"For God's sake, turn that off," Jack grunts, leading me to wake up. Fuck, it's 7 am.
I stop my alarm, and I hear Jack on the sofa sigh. I shoot out of bed upon noticing missed calls from Braden.
"Shit, Jack, I've got to go," I declare, hastily throwing on last night's outfit. Jack, visibly burdened by remorse, slumps on the sofa with his head in his hands. "I messed up. We drank too much last night," he confesses, seeking redemption. I pay little attention, preoccupied with the realization that my alcohol-fueled escapades are the least of my worries at that moment.
"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! What am I going to say to Braden?" I mutter frantically, perching on the edge of the bed.
Jack gets up and crack his back. "I don't see where the problem is. Just don't tell him, like you said, he's not your boyfriend," he suggested with a casual tone, attempting to downplay the situation.
True, Braden wasn't my boyfriend, but he had introduced me as his girl, and I found myself tangled between someone else's legs. Our relationship might lack official labels, but the lines between us had blurred into a semblance of couplehood.
Despite the moral discord, there was an undeniable allure to the spontaneity of the previous night, the intimacy shared with Jack feeling oddly right, his presence and our connection drowning out the noise of judgment and regret.
"Do you regret yester—" I began, but Jack swiftly interrupted, his tone assertive. "I said what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," he declared, pausing to meet my gaze. "I don't think we should talk about it again. We stay friends, just like yesterday at the club. Like nothing happened."
As he makes his way to the bathroom, turning on the shower, I struggle to reconcile his nonchalant attitude. Jack seems unaffected, as if such encounters were routine for him. Perhaps, it is not for me.
I'm not angry with Jack; instead, embarrassment weighs heavily on me. What transpired between us the previous night is undeniably wrong. The truth stings as I admit it to myself – I have slept with my ex. The realization lingers, casting a shadow over the room, and I can't shake the discomfort that clings to me like a persistent regret.
He glances at me as I grab my purse, and I hurriedly exit his room, wishing him a perfunctory "good day."
Rushing to my own door, I knock with an urgency that mirrors the turmoil within me. Grateful that I hear Brad unlocking the door from the other side, I anxiously wait. As he swings the door open, his face lights up with a palpable sense of relief.
He welcomes me inside, enveloping me in a tight hug that, in contrast to Jack's embrace, feels somewhat unfamiliar. His concern is evident as he holds my face in his hands, searching for an explanation. "Where were you? I woke up at 4 am and realized you weren't back. I totally panicked," he questions, his eyes reflecting a mix of worry and relief.
The truth lingers on the tip of my tongue, an awkward admission that I had been with his new teammate, Jack. The weight of guilt intensifies, overshadowing any justification I could conjure up.
"I was, uh, back at 2 am, and I forgot my key," I stammer, pausing to gesture towards the key still lying on the drawer where I had left it the day before. "I went downstairs to get a new one, but they wouldn't give me one for safety reasons. So, I had to pay for another room," I fabricate, weaving a tale to mask the reality of the night.
Before I can continue, he gently cuts me off with a raised hand, a gesture that mirrors the morning's recurring interruptions. "I believe you, don't worry. I just got scared," he reassures, leaning in to kiss my forehead. The touch, though comforting, only intensifies the internal struggle of concealing the truth.
"I'm going in the shower," I announce, grabbing my cosmetics. Brad extends an invitation to go out for breakfast, and I accept his offer.
...
Brad reaches out, taking my hands atop the table, his eyes searching for mine. I can't bring myself to meet his gaze, choosing to avert my eyes. Concern laces his words, "Is everything alright? You haven't kissed me this morning," he observes. I offer a subtle nod, feigning assurance to allay his concerns.
The waitress approaches, breaking the tense moment. "Would you like something to drink?" she inquires. "Just coffee for me, please," I request, and Brad orders the same, unknowingly contributing to the facade of normalcy we are trying to maintain.
"Well, that seemed like a challenging night," Brad quips, and the waitress returns with our two coffees. We express our gratitude, and I customize mine with one cream and brown sugar.
"Are you prepared for tonight's game?" I inquire. "Certainly, but I'm a bit nervous about how well I'll perform with the guys," he responds. "It'll be fine. They were really welcoming yesterday. Stay positive," I encourage, taking a sip of my steaming coffee.
"I've mentioned it before, but it really means a lot that you're here," he expresses once again. "I like you a lot, Morgan, and I hope I can make you my girlfriend one day," he confesses, laying bare his feelings.
My nerves kick in, and I feign ignorance, choosing not to acknowledge his heartfelt words. Despite his persistent attempts over the past three months, I've been adamant about not letting our relationship evolve into something more. The boy is clearly in love, but I'm not ready for that step.
Conveniently, the waitress arrives with our plates, offering a timely distraction.
I've opted for a modest order, just one egg and some bacon, as my stomach feels too fragile for a heartier meal this morning. On the contrary, Brad's choice is a substantial omelette with ham and hash brown potatoes. "Enjoy," I tell him, and we exchange smiles, delving into our plates at a leisurely pace.
"Would you like to meet my parents on Christmas?" he blurts out quickly. I nearly choke on my coffee. "This Christmas? This year?" I ask, disbelief evident in my tone. "Of course, this year, not in two years," he laughs, but my response lacks any mirth.
"Let me think about it; I might have some plans already, but I would like to!" I manage with a forced smile. His joy at my tentative acceptance is palpable, even though I'm grappling with the realization that meeting his parents on Christmas might be more than I'm ready for.
...
Upon returning to the hotel, I found myself feeling unwell. It seemed like my breakfast hadn't settled, leading to an unpleasant bout of vomiting in the toilet. I requested some time alone from Braden, who, understandingly, left for the afternoon to partake in planned activities for the All-Star NHL.
After a period of rest, I summoned the energy to get up and refresh myself. Downing copious amounts of water, I took another shower to invigorate my senses. Opting for a simple yet put-together look, I applied makeup to give my appearance a semblance of vitality. I chose a light pair of jeans, a white sweater, and a vintage leather jacket, keeping my outfit uncomplicated. Wanting to avoid any potential headache, I left my hair down, aiming for a low-maintenance yet presentable look for the rest of the day.
Grabbing my tiny weekend purse, I made my way out of the room, ensuring that I had my key this time. Descending to the lobby, I joined the spot where the girls and I had planned to meet. My sunglasses were already perched on my nose, concealing my small, tired eyes.
"I guess we're all hungover," remarked Aubrey, sporting shades of her own, capturing the shared sentiment among us.
A collective sigh of relief echoed as it became apparent that I wasn't the only one nursing a hangover. "Trevor was in good shape as soon as he woke up this morning. It doesn't make sense to me," Eva remarked. "Alex too, and he was so excited for today," Aubrey added. I shared my misadventure from the previous day, tactfully omitting the intimate details involving Jack.
They were visibly shocked, but I stressed the importance of keeping the incident about Braden's room under wraps to avoid unnecessary conflict. They agreed, and we continued discussing the day's plans as we made our way to the arena.
We decide to split the Uber bill equally among us, and as the car comes to a stop, we exit, ready to face the day despite the lingering effects of our night out.
As we arrive at the rink, the vibrant atmosphere of the event envelops us. The clamor of enthusiastic fans echoes through the air, each one passionately cheering for their favorite players. The variety of jerseys on display showcases the diversity of fans and their unwavering support.
On the red carpet, Braden is engaged in taking selfies with young fans, radiating warmth and approachability. Nearby, I notice Jack signing a girl's arm, his easygoing demeanor evident in the casual interactions with admirers.
Aubrey's excited exclamation pulls our attention toward the red carpet, where Jamie and Trevor stand side by side, bathed in the flashing lights of cameras.
"Look, there they are! Jamie and Trevor!" Aubrey points them out.
Despite our attempts to capture their attention, the fervent cheers and screams of the crowd make it nearly impossible to make ourselves heard.
Accepting the futility of our efforts, we decided to head directly inside
Aubrey and Eva had everything organized, and they had rented a luxurious suite to share with some of the players' girlfriends. While luxury suites came with a hefty price tag, splitting the cost among everyone made it more reasonable. As we entered, we found a few wives already present, engaged in friendly chit-chat. We greeted them with hugs and joined in the conversation.
Soon, Aubrey spots the champagne and wastes no time pouring herself a glass. She brings one for me, and though I initially decline, she insists, "For the price we paid, you have to take advantage of it." Recognizing the truth in her words, I accept, and to my surprise, I take my first sip with the grace of a seasoned pro. Sometimes, you have to face the beast head-on.
For about an hour, we engage in conversation, nibble on small bites, and sip champagne, enjoying the luxury suite's ambiance. As the arena gradually fills with supporters, our view of the ice from the suite mirrors the televised experience. The atmosphere is pleasant, though subtly different from the usual games.
Suddenly, our faces pop up on the giant screen, and we're introduced as the "girlfriends." The crowd erupts into cheers and screams as we wave at the camera, basking in the unexpected spotlight.
The players are introduced on the ice, showcasing their favorite skills. Trevor's impressive trick shot garners cheers from the crowd, prompting Eva to leap to her feet and cheer enthusiastically for her man. The spotlight then shifts to McDavid, who demonstrates his exceptional speed on the ice.
As Jack takes center stage, the crowd erupts into excitement for one of the most popular hockey players. His cocky demeanor, as always, captivates the audience. He waves at the cheering fans and tosses a signed jersey into the stands. Glancing at the screen, I can't help but be drawn to Jack's perfect face. Thoughts of our recent intimate encounter flash through my mind, causing my heart to race. I quickly down my champagne, refocusing just in time to witness Jack execute a skillful shootout. Is he just a handsome hockey player, or does he genuinely possess remarkable talent? The question lingers, unanswered, in my mind.
"How does he not have a girlfriend yet?" says Pastrnak's wife. I must have had a bit too much champagne because the truth slips out of my mouth. "Maybe there's a reason why he still doesn't have a girlfriend!" I exclaim. Everyone's heads turn towards me, and I try to avoid their judgmental looks. I ask them what's wrong, but Loren's comment catches me off guard.
"My husband Elias plays with his brother Quinn, and for the few times that I've met him, I got a good feeling about him. He's a gentleman and very polite, he's honestly so adorable," she defends him.
I chuckle and try to avoid her statement, but I can't. I turn my head to look into her eyes. "Believe me, he's not as adorable once you get to know him."
Everyone holds their gasp as I walk my ass to the champagne bottle. The tension in the air is palpable as I pour another glass, feeling the weight of my unfiltered comment lingering in the room.
I pour myself another glass of champagne, and Eva joins me. "What's up with the anger?" she asks, genuinely interested.
"I don't wander around telling people that Jack was my high school sweetheart. You don't know anything about me, Eva; we met last night," I freeze, realizing how mean I sound. I can see surprise in her eyes. I quickly excuse myself, explaining that this is not how I wanted it to sound.
"Don't worry; I don't hold grudges," she gives me a small smile. "And you know what? Now that I know this huge piece of information, it all makes sense," she adds with a little smirk, referring to how Jack looked at me last night. I let out a small laugh as she takes my hand, guiding me back to my seat.
"Come on, girls, you just missed Braden," says Aubrey.
I look at the screen and see Braden, grateful for the applause he receives. I've been difficult with him, and for absolutely no reason. It dawns on me that I'm starting to realize how lucky I am to have him in my life. I can be really ungrateful sometimes, and it makes me hate myself. He wants the best for me, and I'm being selfish. I have to admit that I'm scared of a lot of things, but love is my biggest enemy.
I love being in love, but I hate the outcome.
The conversation shifts as Aubrey excitedly updates us on what we missed during Braden's on-screen appearance. The atmosphere lightens, and I find myself genuinely enjoying the camaraderie.
As the game progresses, I steal a moment to whisper an apology to Eva. "I didn't mean to snap earlier. I'm sorry."
She smiles, "Water under the bridge. We all have our moments. Besides, I'm not one to judge."
The arena pulses with anticipation as the players take their positions on the ice, each one representing their team with pride. The crowd's excitement builds, and a hush falls over the spectators as the lights dim, leaving only the glow of the synchronized bracelets adorning every wrist.
The soft melody of music begins to play, and with each beat, the bracelets light up in perfect harmony. The arena transforms into a dazzling sea of synchronized lights, creating a mesmerizing visual spectacle. The crowd gasps and erupts into cheers.
The national anthem resonates through the air, and the audience unites in a collective display of patriotism, their hands over their hearts.
With the final notes of the anthem, the atmosphere crackles with energy, and the puck drops, signaling the start of the game. The players engage in a fierce battle for control, and the tension in the air is palpable. The referee signals for the face-off, and as the puck is released, Team A wins the first challenge, setting the tone for an intense and thrilling match.
The crowd roars with excitement, and the synchronized bracelets continue to pulsate with the ebb and flow of the game. The players glide across the ice, executing strategic moves and displaying their skills, while the spectators become immersed in the drama unfolding before them.
As the first period concludes, the scoreboard proudly displays a 1-0 lead for Team B, igniting a surge of excitement within the arena. The spectators, including myself, buzz with energy, thrilled by the thrilling start to the game.
Bedard's early goal is the talk of the crowd, and his impressive feat reverberates through the arena. The fans erupt into applause, acknowledging the skill and precision that led to such an early advantage. Bedard's name echoes through the speakers, accompanied by cheers and shouts of approval from the stands.
I sit on the little couch in our suit, and in disbelieve I say "It was incredible, right from the start. Set the tone for the whole game."
Eva agrees, "I can't believe he scored in the first few minutes. Talk about making an impact!"
Loren, ever the optimist, chime in, "This bodes well for the rest of the game. Team B is looking strong."
Aubrey , seated nearby, adds, "It's not over yet. Team A won't go down without a fight."
The synchronized bracelets on our wrists continue to glow, casting a vibrant display of unity among the fans. As we discuss Bedard's impressive goal, the anticipation for the next periods builds.
"You know damn well that Team A is going to win," jokes a girl whose husband is on Team A.
I respond with a playful smile, "Well, we'll see about that. Braden is a really good defenseman."
"Yeah, but Trevor is really shining on the ice tonight. Good luck for your team," Eva retorts, her playful joke echoing the friendly rivalry.
As we exchange these light-hearted remarks, the suite is filled with laughter. The anticipation is palpable, and within just 15 minutes, the second period begins.
As the players take their positions, the game intensifies. Team B, holding onto their 1-0 lead, faces increased pressure from Team A.
Braden, true to his reputation as a formidable defenseman, makes key plays, thwarting several of Team A's scoring attempts.
Trevor's performance on the ice, as mentioned earlier, becomes apparent as he showcases his skills, dazzling the audience with his agility and finesse.
Aubrey says between her theeth "Come on, Jamie, time to make your comeback!"
The girl, whose husband plays for Team A, responds with a confident smile, "Oh, just you wait. The third period is ours."
I playfully jump in, "Well, Team B isn't planning on giving up that lead so easily."
Pastrnak's wife, with a bemused expression, jokes in disbelief, "Why do these games make me more anxious than the real season's ones?"
I share a knowing smile, realizing the sentiment is shared among many of us in the suite. "Right? It's like every pass, every shot feels like it's life or death."
Aubrey adds with a chuckle, "I think it's the collective nervous energy in the room. We're all so invested in our teams."
As the third period begins, Aubrey, breaking the momentary silence, says, "This is it, ladies. The deciding period. Happy Hockey Game, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"
As the puck drops, signaling the beginning of the decisive period, the game intensifies. The players give it their all, with each shot and save met with collective gasps and cheers from the luxury suite.
With the clock ticking down in the third period, Jack seizes an opportune moment. The puck glides across the ice with precision as Jack swiftly maneuvers through the opposing team's defense. His stickhandling skills are a mesmerizing dance, leaving defenders trailing in his wake. The synchronized bracelets on the fans' wrists light up in anticipation.
As Jack approaches the net with calculated finesse, the suite holds its collective breath. He executes a flawless feint, creating the illusion of a shot to one side before expertly changing direction. The goaltender, caught off guard by Jack's skillful move, dives in the wrong direction. In that critical moment, Jack releases a swift and accurate wrist shot. The puck sails past the goalie, finding the back of the net with a satisfying thud.
The suite erupts into a mix of cheers from Team B supporters and grunts of frustration from the Team A wives.
"God damn Jack," grunts Eva, disappointment evident in her voice as she turns around, hands on her head. The emotional intensity in the suite is palpable, with Jack's exceptional play evoking strong reactions from the fans.
Eva, still processing the turn of events, turns to me and says, "Your Jack just ruined our chances. Trevor needs to step up now."
The possessive tone in her words leaves a peculiar taste on my tongue, and I can sense the shift in the room. I respond with a playful giggle, attempting to diffuse any brewing tension.
As the excitement from the first goal still lingers, Jack positions himself strategically on the ice for the face-off. The puck drops, and with lightning-fast reflexes, Jack gains possession. He accelerates down the ice, leaving defenders scrambling to catch up. The synchronized bracelets flicker in unison, mirroring the intensity of the play.
Approaching the net, Jack showcases his versatility. With a sudden burst of speed, he executes a difficult feint, sending the goaltender sprawling. Seizing the moment, Jack smoothly slides the puck into the open net with finesse. The suite erupts into a chorus of cheers and applause as Jack's second goal of the period solidifies Team B's commanding lead.
As the suite reverberates with the excitement of Jack's second goal, I can't contain my enthusiasm. "Ah, my team is winning!" I scream, leaping to my feet with my drink in hand.
The synchronized bracelets on our wrists flicker in unison as other wives from Team B join in my cheering. The room is alive with the shared joy of witnessing Jack's remarkable performance. The Team A supporters, on the other hand, wear expressions of defeat as they watch their team fall further behind.
The suite becomes a microcosm of the emotional rollercoaster that is hockey fandom.
As the final buzzer sounds, marking the end of the game, the suite is filled with a mix of cheers and sighs. Aubrey raises her glass and exclaims, "Great game, everyone! That was intense!"
As we exit the suite, the wives continue to share their thoughts on the game.
As we navigate the bustling hallways of the arena, Loren looks at me and says, "That was some performance by Jack, wasn't it?"
I nod, the excitement still coursing through me. "Absolutely. He's really good, I can't lie about that."
Loren nudges me from the side, offering a sympathetic look that speaks volumes. It's a silent acknowledgment of the complex emotions tied to Jack, my ex-high school sweetheart.
Loren, offering a supportive nod, adds, "It's always interesting when past and present collide. But hey, you handled it well in there."
"Thanks, Loren," I respond, appreciating the understanding in her eyes.
As Loren's words hang in the air, acknowledging the complexities of the unexpected reunion with Jack, I can't help but think, "Handled it well" is a generous way to put it, especially considering the surprising turn of events in Jack's room yesterday. But hey, I'll take it.
...
There's some tension going on!
I'm still working on the upcoming chapters, but I have nine ready to be posted. I'm always ahead with each chapter. Even so, feel free to give me any recommendations, and I'll take them.
It's not just my story; it's yours too.
Hope you enjoyed this one.
Much love, xxx