makes suggestions that I don’t have time to think about right now. Ones that point toward this situation having the potential to be something more. The guy comes at things from every angle … and is a true romantic. Gotta love him even though I give him a hard time about his squishy lion heart.

Tucking my phone away to Ella, I say, “Thanks for doing this.”

“I’m still wondering what exactly I’m doing.”

“Just an honest exchange of your time for money.”

“And my job.”

“It’ll be waiting for you along with a place to live,” I add, even though the notion of her returning to the island makes me fear I may have to wait an entire year to see her again .

She shakes her head. “You can’t just wave a wand and fix my life.”

I tilt my head as if that’s up for debate, then wink. “How about a hockey stick?”

With a half smile, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head before we disembark.

A sleek black SUV waits on the tarmac and brings us to the arena. My phone beeps with details about the game from Carlos. He confirms that Ella will have a spot in the VIP area and a jersey waiting for her.

“Anything else I should know?” she asks, looking at the South Carolina hockey hub in the center of the state as if she’s from a different country.

The island may as well be another world. I try to look at this through her eyes. It’s all completely foreign.

I say, “Just cheer loud.”

When we get to the underground entry to the arena, a greenish-yellow light flickers. Her grip on the seatbelt across her chest tightens. Once more, I try to see what this looks like from an outsider’s perspective.

“What is this place?” she whispers as if afraid of waking a slumbering beast.

“It’s not an underground lair.” I quickly explain that if we use the regular entrance, we’ll be mobbed.

“So, you’re saying we’re skipping the line?” she asks, as if this treatment is unusual or she’s cheating others out of their seats.

“Welcome to the wide world of hockey.”

The door opens.

My pulse increases.

It’s time. I used to get pregame jitters and still do during the playoffs, but I’ve played hundreds of regular games in my career and it’s not lost on me that it’s “play.” Yes, at an elite level and countless guys would love to do what I do, but it’s still meant to be fun.

Tonight, I’ll try to bring that back along with showing off my best so maybe I can stick with the Storm. Not to boast, but I’m good at hockey—maybe the only thing I’ve ever succeeded at. I have a few more solid seasons in me.

Ella walks cautiously by my side down a long hallway fitted with pipes and the building’s machinery. When we go through a blue metal door, the atmosphere changes as various members of our organization bustle around. There are guys already in their gear, managers on their devices, and family members smiling proudly.

“See? No creepy den.”

“Where do you want me?” Ella asks.

With me.

I give my head a little shake. It hadn’t occurred to me that Ella wouldn’t be by my side the entire time. Obviously, she can’t come into the locker room even though puck bunnies routinely sneak in.

Carlos appears with his hands lifted for a double high five. “My man, Juan. There you are. I’ve been texting you.”

“I know.” But I’ve been enjoying my time with Ella.

Juan? she mouths.

I shrug. “That’s what he calls me.”

Bark Wahlburger barks, announcing himself.

I make introductions.

Carlos shakes his head. “Only you, man. I cannot top that. So I take it that you want me to schedule a vet appointment, get him toys, treats?—?”

“Give him a walk and look after him during the game. Find a pet sitter for now?”

Ella starts to raise her hand and then, as if thinking better of it, studies her freshly painted nails .

Bark Wahlburger looks up at me with his big brown eyes as if asking, Is this it or will you keep me?

Ella’s expression matches. She mentioned she always wanted a puppy since she was a kid.

I brush my hand down my face even though I already made up my mind. Bark and I are buds for life. But how that’ll fit when everything is up in the air is a problem for later. “I’ll think about it.” Accidentally adopting a dog was not on my skate card, yet here we are.

“He didn’t say no.” Ella jumps up and down then crouches to try to catch Bark Wahlburger while he turns in circles like I just promised him milk bones for life.

“This the fan who wanted the jersey?” Carlos asks, putting one in her hands when she straightens.

“This is Ella, and yes, the jersey is for her. But she’s not a fan.” I wink.

She frowns as if wishing she had the truth serum. It’s not that I’m keeping anything from her, but there’s a good chance people will think we’re together, given her position in the VIP box and wearing my threads. That’s just the way it goes.

And I’m okay with that. But is she?

However, tonight, I want whoever prompted this change in my employment to see that I’m not alone. That I’m serious. Committed.

Carlos says, “Nice to meet you, Ella. Hmm. En Espanol, Ella means she or her . That won’t do. How about Ella Bella? Cinderella?”

“You don’t even speak Spanish,” I tease him.

“I have the basics, hombre . Plus , taco , burrito , domingo . Marisol wants to raise our kids bilingual, so I’m practicing.”

“You’re not engaged or married yet. In fact, last I checked, she told you to grow up.”

Ella laughs, looking comfortable now .

But I’m not and it doesn’t have anything to do with Carlos because he’s one of the few people in the world I fully trust and would take a bullet for. He’s taken more arrows for me than is fair. It’s more like the realization creeps toward me that this could be it. My cheeks puff on an exhale and my attention returns to the room, to Ella.

Carlos smiles at her in a brotherly way and says, “I’m working on growing up.” Then, as if nicknaming everyone he meets isn’t juvenile, he adds, “We’ll go with Ella Bella.”

I lean toward her and say, “He grows on you.”

“Like a mold.” Carlos laughs, then to me, he says, “You need to warm up.”

“I’ll be right there.” I angle myself so only Ella can hear. “This might be my last one.”

Her eyes shine like she catches my meaning and lifts onto her toes, wrapping her arms around me in a hug I didn’t realize that I needed. Her breath whispering against my neck, she says, “Then make it your best one.”

She has no idea how much those words mean to me. Never mind a truth serum, they’re like an elixir.

Dropping down onto her feet, she adds, “Are you hungry for it?”

I take this to mean the game as a whole.

“Starved,” I say.

We exchange one long look that feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place or a sprinkle of cheese on top of a pasta dish—the finishing touch. The chef’s kiss.

Carlos assures me Ella Bella is in good hands. As I pass through the locker room doors, I realize the next time I see her will be in my jersey.

This puts a little skip in my step.

The team meeting, warm-up, and prep time are a blur of autopilot activity. I know what to do. How to win. But does the rest of the team? I look around and realize I’m the last man standing. Not a single player I came up with on the Storm is still on the team. Some of them retired and others were out due to injury, but most moved on.

And the guys that are left, as they slap each other with towels, exchange locker room stories of their conquests with women, and are not acting like we’re about to play against arguably one of the top three teams in the league, I realize that I’ve been one of them all this time.

The locker room banter, the team culture, it’s all I’ve never known.

But it’s tired and stale and unfocused.

Maybe I’ve grown up.

Perhaps Gunther was right, and I have gotten old.

There’s no sense of cohesion. It’s like we’re all out for ourselves and as the longest-standing member of the team, I bear a lot of responsibility for that.

“Hey, Bouchelle. Long weekend or what? I’ve never seen you look so—” Cole squints as if he’s not sure how to finish the sentence.

Duffton chuckles. “Deep in thought.”

I grunt. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“What’s got you in a knot? Come on. We’re going to go wipe the ice with the Knights,” Duffton says.

Cole arches his left eyebrow. “Unless … we have a traitor in our midst.”

They must’ve caught wind of Remy’s ultimatum.

Rising to my feet in full gear, I say, “Is that a challenge?”

Duffton deflects and says, “We just heard a rumor that you’re quitting unless you get a spot on the Knights.”

A growl rises inside of me. “If that’s what you think, find the coach after the game and apply a little pressure. See what he says then.”

Remy is a pushover and no one respects him because he lacks leadership skills. The guy will crack with the truth. As far as I know, the conversation about my future was just between the two of us. If he’s trying to make me look bad, I’ll win this game for the Storm just to prove that I’ve never been and would never be unfaithful.

When the puck drops, I forget everything except my goal: to win. To use the skills I acquired to be the very best player on the ice at all times. Yes, sometimes I resort to petty fighting and intimidation, but mostly, I’m just fast and accurate.

My breakaway move splits the defense. Our winger starts with a deke and I smuggle the puck toward the Knight’s tendie, who watches my eyes rather than my stick.

I have it locked in, but at the last second am blocked by a hairline.

Then Cole and one of the Knight’s guys get in a scramble and visit the penalty box.

When we circle the wagons, I recall that this could be my last game with the Storm or my last game forever. Then I spot Ella in my jersey, eyes wide and watchful.

A spark lights, dangerous because the heat rushing through me could melt the ice. My resolve renews. This will not be the last time I wear a jersey, even if it means playing for the Knights. But I can’t think about life-changing decisions right now because I have a game to win.

We repeatedly bottleneck and need to regroup. The Storm parties hard and it’s showing with a lack of focus and slack movements.

Ninety seconds back in, Gunther loses control of the puck and Duffton is in position to take it, but they’re asleep at the wheel. I put on the pepper, but the Knight’s center shanks it into the goal.

Then, in the final minute of the first period, I can practically hear the clock counting down, moving me closer to making a decision. With precision, I slot the puck into the net. The crowd roars and I tear off my helmet, showboating a little.

Now we’re tied with the Knights. The Storm fans are thrilled as their roar fills the stadium. I slide toward the VIP box seats and wink at Ella, who claps and smiles.

The Knights score on us twice during the next period, giving them a two-point lead. Their defense is like a pair of brick walls and their wingers must’ve had double shots of espresso before coming out. They’re fast, accurate, and if I didn’t know better, I’d argue that they read each other’s minds, anticipating where to be and when.

Meanwhile, our defense is being thugs, which is fine in hockey, but some skill would go a long way in keeping the opposing team from gaining opportunities to score. Not only that but our goalie ought to belly up to the espresso machine because he seems to be dozing off in his pads.

No sooner does the clock start ticking in the third period than I gain control of the puck. Cole checks one of the defensemen, creating an opening for me. I head straight for it. The Knights’ goon charges in my direction and I dish it off to Joelson, who chokes as another defenseman attacks, sending the puck spiraling into the crease.

Eyes on target, I break away, slicing across the ice and muscling my way through the fray. Their winger is on my tail, but I’m faster, and take a risky shot, but it goes in, giving us the second goal for the Storm, narrowing the gap to three-two, home. I skid on my knees, stick pumping in the air. Woo hoo! So far, I’m the only player on the team who’s scored. The guys better get their acts together.

The Storm chant my last name after that second shot. I can’t help myself and gesture that Ella spin around and show off my jersey.

She points to herself and I nod. She smooths her hair over her shoulder and Bouchelle 10 blazes across her back.

My original plan was if the team managers and Remy, or whoever is deciding to oust me, see that I’m the star, they’ll rethink this stupidity, but perhaps I want the Knights’ coach to see instead. That I’m a team player, committed, loyal.

Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I send up a quick prayer, then get back to it, but not before taking a quick glance at Ella. She’s on her feet, cheering this time.

This may be my last game, but seeing her here somehow feels like the first day of the rest of my life.