Page 86 of His Jersey

He groans and the line is quiet until he says. “Don’t doanything rash or stupid. I’ll have the lawyers send you the prenup. It needs to be ironclad.” This means he doesn’t want us to elope.

Looking warily around, I make sure Aston isn’t going to thwart me again and say, “I don’t think it’s Ella you need to worry about.” Then I hang up.

I find her sitting on a bench, looking tired. Her eyes are red and she sniffles.

“Are you upset?” Did she overhear that conversation?

“Just tired.” Her voice is scratchy, likely from cheering so loud. Her eyes are glassy and her nose is pink, too.

“I’m not feeling well. I think all of this mainland living is catching up with me. I should probably go back to the hotel and rest. You can go ahead to the gathering without me. I probably shouldn’t eat cake. I’m just going to go to sleep.”

I’m torn because I want to stay with Ella, but it would be rude not to make an appearance at my first team celebration, especially after the big win. I drive Ella to the hotel, get her settled in, and torn, head back out to Club Luna, where Aston said the party is.

The bass-heavy beats practically shake the sidewalk as I approach the non-descript building with a small neon sign in the shape of a crescent moon.

Inside, the lighting is dim and bodies crunch together, dancing. I try to find the VIP area but am lost in a maze of staircases leading to various levels and lofts. When I reach an upper area with a view over the dance floor, I pull out my phone to text the group chat thread our captain added me to.

Me: Where’s the cake?

A response doesn’t come and my nose only catches whiffs of cologne and perfume. Given the ban on puck bunnies,this strikes me as the opposite kind of place to host the party. Considering I’m late, maybe the rest of the guys are gone. I turn around and two women in skimpy dresses strut my way.

My stomach lurches and my instincts tell me to duck for cover. I’m about to find a supply closet or somewhere to hide, but the floor is sticky and I’m not in skates.

They close in on me and it’s too late to slip away.

33

ELLA

I don’t yet understandhockey rules, but the electric energy and the surge of support for the Knights to win was undeniable. It was different from when the Storm faced off against them in South Carolina. With the Knights, the atmosphere is different.

Being with Jack is different from the few other guys I’ve dated. Can you have a fake relationship with real feelings?

But midway through his first game with the Knights, my nose started to tickle. I figured it was because the arena was cold. Then, my throat felt scratchy. I blamed it on all the screaming and cheering I’d been doing.

Cara, the coach’s daughter, along with several of the other women, including Heidi, who is married to one of the goalies, taught me the chant, “Stronger than steel, hotter than the sun, the Knights don’t stop until they get the job done.”

Then I sneezed. Three times. Fortunately, they’re not explosive. Mom called them mouse sneezes. But for me, that’s always been the sign of the beginning of a cold or flu.

After Jack brought me back to the hotel, Iimmediately crashed, exhausted. But my phone is ringing. The clock across the room says that it’s just after midnight.

The silhouette of Bark Wahlburger sits at attention, ears perked.

Anxiety shoots through me. I hope Jack is okay. I vaguely recall him tucking me in and then saying he was going to go to the party for one hour and then be right back.

Glassy-eyed, I read the screen. I only have a few phone numbers programmed into my phone and this one is unknown. Worried, I answer. My voice is scratchy, like I’ve been chewing on sawdust.

Distorted bass heavy music, loud talking, and static sound in the background before a female voice says, “Hey, girl. You have to see my latest post @QueenAston. It’s totes adorbs. Ta ta.” Or maybe it wasHa ha? The caller hangs up.

Warm all over, I press my hand to my forehead and it burns.

It takes me a moment to place the voice and understand her garbled words. It was Aston. Even if I did have social media apps, my head aches, my throat is dry and my stuffy nose makes it hard to think about much else other than the fact that I’m sick. As I set my phone on the bedside table, it vibrates and beeps with a text.

Leah: Hopefully, you’re getting some rest and won’t see this until tomorrow, but if you were thinking of logging back onto social media, don’t bother. It’s a waste of time.

Me: I just got a weird call from Jack’s sister, er, I mean stepmom.

My thoughts bob and weave as I drop back onto the pillow.

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