Prologue 3

Rhonda

Summer 2024

He was there. The Grande Prairie Guy. Parking Lot Guy. He was standing at a table on the other side of the dance floor. Rhonda turned away and swayed to the music, popping her hips a little more than necessary. She was desperate to turn and confirm he’d noticed her—be sure he was watching.

They weren’t at a hockey tournament or at a new rink for playoffs. They were out at the Dusty Rose on a regular weeknight. Her mind spun, all her previous assumptions cracking as they crashed against this new information.

Sean and the other Snowballs seemed to know exactly who he was. Had they looked at him like that at that bar in Okotoks before she’d met him in the parking lot?

Jenna and Anne were more than happy to mirror her sexy energy on the dance floor, though the second Country saw some guy with a half-unbuttoned shirt move into their circle he was at Jenna’s side, his hands clamping protectively over her hips. The “move along” message may as well have been tattooed on his forehead.

Anne leaned in. “Would you go home with that guy?”

Rhonda jolted, then realized Anne wasn’t looking in the direction of Parking Lot Guy. She raised an eyebrow and motioned to Half-Unbuttoned Shirt Guy instead.

“Uh, doubtful.” Rhonda kept her eyes trained forward.

“So how do you choose then? How do you know a man isn’t looking for something more serious?”

Rhonda laughed. “Why? Are you thinking of trying things my way?”

Anne shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not having much luck making anything else work.”

Rhonda wrapped her arm around her friend. Anne, Tina, and Jenna were more than that, really. They were her family in Calgary, but she often took for granted how well she knew them. Anne talking about random hookups was like a fish wondering if it would be a good idea for him to try living on land. “Girl, you would hate it.”

Anne scoffed. “What, you don’t think I could pull it off?”

“No, you could definitely pull it off. You’d just want to throw up. And probably cry?”

“I’m not that fragile!”

Rhonda dropped her arm and gripped Anne’s shoulder. “Anne, would you avoid peanuts if you didn’t have to?”

Anne frowned. “No, but?—”

“Exactly.” She shrugged, but Anne didn’t accept the question as case closed.

“You’re saying you’re allergic to relationships?”

“Yup.” A new song came on with a bass line that shook her bones. That was the perfect description. It wasn’t that she hated the idea of a relationship. She could see how they worked for other people, she just knew they didn’t work for her. It was like clockwork every time she was interested in someone new. Attraction could be off the charts, but within a few weeks, it all started to fall flat. They were too into her, not into her enough, too many red flags, not any red flags–which meant they were definitely hiding something. Probably a true self they’d never discovered between their multiple degrees and promotions. Or a gambling addiction.

“What if you just think you’re allergic?” Anne asked.

“Ha! And now you understand my childhood. I’ll tell you, ending up in the ER Halloween night put those conversations to rest.” Rhonda pulled back and moved to the music, not giving Anne a chance to make another argument. There was a part of her that wondered if it was only in her head, but she’d seen what promises of forever had done to her mother—to her whole family. She’d learned her lesson, and she wouldn’t let anyone else convince her she should “try it and find out.” That was how you ended up with a tube down your throat.

Rhonda leaned into Anne, trying to be nonchalant. "Who is Sean giving death stares to?" She shouted over the music, nodding her head in Parking Lot Guy’s direction.

Anne followed her gaze. "I don't know." She reached out and pulled Jenna into their trio. "Who's that guy at our eleven o'clock? Dark hair. Tattoo sleeve."

That damn tattoo sleeve. Tonight he wore a light polo shirt that hugged his arms and shoulders. She pretended her shortness of breath was due to the dancing.

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Jordan. Captain of Pucks Deep."

Pucks Deep. Rhonda blinked. That may not have been the last thing she expected to come out of Jenna’s mouth, but it was close. Pucks Deep? That was a Calgary team. Their rival Calgary team.

Both of her encounters with Jordan flashed through her mind. The first in Medicine Hat—he’d had a Grande Prairie bag and was staying in the hotel. Obviously from out of town. Then in Okotoks, she'd assumed the same thing since it was the playoffs. It's not like they talked much. She hadn't even thought to ask the question.

And she'd been to Pucks Deep games. She would've noticed him, wouldn't she? Her mind raced, running over every minute of those games still locked in her memory. No. The Snowballs had such a deep-seated rivalry, she was only ever booing their team. She never looked at their faces on the bench. Didn't wait to see any of them after. They usually left the arena and met the Snowballs at the pub or wherever their after-party was, and Pucks Deep never once chose the same location. It was like their teams were opposite sides of a magnet, only meeting when they were forced to on the ice.

Sean continued to look like someone had spit in his drink, and Rhonda couldn't stuff down her curiosity. "Does he hate him because of the crap they pull on the ice?" She'd seen plenty of dirty plays, though if she was being honest, the players on Pucks Deep weren't any worse than some of the other teams they played. Mills Hoodie could high stick and trip with the best of them.

Anne waved her hand. "You know these guys. They've played together since PeeWee. There's this whole sword fight happening under the surface."

Country was close enough to overhear that comment. "You think this is some petty rift? That dipshit slept with Sean's girlfriend. They'd been together for over a year, and Jordan purposefully sought her out just to make a point."

Rhonda's stomach dropped. "He slept with Kelty?" She thought she was going to be sick.

Country shook his head. "No, this was after high school. They were both in the NHL draft. I don't know all the details, but it was bad. And you don't even want to know all the shit he's pulled with the league?—"

Jenna put a hand on his puffed-out chest to push him back toward the tables. "Okay, let's bring it down a notch. We don't need to create a fuse to light tonight."

Rhonda watched them go, then glanced up at the bar. She was suddenly parched. "I'm going to get water. You want anything?"

Anne shook her head but walked with her back to the others. Rhonda wove through the tables, her mind still smashing together two stories into one. The lore of Pucks Deep and her personal timeline schema. Jordan. That was his name. Knowing it somehow changed everything—added a layer to both of the nights they'd spent together.

Both. Ugh, she was so stupid! Why had she met up with him a second time? Probably because seeing him now was doing the same thing to her blood pressure as seeing him in that sports bar. But now if she saw him, there was no way she could pretend she didn't remember.

And she needed to be able to pretend because the Snowballs could never know what had happened between them. If Jordan's sex life was what sparked Sean's hatred of him, knowing she'd jumped into bed with him at their tournament wasn't going to make things better. And yes, she'd been a willing participant in the rivalry banter, but she'd only ever cared because the Snowballs cared. She didn't want to add more fuel to the fire. Hockey was violent enough as it was.

Rhonda leaned over the oiled wooden counter and caught the attention of the bartender. He nodded when she asked for two glasses of water, and she sat on one of the stools to wait. With the number of people already standing there, she doubted her free request would be at the top of his list.

Someone slid in next to her, and the bartender looked up mid-pour. "Two pints," he said, and the hairs rose on the back of Rhonda's arms. Her body recognized him like he was her childhood blanket. If a blanket could make you momentarily disassociate from your body.

She clasped her hands in front of her, keeping her eyes trained ahead, pretending to be riveted by the bottles the bartenders were grabbing off the shelves.

“Pucks Deep,” she murmured.

Jordan let out a puff of air next to her. “You say that like it’s a curse word.”

“In my neck of the woods, it definitely is.” Rhonda turned her head away from him, just in case anyone was watching. He was silent long enough that she started to get antsy.

He scraped his stool closer to the bar. “You were the one who said no names.”

“You had a Grand Prairie logo on your hockey bag!” she hissed.

Jordan chuckled. “You noticed my hockey bag?”

“Of course I noticed. I do a little research before . . . you know.”

“Very thorough. Did you check my toiletry bag for condoms, too?”

She almost broke and turned to him. Instead, she clenched her jaw and tapped her fingers on the counter. Hard. “If I would’ve known?—”

“You would’ve missed out on the best sex of your life.”

She scoffed. “Okay, cocky. It wasn’t the best.” That was a lie, and by the smile she heard in his voice, he knew it.

“Well. If you ever want to compare and be sure.” A piece of a napkin slid into her field of view, along with his left hand. The edges of his tattoos curled over his wrist, and those fingers . . .

The bartender handed Jordan his beers, and Rhonda knocked her knees on the underside of the counter as she tried to shift over so his arm wouldn’t brush against hers. She wasn’t fast enough.

And then he was gone. Her heart was pounding like a squirrel that had barely escaped oncoming traffic. She barely eeked out a “thank you” when the bartender set the glasses on the bar in front of her.

Water dripped onto the wood, soaking into the napkin, and she quickly swiped it off the bar. She wasn’t going to keep it, but she also wouldn’t leave it there for some rando to find. She’d throw it away in a second, after she dropped off the waters.

Rhonda stuffed Jordan’s number into the back pocket of her pants, then blew out a breath, grabbed the drinks, and walked back to her table with a smile on her face.