Page 14

Sutton

T he next week passes in a blur. I spend every night in Jordan’s bed. Somehow, he even convinces me to stay when he has to fly out for a game. I pretend to be annoyed about him being so bossy, but in all honesty…I love it.

I love being in his space. I love spending time with him. I love discovering everything I missed. He’s the same he’s always been, but he’s different too. Darker. More demanding. Cranky as hell sometimes, too.

We don’t talk about Jamison. But Jamison certainly does his best to intrude. Every time I turn around, he’s blowing up my phone. Most of the time, I don’t even bother to answer. But after a week of him annoying the hell out of me, I finally pick up.

“What do you want?” I growl, juggling the phone between my ear and shoulder as I try to get ready for Jordan’s game.

“Oh. So you finally decide to answer, huh?” Jamison mutters, sounding pissed. Like I’m the one who did something wrong.

“I’ve been busy fucking your former best friend,” I snap. It’s spiteful, but saying it makes me feel a tiny bit better. It’s also true. We’re fucking like rabbits. “Which I could be doing right now, but you’re on my phone. Again .”

Saying that feels good, too, actually.

“Goddammit, Sutton,” he sighs. “You know he’s just using you to get back at me. You’re going to get your heart broken.”

I stop trying to wiggle into my pants to scowl into space. “Seriously? Now you care if I end up with a broken heart? Where was that concern five years ago, big brother?”

“I didn’t fucking know you were in love with him!”

“Right.”

“Sutton, I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t.”

I actually believe him, dammit. Mostly because I never told him.

I guarded that secret like it was the entrance to Fort Knox, afraid of what he’d say if he knew.

I was barely eighteen. Jordan was twenty-eight.

I never cared about that age gap, but I worried Jamison would shut the whole thing down before I ever had a chance with Jordan if he found out.

He didn’t even know, and he still managed to shut it down before we had a chance. Depressing how that worked out. I refuse to let him do it again now.

“Would it have changed anything had you known?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I was a selfish prick who hurt everyone I ever cared about?” He groans like he’s in actual pain. “Christ, Sutton. I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to do better.”

“No, you aren’t,” I say softly. Defeated. “You’re trying to assuage your guilt. There’s a difference. Making amends means acknowledging what you did. It means facing the people you hurt. It means being honest. You haven’t done any of those things, Jamison.”

“I talked to him after our game. I apologized.”

“Is that what happened?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Jamison sounds surprised, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. We don’t talk about you at all.”

“So you just avoid the issue.”

“That’s not what we’re doing,” I protest. But it kind of is…isn’t it? We avoid talking about him like he’s not a silent presence hovering in the corner. Like he has no bearing on our lives at all. And yet, he does.

“Isn’t it? You avoid talking about it because it’s easier.” Jamison sighs. “Maybe I do the same thing, baby sister.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” I growl, eyes narrowing. “You’re the one who lied. You’re the one who hurt people. If you want to feel better about it, be honest. Fix it.”

“I’m trying, dammit!”

“Try harder,” I snap, hanging up on him. I toss my phone on the bed with a soft growl, my temples throbbing. Why is he so infuriating? When did he get so twisted up?

Ha. Do I even need to ask? When they named him captain. He finally had everything he spent his whole life working for, and it’s like he didn’t know what to do with it. The one guy everyone was supposed to be able to count on turned into the one guy no one could.

I couldn’t. Jordan couldn’t. Neither could Vanessa.

I sink down onto the side of the bed, picking up my phone. For a long moment, I just hold it, hesitating. And then I suck in a breath and open a browser, typing in her name.

Tears spring to my eyes when I see her wedding announcement. She’s getting married. I click on the only social media link available for her, the same page she had when we were in college. My heart twinges when I realize that I’m still blocked.

Five years later, and she still wants nothing to do with me. It hurts more than it should. Maybe it hurts more now because I know there’s a reason, one I should have known all along. Does she think I just didn’t care? That I knew and simply pretended I didn’t?

I scroll to my messages, pulling up Jordan’s name.

Me: Do you think Vanessa would talk to me if I tried to get in touch?

He reads the message, starts typing, and then stops. A few seconds later, my phone vibrates in my hands.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

“Jamison called again.”

“Fuck.”

“He didn’t tell me what he did,” I quickly say.

Even though we don’t talk about it, I know Jordan’s still worried about what happens when the rest of the sky falls down on us.

Sooner or later, it’s bound to happen. We can’t ignore the problem away, as much as I wish we could.

“But I don’t know. I guess talking to him just made me realize that she probably walked out of my life thinking I knew the truth.

She probably hates me for not speaking up for her. ”

“I doubt she hates you, Sutton,” he says softly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s impossible to hate you.”

“Then why does she still have me blocked on social media?” I brush a tear from my cheek. “Did you know she was engaged?”

“I didn’t know that. I haven’t talked to her in five years. Not since…” he trails off. “Well, that’s not important. The point is, I barely talked to her back then. We didn’t keep in touch once I was sent to Connecticut.”

I bite my lip, hesitating. It’s too much to ask. And yet… “Do you think she’d talk to you?” I whisper, clutching the phone like it’s a lifeline. “If you reached out?”

He’s silent for a minute. “Is that what you want? You want me to reach out to her?”

“I just…I want to know that she’s okay. And I guess I want her to know that I’m sorry for whatever he did. And that I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“You can’t apologize for him, princess. It’s on him to do that,” Jordan says, his voice somehow firm and gentle at the same time.

“I know.” I exhale a sharp breath. “I just want her to know that I didn’t know. And that I’m sorry for that.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he murmurs. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“Thanks, Jordan.”

“You can thank me after the game tonight, princess. I want your face to be the first thing I see when I come off the ice.”

“Fine, but we are not having sex in the locker room, Jordan Silvestri.”

A loud laugh rumbles down the line, making me smile. “Baby, there are a dozen places I’d like to fuck you in that arena. The locker room damn sure isn’t one of them.”

“Glad we’re on the same page then.” There is no way I’m getting naked where his teammates sit their sweaty balls. No, thank you.

It’s been so long since I attended a game that I almost forgot how much I love them.

Being in the arena is different than watching it on the television screen.

On TV, you don’t really hear the rumbling of the crowd.

You don’t feel the celebratory roars rolling over you in a wave of sound when someone nets a goal.

You can’t make out the playful jeers and catcalls or hear the sticks slamming into the puck… or the guys slamming into the boards.

But in the arena, you’re surrounded by the sounds of hockey. There’s a certain electricity about it that a televised game will never be able to deliver. It’s thrilling, like a little piece of your heart is on the ice as you scream your head off and cheer your team on.

A big piece of mine was always on the ice. It was right out there with Jordan and my brother. Tonight, it’s out there with Jordan again. Every time he looks over at me, as if checking to see if I’m really there, my smile grows bigger and my heart beats faster.

I missed this. I missed watching him play.

I missed seeing just how beautifully he moves and how quickly he reacts.

I’m not even remotely surprised when he ends up in the penalty box twice before the first period is over.

I’m even less surprised when he nearly gets in a fight after one of the Chicago Wind players checks Archer Graves from behind.

Jordan is on the guy, hauling him away from their captain before the guy even has a chance to turn around. The whole crowd hoots and hollers, stomping their feet. But Jordan doesn’t hit him. He just shoves him away, yells something at him, and then spins to help Archer up.

The game is close, all the way to the end. As the clock winds down, I’m on my feet beside Emilia Lariat and Peyton Cloud, screaming my head off. Jordan has the puck, but he doesn’t have an opening. He snaps the puck to River, who takes off down the ice in a breakaway.

The entire arena is so loud, I can’t hear myself think as River rushes toward their goal, the Wind’s nearest skaters racing to catch up. But there is no catching him. He whips down the ice so fast it makes me dizzy.

I lose sight of the puck for a moment when he turns to the left at the last second, only to catch sight of it again as the goalie for the Wind makes a frantic dive…and misses.

The puck slams into the back of the net, and the goal horn rips through the arena, drowned out by the crowd.

I squeal, jumping up and down with Emilia and Peyton.

The guys smack River on the back at center ice, celebrating their win. With less than six seconds left on the clock, it’s over with. The Wind fans aren’t thrilled about it, but ours are.

Jordan glances up, seeking me out.

I send a little wave in his direction, beaming.