Chapter 89: Woven thread
Chapter 8 - Woven Thread.
Jude
I walked into the Blackburn training center with my duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The moment I stepped into the locker room, a chorus of loud hoots and whistling echoed off the metal walls. My teammates slammed their lockers shut, shouting congratulations up and down about my wedding. I just shook my head, a small smirk playing on my lips.
“The coach said to see him whenever you are back from your sweet honeymoon,” one of them hollered, and everyone laughed.
I put my duffel bag down as I walked outside to the main office of the coach—Mr. Robinson.
Mr. Robinson was a veteran hockey legend—a ruthless defenseman back in his day before a car accident permanently shattered his knee and forced him behind the bench, but that didn’t mean he went easy on us. That man was a beast.
"Reporters have been swarming the front gates since dawn, Winter," Robinson released an irritated sigh, rubbing his temples. "Keep your personal drama outside my rink, Winter."
"Apologies, Coach. It’s handled," I replied smoothly, returning back to the locker room to change.
The new season would soon start, and the coach had been training us intensely not to fuck up. According to him, the first game always determined how the season would end. He was very superstitious.
Getting ready for practice, I treated my gear like my armor as I slipped my jersey over my head, the bold number 22 emblazoned across my back. I tightly strapped my leg pads and secured the chest protector over my torso, adjusting the straps before pulling my goalie mask down into place. Finally, I grabbed my wide-bladed stick, slipped my hands into my blocker and catching glove, and skated out onto the ice. The sub-zero chill of the arena instantly slapped my face, waking up every nerve.
I skated straight toward the net, tapping my stick against the iron goalposts to center myself in the crease.
The training session was pure, unadulterated hell, with Mr. Robinson relentlessly pushing us over our limits.
“The season opener is right around the corner! Move your feet! Sleep when you’re dead!” Coach Robinson hollered from the benches, his booming voice over the sound of metal blades carving into the ice.
I crouched low, dropping into my stance. My eyes were locked entirely on the black vulcanized rubber puck as our offense ran a fast-paced drill, passing it rapidly back and forth across the zone.
“Winter! Track the puck! Keep your angles tight!” the coach roared just as our star winger cut hard down the left lane, preparing to shoot.
The winger dropped his shoulder, faking a deke before firing a shot toward the top right corner of the net. My reflexes took over in a split second. Snapping upward, my catching glove flew out and snagged the puck before it could cross the red line. I opened my glove, dropping the puck safely onto the ice.
“Looks like Winter is thinking about his wife!” one of our defensemen yelled out from the crease, drawing a loud round of chuckles from the rest of the team while I just reset my stance, my breathing heavy behind my mask. They weren’t entirely wrong. She was taking away all my reasoning.
After practice, I hit the showers, washed off the sweat and ice shavings, and changed into a clean tracksuit. Walking back into the main lounge, I spotted our captain, Raphael.
Raphael Callahan was a tall, blond guy and the epitome of leadership—vigorous on the ice, fiercely protective off it, and generally a great guy. I still found it hard to believe he was officially settled down with his manager, Iyanuade.
Right next to them was our vice-captain, Dante Morozov, a tall guy with short dark hair who was easily the most muscular among the four of us. Dante had a heavy arm slung carelessly around Eric, one of our younger defensive players. A short, blond man, Eric looked smaller standing at just 5’9”, but you couldn’t let his stature deceive you; he was actually incredibly good on the ice.
“Congratulations, Jude,” Iyanuade said warmly. She was essentially the mother of this team despite technically being Raphael’s manager. She had been with the franchise since day one, taking care of the whole squad and cheering for us as our undisputed number-one, day-one fan. Iyanuade was a tall, striking Black lady, dressed sharply in tailored suit pants, a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and a sleek waist jacket. Her long, brown wavy hair was intricately braided, with polished beads clicking softly at the edges.
I smiled down at her. “Thank you, Iyanuade.”
"I still can’t believe you, out of all people, were the first to actually get married among us," she teased. Raphael stepped up behind her, pulling her back against his chest into a tight hug. I rolled my eyes playfully. No matter how long they were together, I would never fully get used to seeing our terrifying captain act like a lovesick puppy. Well, he always acted like a golden retriever to her.
Dante stepped away from Eric, walking over to pat my back heavily. "Jude, my man. I honestly couldn’t believe you actually used our advice," he grinned wickedly.
My mind instantly flashed back to a few weeks ago. The coach had put us through a brutal training session as usual, and the whole team had gone to recuperate at the Ruby Lounge. I had been sitting quietly at the VIP table, slowly sipping my drink, when Raphael and Dante plopped down on either side of me, nudging my shoulders.
"What the hell is going on with you, Winter?" they had asked, noticing my sour mood.
I had exhaled heavily, staring down at my glass as I remembered the agonizing dinner I’d had with my parents the night before, telling me about my engagement and that it was time to settle down.
"My parents are forcing me into an arranged marriage," I had muttered bitterly.
"That sounds like a joyous occasion. Why the long face?"
I had rubbed my face in frustration. "You don’t understand. There’s a lady... a lady I’ve wanted for years. And she doesn’t even know I exist."
Raphael and Dante had exchanged a knowing, dark look before Raphael scoffed. "So easy," he shrugged.
Dante had stared straight ahead, his sharp gaze locking onto Eric across the lounge. I noticed Eric instantly look away, his cheeks flushing as he avoided Dante’s eyes. What was that about? I had watched Dante’s fist clench tightly against his thigh, his expression shifting into something predatory.
"If she doesn’t know you, then you trap her," Raphael had said casually, taking a slow sip of his drink. "That’s exactly what I did with Iyanuade."
My eyes widened slightly at the revelation, and Raphael looked unbothered. "Won’t she hate me for it?" I had asked, genuinely conflicted.
Raphael smirked. "What humans don’t know won’t kill them."
"Find out what the lady wants, or more importantly, what she lacks. Then, use it to your absolute advantage," Dante had chimed in, his eyes still relentlessly tracking Eric as the younger player walked out toward the exit. "Once you solve her problems, she’ll naturally have no choice but to know you." Dante had stood up, patted my back, and immediately stalked out of the lounge directly after Eric.
I had raised a brow, realizing something was going on between the two of them. I didn’t know both of them swung that way, but it wasn’t any of my business.
I had turned back to Raphael, who gave me a slow, calculated grin. "Let me tell you something, Jude. If you really want something in this life, you lay low. You weave your trap so perfectly that she can never get away, leaving her with no choice but to be with you." He had stood up to join Iyanuade. "I wish you luck with your lady."
A sharp ding pulled me abruptly out of the memory. I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was a black card debit notification. A second alert popped up immediately after, followed consequently by a steady stream of transaction alerts.
An automatic, helpless smile pulled at my lips. She was finally using the money, though not exactly in the way I had envisioned.
I scrolled through the alerts. Almost every single purchase was food. She was hopping from one local restaurant and grocery store to another. I remembered her fiery threat in the living room—how she had practically said that she was going to intentionally bankrupt me. I chuckled quietly to myself. With the way she was spending, she couldn’t finish what was inside that account if she spent the next several hundred years trying.
Raphael glanced over at my screen, a knowing smirk on his face. "I see that’s your wife."
I looked up, tugging at my heartstrings. "Yeah," I nodded softly as another notification popped up on my screen.
She bought a food skewer.
A wave of satisfaction washed over me. Thanks to my teammates’ advice, I had pulled strings behind the scenes. I had paid a heavy sum to a middleman, ensuring he would be the one to offer Rosie the lucrative undercover gig to crash my wedding. The intricate thread I had so carefully, patiently woven over the years had finally caught her exactly where I wanted her.
She was stuck with me for life.
"She’s so cute," I muttered under my breath, grabbing my duffel bag and heading straight for the exit. I had only been gone for a few hours, but I already missed her.
My wife, my woman.
***
Our Jude is so much :) ou get introduced to the other couples in the Keepers Series 0)
Although this book supposed to be the third book but I’m writing this first
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