Fated Shot

Chapter 27

Jack

I can’t remember a single time in the last ten years that I’ve ever been this happy.

Sure, getting drafted, playing my first game in the NHL, and Penn getting called up to the Tundra were all life highlights, but they were just blips—spikes of emotion in my otherwise typical existence.

Lately, it’s been snuggling on the couch, ordering takeout, going on walks, and small things every day that should feel like nothing special but are actually everything. It’s a constant state of happiness that I didn’t think would ever be possible for me. And it’s all as a result of Mia.

I don’t even know if we’re officially together, but I don’t want to scare her off. I’m a patient man and if we need to take this at her pace, that’s exactly what we’ll do.

I’ll do anything if it means I keep getting to come home to her after a few days away, stop by to have lunch together after practice, and talk on the phone constantly. I’m a phone guy now, by the way. It’s my connection to Mia when we’re apart, so I’m suddenly glued to my screen.

She’s naturally a bit hesitant about jumping into anything serious right now. We haven’t even talked about what we are. Honestly, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how to ask if we're exclusive .

She’s entered my orbit, and I’m set on making her my center of gravity. I just need to figure out a way to do it, or, better yet, convince her to let me.

***

We’ve been absolutely dominating lately.

Max and I have become such a powerhouse; it’s like we can read each other’s minds on the ice, and it’s been fan-fucking-tastic. I swear, the moment I found something outside of hockey, everything clicked in me. I’m not playing to make it to retirement, I’m playing to win.

Every time I know she’s at the game, I feel it. Like I want to play my best—be something—someone she’s proud of. Even at our away games, the good luck texts I get before I step on the ice and the Facetime calls that come, whether we win or lose, sustain me.

With Scott, Penn, and Theo’s line also turning heads, the Tundra this year are a force to be reckoned with. I actually feel like we have a shot of making it all the way.

It’s another shut-out for Evan, 3-0, and the locker room is rowdier than usual. We can still hear some fans screaming even as we all get dressed after mini celebrations and quick showers. The energy is always electric, but lately, we’ve really got all the fan support behind us. I’ve been stopped in the street a lot more recently, something I’m still not used to, even in a hockey city like Toronto. It’s draining and energizing at the same time, an oxymoron for sure, but the city’s pride in us continues to drive us forward.

I’m showered and ready to head out before the other guys. Standing up, I grab my bag and salute the group of them as I walk out of the locker room. I’m secretly hoping that a certain blonde is waiting for me outside, and if she is, I don’t want to keep her waiting. It’s wishful thinking for sure; we haven’t been hiding anything, but it’s not as if we’re flailing around showing everyone that we’ve been hanging out. We’ve been keeping things mostly between us, laying low at her place or mine, and really just enjoying spending time together.

I shouldn’t expect her to be there, but I can’t help it. I want her to be.

***

Mia

The game was incredible, and for the first time in a while, I was actually happy to be in the family section. Cheering on the team with Mom, Cami, and Kaia was way more fun than I expected. I might just have to make it a regular thing.

As the game ends, I make my way down the tunnel with my mom, waiting for the players and coaches to pass by. Even in my flats, I’m towering over her as we walk. The hallway is lined with roped-off pockets of people—kids holding signs, older fans, and a group of girls about my age.

We spot my dad emerging from the end of the hallway fairly quickly. He waves to some of the fans before making his way over and pulling us both into a bear hug.

“Good game, Coach,” I call as he beams widely.

“Love seeing both my ladies here.” He eyes my jersey suspiciously, I can see the exact moment he notices the number. He stills for just a moment, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly before clearing his throat, and diverting his eyes without a word. Instead, he takes my mom’s hand and starts to head toward the exit .

“You coming home with us, Amelia-girl?” My dad asks over his shoulder, clearly trying not to dwell on the awkwardness.

“No, I took the Jeep. I’m probably going to hang around for a bit, you know, let the crowds thin out.” Smooth, Mia.

Thankfully my mom reads my cue as she gives a little tug, egging my dad forward.

“Come on, Doug, I bet if we hurry we can grab some frozen yogurt before they close up shop for the night.”

My dad smiles, patting her hand lovingly.

“Yes, dear,” he replies as he guides them both away, leaving me alone, standing albeit a little awkwardly at the end of the hallway.

A few more staff members make their way out, all to the group of girl’s dismay. I keep watching them frantically fix their hair as soon as they see the door open, only for their faces to drop each time they don’t recognize the person emerging. They are all beautiful; perfect bodies, shiny bleached blonde hair, and stunningly applied makeup. I can’t get over the stilettos, though, and I don’t know how they didn’t freeze to death with the skin they’re showing.

I look down at my oversized jersey and worn black leggings. Even my unruly hair is in a messy topknot. At least I had the sense to throw on some makeup. I know it’s not a competition, but if it were, I wouldn’t even compare. With every passing minute, I feel more self-conscious about how underdressed I am.

Suddenly, the door opens to reveal someone who has piqued their interest, bright white smiles flashing in the direction of the commotion.

That’s when I spot him, too—long, muscular legs wrapped in perfectly tailored navy pants, a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing just a hint of a tattooed chest, and a matching suit jacket .

He doesn’t see me, his attention pulled by some cute kiddos reaching up and jumping for joy. I watch as he takes the time to interact with as many people as possible, but when he makes his way over to the group of girls, there’s a pang of envy in my stomach.

His smile is polite, but they eat it up, leaning over the ropes, and pulling out their cellphones. They don’t have his full attention; he’s barely leaning into the endless selfies they’re asking for, but I can’t help but feel like I’m intruding. One of the taller girls leans in so her face is right next to his as she snaps a pic. They look cute together like she’s a better match for him than I could ever be.

I tug nervously at the jersey, considering making a run for it. What am I doing here? I’m wearing his jersey, even though he’s not my boyfriend, and now I’m waiting to ambush him? Could I be any more desperate?

I glance around in a panic, taking a quick step back before sneaking around the corner and down a shorter hallway.

“Mia!” A deep and lively voice calls right before I can fully clear the corner. It’s one I recognize immediately. Fuckity-fuck. I turn on the spot to see the sex god himself walking over, trying to catch up. The girl in the background is looking me up and down, watching every move of our interaction.

“H-hi,” I say, blushing instantly. Great start, I’m hopeless.

A look of surprise flashes across his face, excitement gleaming in his eyes as he takes in my outfit.

“Are you wearing my jersey?”

I look down, trying to feign casualty as I fiddle with the fabric. “Oh, um...”

He grabs my face, dropping his forehead against mine.

“I’ve pictured this moment in my head a million times, yet somehow, this is better than I could have ever imagined.” It’s barely a whisper, meant for only me, and suddenly, I don’t even care about the curious audience behind him.

With bewilderment still in his eyes, he takes a small step back, giving himself a full view of me as he does another slow once-over.

“Damn, you look amazing,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes locking me in place. It’s like there’s no one else here, and nothing else matters to him but me. I blush instinctively under his gaze as he lifts his hands to my face and gently kisses me. I lean into it, letting everything else float away as we explore each other.

There are some confused whispers coming from behind him, and I’m rudely reminded of where we are right now. Breaking apart, I take a half step back from him.

He looks physically pained at my move like I ripped the last ounce of oxygen from him.

“People are looking,” I inform him. He doesn’t break his gaze away, doesn’t even bother turning around to see what I’m signaling to. Instead, he just smiles at me, confident and sweet.

“We’re going out to celebrate—come with us.”

“I’m not dressed to go out.” Especially compared to the bombshells giving me death glares ten feet away.

“I actually don’t think you should wear anything else ever again. I may have to insist on it, I’m afraid.” A spark of playfulness in his eyes.

I can’t help but laugh, though there’s a tiny part that looks like he may not be kidding.

“I’m serious,” I say, trying my best to hide the insecurity I know will betrayingly flood my expression.

“Why don’t you change and meet us there, then?” he asks, hopefully. I don’t even have time to object before he adds, “I’ll send an Uber to pick you up, okay? Eleven-thirty?”

“O-okay,” I reluctantly agree, but he flashes a huge smile and leans in to kiss my cheek .

“Come on, Wyndham, let’s get you to your car.” And with a strong hand on my back, he guides me away like no one else around us even exists.