With the shift change, Jordan threw his legs over the wall and skated into the face-­off determined to help the team to a win. They'd overcome a deficit in this short amount of time before; they could do it again.
The ice in the Stars' stadium was hinky. Slushy in places. Not everyone who played could handle the inconsistencies that had been a part of their problem all night. When the puck dropped, Jordan slid it across the ice to Seabrook. Seabrook pushed forward and passed to O'Reilly, who'd had a hard time getting a stick on it all night. The puck skittered across the ice as the clock wound down to five seconds.
Jordan yelled, "Shoot it."
O'Reilly pulled his arm back, swung, and the puck flew right of the net. The buzzer rang.
Game over.
No playoffs. No Stanley Cup.
While the joyous Stars gathered at center ice, the defeated Vipers skated off to the locker room.
Once they'd all gathered, Coach Reiner gave his spiel about there always being next year. They'd worked hard. Tried hard. Things just didn't go their way. Blah blah blah. Once he wrapped up, the media converged like sewer rats. Usually the reporters went straight for the victor's locker room but apparently the Stars' doors were locked and they had time to kill until entry was granted.
Jordan sat down on the bench in front of his locker. While taking off his skates he noticed a pair of pressed khakis in front of him.
"Brett Beaver from FOX 4 News. Can I interview you?"
Jordan looked up to the man holding a video camera who looked like he never went out in the sun or had learned to properly knot a tie. "Sure."
"How do you feel about losing the chance to go to the playoffs? Are you depressed?" The man stuck the microphone in Jordan's face.
Heartbroken for the Vipers, Lucy sat next to Nicole on the sofa in her living room watching post-­game interviews. After Jordan had left for Dallas, she and Nicole had spent more time together. They'd grown closer. And when Nicole finally explained the cause of her anger and the situation with the missing money, Lucy's heart ached.
Right now the young girl sat on Lucy's sofa wearing a huge frown because her brother's team had lost. Lucy felt bad because they'd fought a good fight out on the ice. But at least he'd given it a try. That's what mattered.
At their feet lay Ziggy and the kitten Jordan had given Nicole. The cute little gray fluff of fur Nicole had named Fezzik had perched himself along Ziggy's back and lay purring while he slept.
Suddenly the camera went to the Vipers' locker room, where Jordan's gorgeous face filled the screen.
With a slight tilt of his head, Jordan replied to the reporter's question. "Am I depressed?"
Nicole chuckled. "Jordy's going to punch that guy."
Lucy chuckled because she'd bet that's exactly what Jordan felt like doing. "No he's not. He saves the fists of fury for on the ice."
"I feel bad for the team." Jordan's broad shoulders plus padding came up in a shrug. "They've worked hard to get this far. Plus they had to cover for me while I was gone."
"Family matters, right?" the voice behind the camera said.
"Both my parents were killed."
"My condolences."
"Yeah." Nicole snorted. "He sounds real sincere."
Lucy had to agree the guy sounded like he couldn't care less.
"Thanks." Jordan ran a hand through his soaking wet hair. "Being back home gave me a lot of time to think."
"I can imagine," said the voice behind the camera. "So how did that feel when O'Reilly completely missed that last shot on goal?"
"Can't think about that right now." Jordan shook his head. "I've got more on my mind than what someone did or didn't do on the ice tonight. You can't rewind time and change things. You have to move forward. That's why this is my last season. I'm retiring."
"What?" Nicole and Lucy said at the same time, then looked at each other like maybe they hadn't heard right.
"Retiring?" The voice behind the camera perked up like he knew he'd just caught an exclusive moment. "It's not like you're too old to play anymore."
One side of Jordan's mouth quirked. "I've been playing hard for fifteen years. That's fifteen years of busting my ass, my knuckles, and my face. Fifteen years of tearing ligaments and cracking ribs. I'm not going to miss any of that. I'm leaving the game with 668 goals and 934 assists. I'm proud of that. But to accomplish all of that I missed a lot of time with my family."
"But you love the game, right?" the reporter asked. "The competition?"