The Wild Card Review: This Book Was Hot Professional Hockey & We Loved It

I have recently been informed that entering my hockey era after the age of 25 is “not a good look.” To that I say: sounds fake, mind your business, but okay. If society and God wanted me to stop obsessing over fictional hockey players, maybe they shouldn’t keep making them emotionally unavailable with great forearms, abs I can climb on, and hidden hearts of gold.

And we’re not talking Olympic gold.

That is neither here nor there, though.

I entered my hockey romance era over a decade ago, thanks to the Off Campus books by Elle Kennedy, and much like a veteran on the offensive line with bad knees, sore back, and strong opinions (both verbal and on my face), I have no plans to retire. If anything, the Off Campus adaptation on Prime Video has only strengthened my commitment to the phase. Though at this point, I would say it’s not a phase. This is a long-term contract with a no-trade clause.

It is my lifestyle.

Naturally, this spiral led me deeper into the sports romance pipeline (staying away from football, cause nooo never), where I found the Vancouver Storm novels by Stephanie Archer. And honestly? I am gonna ride this Zamboni around the rink, letting anyone who will listen know that I am committed.

Stephanie Archer writes fun, spicy hockey romances centered around a fictional Vancouver team, and the Vancouver Storm have officially become my favorite fictional non-college hockey team. Sorry to every other roster. You got outskated. At least that is what I think the hockey people say.

Now, do I read series in order like a responsible adult? Absolutely not. I am a rebel. Never claimed to be an adult. I read with the chaos of a goalie fight in the third period. I expect people to defend me as I dive in that net and say whatever to societal norms.

When someone told me The Wild Card could be read as a standalone, I said say less and waited for that package as I wait for a shirtless scene in a television show. The back cover mentioned a single dad romance, and at that point, I was already halfway over the boards. No one had to throw me into the boards; I was going willingly.

Because listen: single dad, single mom — I support all exhausted parents finding love. Give me mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, and someone making dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets after practice. Ok, maybe not the dinosaur-shaped, because they are foul. But consider the fact I am writing this in my PJ’s, eating gluten-free chicken nuggets, and drinking water with electrolytes – you know I know romance, baby.

Coach Tate Ward? That man deserves a win. Not just on the ice, but in life. He’s become one of the best coaches in the NHL, and not because he’s out here skating through defenders or picking fights on the ice or ripping bar-down slapshots anymore. Honestly, I’m not convinced his hockey stick remembers what offense feels like. This man’s entire personality is laminated practice schedules, male egos, game tape, and stress.

Tate didn’t build his career by taking risks on the ice. He built it by becoming emotionally attached to the grind. The only thing he stops for is his little girl. Everything else he does somehow ties back to hockey.

He’s basically the human equivalent of “we’re gonna focus on playing a full sixty minutes,” when he just stands still. Inspiring? Yes. Deeply concerning for his work-life balance? Also yes.

Enter Jordan Hathaway. Ward is a frequent at her bar, where he goes in to drink carbonated water and make sure she is okay for her father.

His boss.

And Jordan? Well, she doesn’t like it, but customers are always right or something like that.

Jordan is chaotic and rebellious in the best way: stubborn, smart, and fully committed to avoiding her father — the owner of the Vancouver Storm — like he’s a guy trying to hand out flyers in the mall parking lot. And honestly? I can’t blame her. It is FAIR. The man wasn’t just absent. He was the kind of bad dad that makes you consider changing your last name, moving to another city, and communicating exclusively through passive-aggressive Instagram stories.

Though her Dad would never see them cause he is older and probably thinks that Instagram is not for him.

Back Cover Synopsis

Former star player Tate Ward has become easily the best coach in professional hockey, leading the Vancouver Storm team to victory. Everyone is in love with the handsome, authoritative single dad—except Jordan Hathaway, the newest staff member on the Vancouver Storm team.

Jordan was more than comfortable behind her bar at the team’s favorite watering hole. When her father threatens to sell the team, though, she’s forced to put her grievances aside and work with the man who likes everyone but her—: Coach Tate Ward.

But beneath his controlled exterior, Tate is funny, encouraging, and protective. He moves Jordan into his guest house, trusts her with his daughter, and fires the person who made her cry. He’s her boss, and a relationship would ruin both their careers, but Jordan still finds herself dreaming of a life with Tate. As the lines between them blur and Jordan encourages him to be selfish, Tate realizes what he wants . . . is her.

At some point, Jordan basically looked at her father, flipped the proverbial bird, and said, “Congrats on your hockey empire, but emotionally? You’re getting sent to the penalty box indefinitely.” She’s definitely telling him he was a bad father and husband. And frankly, good for her.

He needs to hear it.

But underneath all the sarcasm and avoidance tactics, Jordan’s carrying hurt that cuts deeper than a skate cutting through the ice. Which means when she crashes into Tate’s carefully controlled world, the chemistry hits harder than being thrown into the boards.

And Tate? Oh, he never stood a chance.

Because underneath the intimidating coach energy and permanent furrowed brow is a man who desperately needs someone to remind him there’s more to life than hockey, work, post-game interviews, and though being a Dad is of the utmost importance, he’s gotta find more.

You win absolutely nothing except bragging rights if you figured out that these two are, in fact, emotionally exhausted adults with elite levels of stubbornness and enough unresolved trauma to fill an entire penalty box. F**k that, they fill the stadium. The ice around their hearts, keeping it safe, needs to melt.

And yes, before anyone asks: I am attempting to cram as many hockey puns into this review as humanly possible. Unfortunately, I am doing this sober, so eventually we may hit the metaphorical boards at full speed. Thoughts and prayers. And I am not talking about the thoughts and prayers that politicians give when they should put change into action. I am talking about thoughts and prayers for my brain, which is about to have used all the puns hockey for dummies taught me.

Anyway, Jordan reluctantly has to take a job with the Storm because her father — who owns the team and apparently mistakes emotional manipulation for parenting (typical)— wants her to eventually take over the franchise when he retires, and he wants to retire soon. Jordan, meanwhile, would rather drop her gloves and launch herself directly into a fight with the Tkachuk brothers than spend meaningful time with this man. Her long-term strategy seems to be “if I ignore him hard enough, maybe he’ll forget I exist,” which, honestly? Respect.

It won’t work, but respect for the try.

Ward, stuck playing emotional defenseman between the two of them, feels loyal to both sides. So naturally, in true hockey romance fashion, he makes the completely normal and not-at-all emotionally dangerous decision to move Jordan into his guest house after she gets evicted. As one does, because you know that isn’t going to lead to anything.

Apparently, this man sees a beautiful disaster with abandonment issues and says, “You know what this situation needs? Proximity.” Someone put this man in the penalty box because he has no idea.

Jordan may occasionally treat her own life like she’s trying to lose on purpose, but she’s also incredibly smart and determined to use that brain of hers to improve the Storm. Which, naturally, makes Tate lust after her even more. This man is down catastrophically fast for her. Consider Jordan’s addiction.

Of course, because this is an angsty hockey romance, so we’re going to extend these feelings like it’s a power play in overtime, going in slow motion.

Tate needs to see how Jordan fits into his life — especially with his daughter — because nothing says emotional vulnerability like watching a hardened hockey coach realize the woman he likes is good with kids. Meanwhile, Jordan needs proof that Tate is actually trustworthy and not just another guy capable of disappointment.

But Tate Ward? He’s Team Jordan Hathaway, and he’s going to do anything to keep her.

The man moves her into his guest house. He makes sure she has clothes worthy of her new position. He spends basically every waking second trying to convince her that hockey is where she belongs. At this point, he’s not even coaching the Vancouver Storm full-time anymore — he’s playing a therapist with no degree. Which, honestly, hard pass unless he’s giving medication.

And honestly? Jordan develops big feelings for Ward and vice versa. How does it play out? Does she take over the team? Well, that’s a story you have to read the book to get. See, I am out of hockey puns, and I don’t give away endings. Metaphorically or physically.

The Wild Card was a hot, steamy 441 pages of hockey, attitude, and spicy times. The lesson learned here? Well, that is threefold.