Page 10 of The Wingman

I think back to a month ago. The exhibition game we played against Calgary at an outdoor rink in Whistler. Miller suggested I play a shift as a forward as a last resort.

“The League Classic.”

He nods once. “Yep.”

“That wasn’t a real game.” It didn’t count toward our regular season. “It was just for fun.”

His eyes narrow as he studies me in silence, and discomfort twists in my chest.

“I’m not the star.”

Ward makes a thoughtful face. “What if you are?”

I fold my arms over my chest, trying to summon my affable, good-natured grin, but I can’t find it.

“It’s your choice,” he adds, still watching me, “but I think it’s the right move, and I’d like you to consider it.”

Playoffs are in three months, at the end of April, and we have a decent shot. Ward’s always pushing us to play our role, focus on our positions to serve the team. Defense is the position I know and thrive in.

Am I thriving, though? Or am I just making it work? The game replays in my head, and the weird feeling in my chest when Miller scored resurfaces. Something’s changed, and Ican’t put my finger on it, but I have an ugly suspicion that it’s only going to get worse.

Across from me, Ward waits with his usual knowing patience. When he became coach, the Vancouver Storm changed for the better. Unlike the previous coach, he doesn’t have an ego, and he works one-on-one with every player on the team, from first-line stars to fourth-line rookies. He knows every member of the Storm organization by name, even the people he doesn’t interact with, like cleaning staff, accountants, and Zamboni drivers. For fuck’s sake, he knows the people working the concession.

One team, he always says. I admire that about the guy, that he treats everyone with respect, makes everyone feel included and valued.

I rake my hand back through my hair. The trade deadline is in March, and I’m not interested in leaving. Volkov, Miller, Streicher, Hazel, Pippa—these people are my family. Darcy’s here in Vancouver now, too, and the thought of having to move away from her again sends a streak of resolve through me.

I don’t want to give Ward any reason to trade me, and even more, I want to make him proud.

“Okay.” My chest is tight as I give him a firm nod. “I’m in.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” A pleased smile breaks out across his features. “You start training with the other forwards tomorrow morning.”

CHAPTER 5

DARCY

“You sure you’re not tired?”Hayden asks when we slide into a booth at the Filthy Flamingo after the game. The narrow, dingy dive bar in Gastown has band posters framed all over the wood-paneled walls and twinkling lights strung across the ceiling. “We don’t have to stay long.”

I’ve been here a few times when visiting Hayden, and it’s my favorite bar in Vancouver. With its hidden entrance in a dark, quiet alley, it’s the secret hangout of the Vancouver Storm, especially after games. Jordan, the pretty, surly bartender with long dark hair, slings drinks behind the counter, and behind her, Polaroids of the regulars, including the team, are tacked up.

I give him a shocked look. “No way. I want to go out.”

Kit always wanted to go right home after games. I would have to drag him out with his team, or with Hayden when we were in town. The rage in my blood continues to simmer.

Hayden grins. “Good girl.”

I scrunch my face at him and he chuckles. Hazel, Rory, Jamie, Pippa, and Hayden’s defensive partner, Alexei, are all here, as well as other players and partners. Everyone’s spiritsare up after the win, and the bar is lively with laughter and conversation.

Jordan drops our drinks off, and Hayden and I clink our glasses together.

“Cheers.” He makes pointed eye contact with me.

I stare back, widening my eyes. “Cheers.”

“What are you doing?” Hazel asks, glancing between us with an amused smile.

“You have to make eye contact when you toast,” Hayden explains, like it’s obvious.

---