Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
I check in to make sure our VIPs are taken care of before I head back toward the arena entrance. I find Hammer and Tally waiting for me with their clipboards in hand.
“Everything okay?” Hammer asks.
“Peachy. Thanks for asking. How’s it going down here?” I look around the arena. Months of planning and this is it. It’s a sold-out game, and it’s being broadcast live. The ticket proceeds will go to two local charities, and afterward we’ll have an online auction giving fans an opportunity to bid on signed jerseys, sticks, and special items donated by the players and celebrities.
“We’re good to go. There was a minor hiccup on the second level, but we handled it. It’s going to be kickass,” she assures me.
“I love the jerseys for this,” Tally says.
“It was a lot of fun to work with the design team on them,” Hammer says.
“You know you’re full-time in charge of that now,” I tell her. Hammer has been helping the marketing team make deals with local designers so that the Terror brand stays relevant.
She nods. “I am one-hundred-percent good with that.”
Rix, Shilpa, and Dred join us in the first row behind the bench, and we settle in to enjoy the game. Normally we’re all up in a suite together. It’s nice being this close to the action.
The players take the ice one at a time, and the crowd screams and claps their approval. This game is celebrities against pro players. It’s all about fun and raising money for charity. I’m surprised when Dallas starts shit-talking and getting all worked up about the celebrities first goal, shortly after the game starts.
I knock on the glass, and he glances over his shoulder.
I give him a look.
He blows me a kiss.
But he keeps it up, scoring two goals in the first five minutes. Roman lets in two goals for the celebrity players to tie it up.
“What the hell is his deal?” I mutter. “This is supposed to be for fun.”
“Seems like maybe he’s a little jealous of your history with Eric,” Hammer whispers.
“No.” I immediately dismiss the idea.
Hammer shrugs. “He keeps stealing the puck from him.”
It would make sense if we were actually dating and he had something to be jealous of. But we’re not, and he doesn’t. “He needs to settle down.”
But he keeps up with the chippy playing and the aggressive moves on the ice, to the point that Ash blocks him from scoring another goal in the second period.
During a short break in play, the camera pans to one of the boxes, zeroing in on the last people I want to see today. “Oh for fuck’s sake, why do they have to be here?” I mutter.
“Who?” Shilpa asks.
“Brooklyn and Sean.” I shake my head.
The company he works for sponsors a box. Usually he attends with his coworkers, and I avoid him. There’s no reason to seek him out. I also fully acknowledge I shouldn’t care about him at all. But of course he’s here with my ex-best friend today. And of course they’re kissing on the damn Jumbotron for the whole arena to witness. I’m an adult, it shouldn’t matter. Except why does it feel like they’re always rubbing salt in the wound?
This is my arena, my team, my people. I’m supposed to be safe here. They’re not supposed to make me feel small when I’m in my domain, but God, they do. Sean probably doesn’t even know I exist. But every time I see Brooklyn it feels like someone has sliced into my heart all over again. Every post, comment meant to needle, works it’s way under my skin. I wish it didn’t affect me, and I hate that it still hurts. I shouldn’t even be fazed seeing them together, but they’re my shitty insecurity kryptonite. I feel tiny and pathetic, like the stupid loser of a teenage girl who sat in the parking lot during senior prom after my best friend stabbed me in the back and cried until I puked.
The same friend who told me I should’ve been different in a thousand ways: less assertive, utilized my cleavage better, only smile, but never talk in case I made someone feel inferior. She told me a hundred times if I just listened to her, maybe more guys would like me. Worse was when she’d say other girls never wanted to be my friend, so I should be grateful I had her. She was a bad friend. Especially when I look at the amazing women I’m surrounded by now. They would never make me feel like that.
Romance and broken hearts might hurt, but losing someone I thought was my best friend left the deepest cut. In this moment, I wish for a thousand things. To be different. To not be so impacted by assholes from my past. To feel like being myself is okay. That being me isn’t too much.