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JACK

Even though a few of my fellow teammates have some unique pregame rituals, everyone is chill and chatting as if we’re not about to hit the ice against a top opponent.

Again, I cannot help but contrast this to the locker room atmosphere for my near-decade with the Storm.

Coach Badaszek comes in on a cool breeze, looks at his clipboard, and says, “This is where preparation meets opportunity. We have our sniper.” He nods at me. “But all of you are his eyes. Your communication at practice is clutch. You’ve trained and are ready. Now, go win.”

And that’s it. No long rambling and somewhat incoherent speech from Remy about how we’re all stars, but if we don’t win, we’re a bunch of losers. I’m pretty sure he’d patched together various pep talks from sports films.

Coach Badaszek knows what he’s doing and leads us in such a way that prepares us well and suggests he trusts us. Conveniently, I’m in the opening line and when the puck drops, I’m on it.

I get a slapshot nearly out of the gate, scoring one for the team. The arena goes wild and the commentators are generous. By the second period, we’re tied with the Denver Blizzard. They play mid with a strong defense, but their wings are weak, fumbling their forechecks and flying solo rather than tucking into the pocket with the rest of the team.

As for us, the only hiccup comes in the last third of the second period when Hayden Savage misses a shot, but we get the puck back and Ted, our defenseman, is like thunder on skates. He passes the puck to me and ice meets fire as I charge down the lane, weaving around the Blizzard players. However, their center makes himself an obstacle and I drop pass the puck to Savage, who redeems himself, taking advantage of the goalie as he relocates the puck and recalibrates. He shoots and scores.

In the third period, the Blizzard catches up, but we have the opportunity for a power play, execute, and get a goal, then keep momentum until the buzzer sounds, ending the game.

My only two thoughts the entire time are sinking the puck into the net and imagining Ella in my jersey.

I could spend the night at the team hotel and take the flight with the rest of the guys tomorrow, but I don’t want to be away from her any longer.

When things blow over and we’re settled in, we’ll figure out how to make my travel schedule work and make a commitment to team activities. Given the number of texts and messages on my phone about the night at Club Luna, I need to get to her before anyone else does.

Leah will run interference and thankfully, my fiancée doesn’t have social media. At least, I hope not. I take the private jet back to Nebraska and am glad to be alone because if I had to sit next to someone, even in first class, I’d drive them crazy with the way my leg won’t stop jittering.

The night after the win against the Empire State Kings was wrong, but not because of anything I did. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look that way on video.

Upon landing, my phone beeps with a message from Carlos with only two words and then he spams me, which is his way of indicating that I do not ignore his texts, which I’ve done in the past because I can be a bit self-absorbed.

Carlos: She knows.

Carlos: This isn’t good.

Carlos: You have to fix this.

I know I do, but if she saw the video, can I? Will she believe me or her eyes? I know what it looks like. I also know what happened next, which was nothing, except the video doesn’t show that … and there are probably numerous other videos from other nights before I met Ella when something did happen.

People and their phones, I tell ya. I reply to Carlos.

Me: I’m on my way.

Carlos: If you have armor, bring it.

Me: That bad?

Carlos: And tissues.

The last thing I want to do is upset Ella or be on the end of Leah’s wrath, but she knows me. They both do and can vouch for the fact that there was no Knights after-party at a club in Omaha. I was set up … and I think I know by whom.

My new truck has great pickup considering its size and I’m on and off the highway between the airport and hotel ahead of traffic. I screech to a halt under the carport, desperate to see Ella and explain.

Instead, my father and Aston wait by the hotel’s entrance. Dad is stony-faced. Aston is on her phone, smirking.

“Son, we have to talk.”

“Yes, we do. Alone. Not with her.” I point to his wife. But I really, really wanted to discuss this with my wife-to-be first.

Aston says, “Jack, don’t be immature.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

My father knows enough not to have this conversation in public and gestures that I follow him to the elevator. Aston remains on her phone on the ride up to the penthouse suite.

The lo-fi song agonizes instead of calms me. When we enter the room and I close the door, my father launches right into it before I can see if Ella is still here. I pray she is.

“I know you chose this nobody to improve your career and not because—” Then he goes quiet.

Ella stands in the doorway to her room. Her expression momentarily crumbles and then like a tide washing away a sandcastle, it smooths over.

“Ella, he didn’t mean that,” I say.

She shrugs as if indifferent. “I know who I am and what I am to you, Jack.”

My stomach twists when the sadness in her eyes disappears, revealing nothing. No emotion. Just cool indifference.

Bark Wahlburger covers his eyes with his paws as if knowing this isn’t going to be good.

Ella steps closer, accusation spiking her every word. “I saw the video from the other night. Glad you got to have a little fun before you had to come back here and take care of me.”

“I didn’t have fun and I didn’t have to take care of you, I wanted to.” Gazing into Ella’s eyes, I all but beg her to believe me .

Aston wrinkles her nose and peers into the room Ella emerges from. “I knew it. They have separate rooms. The Puck Princess is a fake.”

Ella rounds on her. “Why are you trying to interfere with our relationship?”

Aston cocks a hip. “Because I know it’s not real.”

Ella counters, “And yours is?

Aston, towering over Ella in heels, says, “So you admit it.”

Ella lengthens her spine and says, “I didn’t bait anyone, baby.”

At those words, my father’s wife somehow shrinks. “Well, you only have a bit part in the show. I’m the real star.”

Ella rolls her eyes. “I’m out. Good luck with the drama, Jack.”

“Ella, wait,” I call.

She shakes her head and goes into the room, but I catch the door before she slams it.

“I would like to talk about this.”

“Talk to your father. Tell him the truth. I’m done with the lies.” She closes the door the rest of the way.

Imaging her packing up and exiting my life, I pace a short circle on the plush carpet, feeling heavier with every step. Aston smiles like she got the last laugh and won the war over my father.

I rally and pull out my phone before sending a quick text to Carlos.

Allain Bouchelle, never one to dally when it comes to business because time is money, says, “There’s something else. Smedley found footage from Jewel Island.”

I was afraid this was going to happen.