Chapter 40
LIVELY
Whitehall : She ate the chocolate bar. Here’s a pic. [attached...]
With my heartbeat thundering in my ear, I clicked on the message notification, my thumb hovered over the photo attachment as I waited for it to load.
For just a second, I contemplated not opening the photo at all, because one look at it and my restraint so far would definitely be under threat.
But it lasted only one second before my self control completely disintegrated and I was clicking on the photo as soon as it loaded.
And there she was.
Fuck.
My entire body went liquid, bones dissolving into heated honey as I stared at the screen. The photo caught her mid-bite, that familiar furrow carved between her brows. But combined with her cheeks puffed out slightly from the chocolate, she looked so fucking adorable I could barely stand it.
Ugh, what was I going to do? She’s so cute . So much so that just looking at her set off chain reactions of pure, devastating affection that made my face burn from my collarbones all the way to the tips of my ears.
Without conscious thought, I flopped onto my back, my legs kicking up toward the ceiling like some lovesick teenager who’d just gotten a text from his crush.
Which, if we were being brutally honest right now, was exactly what I was.
The photo was undeniable proof that she was eating the chocolate I'd bought her. That something I’d chosen, something I’d touched , was making its way past those lips that haunted my dreams and turned my nights into exercises in restraint.
My legs kicked higher, toes pointing toward the ceiling as I giggled—actually giggled —into my pillow. I couldn't help it. For the first time in over a week and some days, the constant ache in my chest had transformed into something warm and golden.
She’d eaten it. And it was so goddamn dumb how much that simple act meant to me.
“God, you're pathetic,” I told myself, even as I continued to stare at the photo, letting it soothe the hole that’s been slowly expanding in my chest since Blackwater.
This was what I’d been reduced to; using these secret photos of her to assuage my Hailey addiction.
It was already a week and some days since this new normal between us began but, despite my best efforts, I still hadn’t managed to build up any immunity to the sheer impact of her existence.
My phone buzzed again, another message from Whitehall lighting up the screen:
Whitehall : How long do we have to do this shit?
My feet froze halfway through another enthusiastic kick, reality crashing back down on me like an avalanche of ice water.
The warmth in my chest curdled, souring into something bitter and achingly familiar.
Right. Of course. The chocolate wasn't really from me , was it?
Not as far as Hailey knew. Yeah, as far as she was concerned, it was just her teammates looking out for her.
I lowered my legs slowly, the mattress creaking under the sudden weight.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard, trying to figure out how to respond to Gina's question.
How long did we have to do this? How long until this carefully constructed distance I'd built between us did its fucking job, and allowed us to drift apart? Was I even ready for that?
It didn’t matter, because lately, she'd stopped trying to talk to me entirely, and I knew it was my fault. Those first few days after Blackwater, she’d made attempts.
Awkward, stilted tries at conversation that I’d shut down with professional courtesy and clinical distance because I was a fucking coward who couldn't handle hearing whatever apology she might offer.
And now she barely looked at me. Barely acknowledged my existence beyond what was absolutely necessary for our co-captain duties.
And I hated it with a violence that scared me. Because every day, that violence threatened the distance I’d managed to maintain so far. Maybe I should have listened when she'd tried to talk. Maybe I should have let her apologize, let her explain, let her—
No . I cut off the thought before it could fully form, pressing my face deeper into the pillow until I could barely breathe.
No, I’d made the right choice. The only choice that wouldn't destroy me completely. Because what if she'd apologized and then... what ? What if she’d found some way to smooth things over, to pretend that night in the woods had never happened? What if she’d managed to shove us back into that box that left me exactly where I’d started—wanting her desperately while she treated me like an irritating pest buzzing at the periphery of her vision that she could barely stand?
The thought made my stomach churn with acid. It was better that she hated me. At least, that was something closer to the dynamic we’d had before.
Only this time, there’s no banter to pretend anything but hatred exists. Yeah. There was that, too.
Still, knowing I’d made the right choice didn’t make it easier when I saw her pushing herself too hard in practice, working herself to exhaustion while I stood on the sidelines unable to do anything.
That was why I’d started getting her treats secretly. Why I’d swallowed what remained of my pride and approached Gina Whitehall with the first Snickers bar and sports drink, desperate to do something for her even if she'd never know it came from me.
“You like her, don't you?” Gina had said, eyes clear. “You like Hailey.”
The admission had felt like ripping off a bandage. Painful but necessary. Inevitable.
And I'd had no choice but to admit it. “Yeah.”
Now, staring at Whitehall's text, I could practically hear the exhaustion bleeding through her digital voice.
How long could we keep this up? How long before she got tired of playing delivery service for my pathetic attempts at care?
How long before the other Belles got sick of being accomplices in whatever twisted game I was playing with myself?
My fingers moved over the keyboard, typing and deleting responses until I finally settled on:
Me : As long as it takes.
The response was immediate:
Whitehall : Fucking moron. You're both idiots.
I was about to type back a defensive reply when another notification popped up, this one making my blood turn to ice water in my veins, freezing me from the inside out.
Dr. Summers : The fundraiser is tomorrow night. Make sure you attend and don't embarrass us.
And just like that, my Hailey-induced high fizzled out completely, replaced by the familiar dread that always accompanied messages from my father.
As if I could forget.
The hospital's annual fundraising ball. The one event of the year where my parents paraded me around like a prize pony, using the opportunity to try to pressure me into leaving hockey to take up medicine by subtly comparing my achievements with those of their elite circle of friends and donors.
Of course, my father liked to frame it as charity—bringing smiles to the children's faces, supporting the pediatric wing.
A noble cause. But I knew better. I'd seen behind the curtain enough times to know it was nothing but an avenue for posturing, for networking, for showing off wealth and status while the kids became convenient props in their elaborate theater of benevolence.
The only reason I was going was because of Mallory and the other kids.
But now, the thought of attending made my stomach churn with anxiety that tasted like copper pennies.
Because there was a very real possibility that I’d run into Hailey there, too.
I mean, there was no way she wasn’t going to be there, right?
She loved her sister to bits, so there was no way she wouldn’t be there to show her support.
And after nearly two weeks of carefully maintained distance and deliberate avoidance, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to be in the same room as her without my restraint finally snapping.
I was already running on fumes at this point.
But there was nothing else I could do but go. I just had to do it. Because even though I'd always want her—would probably be buried with her name carved into my bones—Hailey had made it crystal clear that she didn’t want anything to do with me.
I didn’t know how long it would take me to live with that truth. Might never be able to, honestly. But I’d find a way.
I had to.
The hospital fundraiser was in full swing by the time I managed to slip away from the main ballroom, my formal jacket feeling like a straitjacket around my shoulders, restricting every breath.
The sound of classical music and polite laughter faded as I made my way through the familiar corridors toward the pediatric wing, grateful for the escape.
I’d managed to dodge my parents for a solid thirty minutes now—a new personal record that I was probably going to pay for later.
No doubt their minions were already crawling the halls looking for me, ready to drag me back in there to continue entertaining those fake elite doctors and their goddamn egos.
But none of that concerned me. No, my top priority was getting to Mallory first. I was her prince today, after all.
When I pushed open the door, my heart immediately lifted at the sight before me.
Mallory was sitting up in her hospital bed, looking absolutely radiant in the princess gown she'd spent weeks picking out.
The pale pink fabric pooled around her like spun sugar, the bodice sparkling with tiny crystals that caught the overhead lights.
Her dark hair had been styled in loose curls, and she looked every inch a princess.
"Princess Mallory," I said with an exaggerated bow that made her giggle. "You look absolutely stunning."
Her face lit up like the Fourth of July, radiating pure joy despite the lingering effects of her treatment in the way her fingers trembled slightly.