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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

KENDRA

T here are multiple raised brows as we approach our reserved booth in Lloyd’s Bar.

“Nice of you to join us.” Jenna smirks from opposite us as we take a seat, and she checks her imaginary watch.

“Traffic can be a bitch,” Jack drawls, raising his hand to order a drink, and then he stiffens beside me.

I follow his line of vision and land on Archer. He’s standing next to Darcy as she sits at the bar. The Blades goalie is exactly like Jack was with me, the night I saw him again for the first time in a year. With his elbow resting on the top of the bar, Archer’s body is turned toward Darcy, studying her intently.

You’d have to be living under a rock not to know his reputation. If she has a pulse and is willing, he’ll likely leave with her—he’s that much of a fuckboy. I guess some could argue that’s exactly what he’s doing right now—making his move. But something tells me this is different. His eyes don’t lie.

“Leave them be,” I say, leaning down and kissing Jack’s shoulder.

Jack begins ordering from a server, requesting a soda for me .

Jenna taps her finger on the table, attracting my attention. He drove her here.

I’m no expert at lipreading, but I’m fairly sure that’s what she mouthed at me.

She has a boyfriend , I mouth back.

Jenna shrugs a casual shoulder in response.

From a stool at the end of the booth, Sawyer stares down into his half-full beer.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

Leaning back in the booth, Jack wraps his arm around my waist, tucking me into his side. “We got beaten down pretty good tonight. It affects us all differently.”

I don’t say anything since I’m not convinced that’s the truth. A captain is normally the person to lift their team after a bad performance and the first to celebrate a win. From what I’ve seen, he’s exactly the kind of leader who would do that. But the weight I see resting on his shoulders tonight feels way more than just the result of a game.

A cackle rings from the bar area, and I look up to see Darcy’s head thrown back in laughter, but no one responds, only a subtle smirk from Jenna.

A couple seconds pass between us all before Jenna breaks the short silence.

“I guess you got the email,” she asks, twisting her drink around on the table in front of her.

I take a sip of my soda. “What email?”

Her eyes flare wide. “Like, an hour ago. From head of team selection.” She reaches into her purse and fetches out her phone, tapping the screen a couple of times before clearing her throat.

“ Dear Jenna, as you are aware, we are currently observing as many games as possible in preparation for our preliminary squad selection. This team will also play in a round of friendly matches, which will take place during the international break this February .”

Her eyes flick up to mine. “ It is our intention to name a squad of twenty-six players in two weeks, and you and your club will be notified if you have been successful.. Please be advised that while the fixtures this winter are strictly friendlies, we anticipate the squad chosen to be similar for the World Cup this summer. Team cohesion and dynamics are a priority, and we want to ensure the selected players are given as much time together as possible. This is, of course, subject to unforeseen events. Kind regards, blah, blah, blah.”

She locks the screen on her phone, and I feel Jack’s hand squeeze my shoulder.

“Did you get the email, Kitten?”

“I haven’t checked my phone in several hours,” I reply, knowing I’ve been too distracted with hot sex in the back seat of his truck to think about anything else.

Reaching into my coat pocket, I quickly navigate to my emails and immediately land on the one Jenna just read aloud. My heart races in my chest as I check it over for any differences and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s the exact same.

“If I’m getting the same email as my established international teammate, that must be a good thing, right?” I tip my head up and look at Jack, then across at my friend.

“You were a shoo-in already.” He kisses the bridge of my nose.

“You think so?” I look at Jenna, excitement raising my voice to a squeak.

Grinning, she leans toward me on her forearms. “I know so.” She points at my phone as I tuck it back in my jacket. “They’re making it out like this is a new process or something, but I texted Hollie right after I got it. You were delayed …” She pauses, and I flush at the memories of a half hour ago. “She said they did this the last time. The players they wanted were pretty much notified in the same way. It all tracks.”

“Oh my God.” Tears prick in the corners of my eyes as I let it sink in that perhaps my season is turning around. That maybe all the late-night training sessions and Chelsea Rayne Pilates are paying off.

“So fucking proud of you, Kitten.” Jack leans down and kisses the side of my head. “If we don’t make the playoffs, then I’ll come with you to the World Cup in Brazil.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I look at him. “That’s in, like, seven months.”

His eyes search mine, a touch of uncertainty behind them. “Would you not want me there?”

I look down at the bubbles as they pop in my soda. So much of what I’ve been doing has been about living in the moment. So much of my life has changed dramatically in the past couple of months, to the point where I don’t really recognize it anymore.

But none of it feels wrong. There are no red flags when it comes to this boy, and I have to trust that he won’t screw me over like my ex did. I flick my eyes to his sister as she continues to laugh and joke around at the bar. I barely know his family, but already, I trust them. I trust her judgment of her brother.

But mostly, I trust my own.

Turning back to Jack, I hold his handsome face in my palms and pull his mouth down to mine. “I want you there.”

Me

I think I might be heading to the World Cup in June. Nothing is confirmed yet, but I’m being told it’s as good as done!

Ollie

You act like you’re surprised.

I am! There are so many strong options for center back. I thought I’d be last on the list.

You’re that good. Which is also unsurprising since you’re my sister and all.

Careful. You might trip over your ego.

It’s not the size of my ego that’s the problem.

Gross.

How’s my favorite hockey player?

Jack’s good. Jon is also fine. Other than the beating they took tonight.

The battery symbol on the top right of my screen flashes with a warning.

I gotta go. Are you still flying home for Christmas?

Yep. One of the benefits of playing in La Liga: they actually give you a rest instead of playing you into the ground like the Premier League.

Catch you later, superstar.

“Argh! Fucking bars, fucking phones.”

I hear boots cross the restroom as I lean against the side of the stall, and the hand dryer fires up.

“But most of all, fucking men !”

I don’t make a sound as the girl continues to ramble to herself in a mock voice.

“ All I’m asking for is one drink, babe. I’m not like the other men who messed you around. ” The hand dryer cuts out before immediately starting up again. “And fucking useless dryers!”

Kind of intimidated by what I might find on the other side of the door, I slide the lock open and peer around the corner.

Wavy light-pink hair is the first thing I see, followed by all black. Like, every item of clothing she’s wearing is black—from her boots to the skintight black dress that rides high on her thigh. Even her shoulder bag is black.

When the dryer cuts for a second time, she must hear me as I approach, and she spins around to face me, her striking black eyeliner skillfully applied.

“Oh, sorry!” Her cheeks pinken to match her hair. “Didn’t realize I had company.”

I smile down at the phone in her hand as she waves it under the dryer again. “What happened?”

The girl I’d pin as a couple of years older than me attempts to pull the back off her phone case—without any luck.

Dropping her shoulders, she frowns down at it and shouts back over the whirring noise, “How long you got?”

I dry my hands with a paper towel and throw it into the trash can beside me. Next, I pull out a tube of hand cream, and finally, the room falls silent. There’s something about a bar restroom that always brings girls together. Like, in a place filled with mostly lecherous guys trying to grind against you every thirty seconds, the four familiar walls and mirrors provide a sanctuary to talk shit and sometimes bitch.

“Hit me,” I reply, handing her the cream like she’s an old friend.

She sets her cell on the countertop, pops the lid on the cream, and squeezes a small amount into her hand. “The usual—boy asks girl out, promising he isn’t like all the other douchebags and that he’ll definitely meet her right after the Blades game.” She hands me back the tube and quirks a brow. “I should have known better than to believe him when he said he wasn’t married.”

I audibly gasp. “What?!”

She nods. “Yep. Met him at the bike shop, where I’ve picked up some shifts. He asked me out, and I asked him about the tan line on his ring finger. He said he’d recently separated and was looking for some fun. I turned him down for, like, three weeks solid, but he kept coming back to order parts that I knew he didn’t need for the bike he owned. So, eventually, I caved. He was cute, and it had been a while, if you catch my meaning.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Next thing I know, I’m sitting in this bar, waiting around for le douche, when a text from his wife lands in my message requests, saying she’s leaving him and I’m not the only woman he’s been lying to.”

“Fuck.”

She lifts her petite frame up onto the counter. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“That’s all I can think to say. Other than dickhead.”

She smiles, one that reaches her big brown eyes. She’s seriously pretty. “Yep, well, that’s it for me. I’m twenty-five, and I’ll never look at another man again. Or reply to any messages they might send.” She picks up her phone and shoves it in her bag. “Not that I have a working one to do that anyway. Or call myself a taxi home.”

“Here, you can borrow mine.” I pull out my cell to find a black screen. “Fuck.”

“Spill a drink on yours too …” She trails off, clearly realizing she doesn’t know my name.

“Kendra,” I answer.

She jumps down off the counter and straightens out the collar of her leather jacket, offering out her hand. “Collins. Nice to meet you, Kendra.”

I take it and thumb over my shoulder. “I’m here with a group of friends. I’m sure one of them can lend you a phone. You might be waiting a while to use the bar’s.”

I check myself and remember the people I’m here with are largely famous, including my boyfriend. “Are you into hockey?”

She blows out a single harsh laugh. “Fucking joking, aren’t you? Sports are not in my wheelhouse. Bikes? Yes. Sports? Hard pass.”

We’re out the door, and I’m halfway to the booths when Collins taps me on the shoulder and I spin back around.

“Thank you for this, for helping a girl out. This city can be kind of lonely, and I don’t know if I’ll see you again after tonight, so, yeah, thank you.”

I cock my head to the side. “I know that feeling all too well, babe.” Reaching into my bag, I pause when I remember my phone is toast. “Hang on. I should have a pen and paper in here somewhere.”

When I find a fine marker, I hold it in one hand and then search for a random receipt I can scrawl over.

“Just write it on here.” Collins holds out her palm to me.

“What, like back in high school?” I laugh.

She presses her lips together. “How old are you? People haven’t done this since the ’90s.”

“I wasn’t alive in the ’90s.” I chuckle, quickly writing my number across her palm. “There, just don’t wash your hands, or you’ll lose me forever.”

I expect Collins to laugh, but she doesn’t. Instead, she drops her eyes to the floor and mumbles something inaudible against the beat of the music.

Not wanting to push anything, I lead us toward the group. “Can anyone lend Collins their phone? She needs to call for a ride home.”

“Sure thing.” Jack reaches over with his.

I take it from him and hand it to Collins.

“Thanks so much. I’ll only be a second,” she replies and starts typing in a number she clearly has memorized.

“Wait. I can give you a ride home if you need one.”

Collins looks up and straight at Sawyer. “To my place?”

He scratches the back of his neck and smiles kind of awkwardly. “Yeah, that’s where you want to go, right?”

She side-eyes me, clearly unsure.

“He’s my boyfriend’s captain. You can trust him.”

“My face is also pretty well known in town,” Sawyer adds.

Punching in the last number on Jack’s phone, Collins narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Famous or not, I don’t accept rides from strangers. Thanks, though.”

She puts the phone to her ear and begins speaking, tuning out the rest of the bar as she turns away.

“Sheesh, bro. Burn, baby, burn!” Archer leans back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest, as Darcy giggles beside him. At some point, they must have rejoined the group.

Sawyer leans forward and plants a firm hand on his goalie’s shoulder, lowering his voice. “At least I’m not dancing with death tonight.” He raises a brow at Darcy, who’s busy talking to Jack about her flight home.

Archer shrugs and takes a pull on his drink. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Okay, the taxi will be outside in a second. Thanks so much!” Collins hands Jack his phone and focuses on me. “Thanks again. You never know, if I’m feeling like a random coffee sometime, I might hit you up.”

She takes me by surprise as she leans in and sets a kiss against my cheek, shooting one last glance at Sawyer.

“See ya.”