Page 98

Well, mine is fucking streaming.

While Jack lies passed out on his bed, needing to “take a minute to recover from that masterpiece”—his words, not mine—I take the opportunity to cleanse my face and soak in my smug feeling.

Mission accomplished. And fuck you, Elliott Thompson.

I’m finishing up on my eye cream when my phone lights upfrom an unknown caller, and my heart falters when I recognize the international dialing code.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Kendra Hart?” A British female voice, not all that different from Darcy’s and Felicity’s accent, immediately speaks.

“Yes, it is.” I spin around and face the en suite door, waiting with bated breath for her to reveal who she is and where she’s calling from.

“Oh, great. I deliberately called at this hour since I wasn’t sure what time was best to catch you. My name is Sarah Watkins, and I’m the head coach for London Villa.”

Oh fuck, I know who she is. Only one of the best coaches in the world, now heading up arguably the best team in Europe right now.

“How can I help you?” I ask, trying to steady my phone in my shaking hand.

“I hope you don’t mind me calling you directly. Your agent gave me his permission. I felt this would work better, coming straight from me since I’ve had you on my radar for a long time.”

“You have?” I turn back around and face the mirror.

She chuckles lightly. “Oh, yes, absolutely. But due to financial rulings, we couldn’t make an offer to the Storm until now. Well, actually not officially until January, when the winter transfer window opens here in the UK. The point behind my call is to let you know of our intentions. Come the new year, we plan to trigger the release clause in your contract and invite you to join us.” She pauses. “If that’s something you want.”

My mouth runs dry, and I struggle to formulate a response. Instead, I stare at my reflection, motionless.

“I understand this is a little out of the blue,” Sarah continues. “We are just concerned that this is a big move for you, and we understand it might take some time to think it over, so we wanted to give y?—”

“I don’t need any time to think about it,” I interject, finally finding my voice.

“You don’t?” Her voice is excited.

I shake my head and stare down at Jack’s toiletries lining the counter. Swallowing thickly, I pray that my decision is the right one. I can’t make the same mistake again. But my gut has never been stronger on anything, and I can’t ignore that either.

“I can’t accept whatever offer you make.”

She exhales slowly. I can sense her disappointment through the phone. I close my eyes and pray to anyone listening that I didn’t just set my career up in flames.

“Can I ask the reasoning behind your decision?”

“It’s nothing to do with your club, the team, or you as a coach. The setup you have over there is phenomenal.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “My decision is a personal one. I …” I drop my eyes to the tiled floor, and Jack’s smile is right there in my mind. “I recently entered into a relationship with someone and have found a lot of happiness that I didn’t have for a long time. This isn’t a situation where he can move across the Atlantic with me, and neither is it one where I’d ask him to.”

She hums in understanding. “Jack Morgan?”

“Yes,” I answer, realizing my boyfriend isn’t exactly a secret.

“So, your intention is to stay and play out your career in the US?”

I open my eyes and think over the gravity in her question. We’re both the same age, and the NHL doesn’t exist outside of North America, whereas soccer does. Part of me wants to decline answering her question, but I know why she’s asking—she wants to know if there’s a possibility of me transferring to Europe anytime soon or if I see my long-term being stateside.

Thoughts of my brother twist my stomach. Moving to England would mean I’d be much closer to him. I’d also get to see him on the regular since he’d play in the UK far more than he does the US. Memories of my dad racing backward and forward to Mom also play out in my mind. They made it work, but is that what I want for me and Jack? Between our away series, we already spend way less time together than we want.

I know there are no guarantees for us working out, and I can never tell Jack about this call. I have zero doubt he’d tell me to follow my dreams, but what he doesn’t realize is, he’s rapidly become a part of them.

I don’t realize I’m crying until the first tear hits my cheek, and I swipe it away quickly. “Yes,” I say with way more certainty in my voice than I expected. “Things are really serious between us, and I have no plans to leave the US anytime soon.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE