Page 25

August

Jordan

The red, white, and black Manticores logo looms above me as I enter the arena through the main office and head to the front desk.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” the young woman at the front desk says, looking up from her computer screen.

“I’m Jordan Hill, the new assistant coach. I need to pick up my badge and equipment,” I say, cracking my fingers, expelling some of the nervous energy I feel.

The young woman beams at me and stands up, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir, we’re so excited to have you. I’m Molly.” I gently take it, and we shake hands quickly. I hope she doesn’t mind the sweat.

I bite back my grimace and say, “Nice to meet you, Molly. Do you know where I’m supposed to go to pick things up?”

“Oh, right. I can take you,” she says, spinning around and leading me down the hallway, past some of the conference rooms and pictures of former players that have moved up to the NHL.

I spot Ash and Eli’s pictures framed next to each other and smile, snapping a photo and sending it to the group chat.

Molly looks back at what’s got me distracted and smiles. “They’re legends around here, you know? You all are.”

“How do you mean?”

She points at another picture on the wall at the end of the hallway, one from training camp three years ago, all of us gathered on the ice in our red and white jerseys.

Our first line is kneeling down, big smiles on our faces.

Robbie is at our core, Ash and Eli to his right, me, Tripp, and Tony, our other defenseman, on his left.

“That was the dream team,” she says, and I swallow the knot in my throat because she’s right. We were the dream team.

“Coach Brian never shuts up about you guys. He says everyone should aspire to play like you all did.”

I snort, remembering how much coach Brian used to yell at us about our consistency and performance. Knowing that he speaks highly of me and my past teammates eases some of my nerves.

“Hey, Jordan. Good to have you back,” a feminine voice says, and I look up just in time to see Malia walking down the hall with a yoga mat in hand. Her hand goes up and I high-five it as she walks by me.

“Good to be back. How is volleyball coaching?” I ask, knowing that since they moved back from Quebec a couple years ago, she’s taken over as head coach of the Thunderbirds, the same team she started her professional volleyball career with.

“It’s peachy! Can’t wait for the season to start in January. You should come over for dinner, Alex will be grilling tonight,” she says in a rush.

“Oh, sure, that’d be nice,” I say, not expecting the invite, even though I probably should have.

Alex is about as friendly as Robbie under the surface, even though he seems intimidating at first. And Malia has been nothing but nice from the first moment I met her.

I still remember the holiday gala eight years ago when she bid on Robbie at the charity auction to make Alex jealous.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, and she waves at me on her way out.

“Here we are, this is your office, Coach,” Molly says a moment later, gesturing to a small room with a window, a desk with a computer, and two chairs.

I smile like a fool and take a seat in the chair behind the desk, spinning around. The wall to my right has a whiteboard with markers and there’s a small filling cabinet in the corner of the room as well.

“Holler if you need anything,” Molly says, and waves on her way back to the front desk.

My badge and tracksuit are neatly stacked on the desk in front of me, along with a booklet. I leaf through it and find my computer login and the schedule for training camp.

A knock at the door startles me and the deep chuckle coming from the man leaning on the doorframe brings me back in time.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Coach Brian says, smiling, even though it’s mostly covered by his thick mustache.

“Tell that to my bum hip,” I joke, making my way to shake his hand. He surprises me, wrapping me in an awkward hug instead and patting me on the back.

“I’m glad you’re okay, kid. You had me worried there for a bit.”

“You had time to check up on me? Don’t you have enough hooligans to keep in line?” I try deflecting.

“You’ve always been my favorite and you know it,” he winks playfully. “Ready to take on a new challenge?”

I blow out a breath, nodding. “I am. To be honest, I’ve been going a little crazy without hockey for the past seven months.”

Brian looks at me, no traces of amusement left on his slightly wrinkled face.

“That injury—I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

I’m surprised you’re not taking more time to recover, but selfishly I’m glad you’re back.

I could really use you to oversee the defense development, especially the penalty kill. ”

“Really?” I ask, stunned. I hoped he’d have me working with the defensemen since that’s my expertise, but I didn’t expect him to put this much trust in me.

“You’re one of the most principled and patient people I know. Even as a player, you were always putting in the work, watching the tapes and giving me suggestions, for fuck’s sake. I may have seemed annoyed at the time, but trust me, your judgement was appreciated.”

I feel my cheeks are on fire from the praise and I look down, fiddling with the badge I put on earlier. “Thanks, Coach.”

“It’s Brian now. And don’t expect me to kiss your ass all the time, this job is hard.

At the ECHL level, it’s all about attendance and the fun of it, drawing people in, showing them what hockey is.

At the NHL, it’s all about winning, the stakes are higher than ever.

But here—” He stops, shaking his head. “At the AHL, it’s all about the development.

Sure, we want to fucking win, but we’ve got the top prospects in the palm of our hands, and we’re the ones responsible for shaping them, molding them into the players they eventually become. ”

Brian pauses, letting me take this all in. It’s definitely more than I expected, but the idea of helping players develop doesn’t scare me away. If anything, I want to see them succeed.

“So, do you still think you’re up for the challenge?” he asks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say with no hesitation.

Alice

I breathe through the pain and hold the plank position like the instructor tells us to.

Why did I think a hot yoga class at eight in the morning was a good idea?

Sweat pours in rivulets to the mat in front of me and I close my eyes, counting down the seconds until I can collapse back down. Hopefully never to get up again.

“You may now bring your knees to the mat and transition to child pose,” the instructor says in her low, sultry voice. At first I found it soothing, but now, at the eleventh hour of the class, I just find it grating. I’m hot, I’m sweaty, everything hurts.

I do my best not to whimper in relief when the class is dismissed. I wipe down my mat and roll it.

“What did you think?” Malia asks from my right, and I glare at her. She just smiles wide and shakes her head at me, her short dark brown hair with highlights barely touching the tops of her shoulders now that she got a haircut.

“Personally, I loved it,” Olivia pipes up from my left, and I turn my incredulous gaze on her instead. Traitors, both of them. If my friend Megan could make it to this godforsaken yoga class, she’d be on my side for sure. Instead, she’s enjoying the last week of summer break at the beach.

“You know, when I suggested a girls’ day, I meant getting brunch and maybe getting our nails done, not sweating like pigs and then going out in public.”

They both laugh at my antics and I sigh, realizing that of course they’d want to work out first thing in the morning. They’re both athletes.

“Good thing the arena is right next door, and I have access to the women’s locker room. We can go shower and change into our spare clothes there before getting brunch,” Malia offers, and I grumble. “What?” she asks, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You and your logic. So infuriating,” I joke, lightly punching her shoulder.

“I like that plan. The sooner we get food, the better,” Olivia says with a smile.

Half an hour later, we’re showered and dressed in a variety of summer outfits.

I’m wearing a strapless dress with cherries and bows printed on it, the hem of it hitting just above my knees.

I’ve got a matching pink claw clip pinning my wavy hair up, and as much as I wanted to wear some strappy heels, I didn’t want to get blisters walking all over downtown, so I opted for a pair of white Birkenstocks instead.

Malia looks cute in her green romper with spaghetti straps, her tanned legs looking longer in her platform white sneakers, even if she’s only an inch taller than me. Olivia opted for a simple white dress and black sandals, her long brown hair braided down one shoulder.

“Look at us, we need to take a picture before we get to the restaurant,” I say, pulling out the phone.

The three of us fit into the frame and I snap a few photos, realizing that there’s a wall of hockey pictures behind us.

I spot Ash and Eli’s next to each other and open the group chat to tease them about it.

That’s when I realize there’s an unread text from Jordan.

And he’s sent the same exact photo. Shit, is he still here?

“You okay?” Olivia asks, her hand squeezing my shoulder gently. “Your face fell when you looked at the phone. Is everything good?”

I try to smile, but Olivia knows me too well by now and her green gaze pins me to the spot, asking me to spit it out.

“Jordan is back and—” I take a deep breath and look around the hallway, making sure he won’t just appear out of nowhere.

“I guess I’m struggling with the fact that I’m just supposed to accept it. ”

Olivia nods thoughtfully and rolls her lips. “Maybe we need to talk through it more over some mimosas.”

“I second that,” Malia interjects, leading us back down the hallway.

As we pass one of the glass-door conference rooms, I look over and see Jordan.

He’s fully immersed in the game tape he’s watching, but at the last second, his head turns to look at me.

I stand there and blink a few times while his gaze roams up and down my body.

I do my best not to shiver from the attention and only break out of my trance when Malia waves at the group of men.

“Good luck with training camp,” she yells at them as they wave back. I take one more peek at Jordan. His chocolate brown eyes are still pinned on me, and I hold my head high as I walk away.

The walk across the street is a short one and we luckily get one of the last patio tables at The Arcadian. I settle next to Malia on the comfy couch while Olivia takes up a wide patio chair on the opposite side.

The summer brunch menu at my brother’s restaurant is different from what they usually serve, but my mouth waters as I read over the Monte Cristo sandwich description.

“Hey guys, long time no see,” Gen says. They are one of the regular bartenders here at The Arcadian, and they also pick up random shifts when needed, so we do in fact see them all the time.

“Gen, that French 75 you made me the other day with the lavender was divine,” Malia says, bringing her fingers to her lips in a “chef’s kiss” gesture.

“Want another one? I’ve got elderflower this time.”

“Yes, please. You can experiment your drinks on me anytime,” Malia says. “And I’ll also take the baked avocado, please.”

“Guys, I don’t know what to order. How is this possible? I always know what food I want,” Olivia says, flipping the menu back and forth.

Gen laughs and offers, “Want me to surprise you?”

Olivia gasps and smiles deviously. “Obviously, go crazy.”

“Okay, I really want the Monte Cristo sandwich with glut—” I begin, but Gen cuts me off.

“Gluten-free bread, I got you girl.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the best? And apparently a mind reader too?” I laugh and hand over the menus as Gen tucks them under their tattooed arm.

“Multiple times, yes. I mostly hear it from you, though.”

“Good. Oh, I also want a mimosa.”

“Me too,” Olivia says.

“Actually, there’s a mimosa bar inside, you two can make them however you want. I recommend adding in the peach juice.”

“Let’s do it!” I tell Olivia, and we head over to the bar.

When I’m done garnishing my drink with a fresh slice of peach, Olivia startles me by saying, “Listen, about Jordan.”

“Oh no, can we please not ruin this day by talking about my ex?” I whine.

Olivia gives me a gentle smile. It’s her ‘mom’ smile, the exact same one she gives Val when she eats too much applesauce.

“I know it’s hard to have to all of a sudden share the same building and even be at dinners with him again.

But maybe you two need to have a conversation and find a way to move on. ”

I take a big sip of my drink and let her comment sink in. “It’s not that I don’t want to move on, I just—I’ve loved him for so long, and then he ditched not just me, but all of us. Twice!” I say, holding up two fingers in front of her face.

Olivia tries not to smile at how dramatic I’m being, but it slips anyway. I deflate a little and say, “You’re right, though. I need to be a mature adult about this. I think I just need to adjust to him being here on my own terms, you know. I can’t just flip a switch and pretend everything is fine.”

“I get that. I’m not asking you to, I just want you to be happy.

If that means having a tough conversation with Jordan, you know I have your back.

If it means dating someone else, I can also support you there.

I just don’t want to see you go back to being mopey old Alice,” she says, twirling a strand of my hair.

I grab her drink and place them both down on the nearest table, enveloping her in a hug. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, you know that?”

“Duh, of course I know. Who else would watch a Lord of The Rings marathon with you in one day? That’s true love right there.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I say, pulling back.

“Anytime. It gets me free babysitting, so I can’t complain,” Olivia says, and I cackle all the way back to our table.