38. Lilah
LILAH
Rye’s message snapped me into action rather than continuing to wallow after I packed. I put on a little makeup, my mom’s dress and my prom shoes, and I felt more human.
Getting all dressed up and going out with Rye probably wasn’t what I should be doing after the day I’d had.
My message to Mason went unanswered, but that was expected since he was sequestered with his dad. I let him know where I was headed in case he finished early.
Rye assured me he’d have me home way before ten.
Wearing my mom’s finished dress for the first time was like slipping into her warm embrace and it helped keep me calm. Plus, I wouldn’t miss a chance to celebrate Rye’s hard work, especially after I hadn’t been there for him after Verona lost the championship.
The hotel lobby entrance had a swirling black-and-white marble design on the floor and a floral centerpiece with tiers of glass vases filled with pink and purple flowers so tall I couldn’t see over them.
The whole place smelled like the perfumes they keep locked away behind the counter at a high-end department store.
The ones where you got a fancy box you never wanted to throw out to go along with the purchase.
Rye and I walked down the hallway toward large ballroom doors.
“Verona High went all out for the award this year,” I said.
Rye made a noncommittal sound and marched forward with a stony determination.
Was he nervous about whether he’d get an award?
How could he not? But I tried to lighten the moment.
“You’re lucky I’d finished this dress. Who springs a sports banquet on someone the night of?
” I tugged on his arm and added a pinch as we stepped through the ballroom doors to try to get him to loosen up.
But he remained stiff and stoic.
Was wearing my mom’s dress the smartest thing? No, but I literally had forty-five minutes before the gala started when Rye told me his mom had asked him to ask me, that she had bought me a ticket but he’d forgotten to send the text. If Nora expected me to be there, I had to be there.
“You’re sure this isn’t too much?” The beaded strings across my back weren’t as dramatic of a drape as others could be, but I spied a couple other women wearing beautiful gowns and some self-consciousness slipped away.
Rye wore a tux and tugged at his collar. “When I’m wearing this thing?”
“Did you get it early for prom?”
“Yeah.” His non-answers and odd, jumpy gaze were off, but I chalked it up to nerves.
Prickles of awareness traveled over my body, maybe because people were looking in our direction.
A woman walking past us tapped my shoulder. “I love your dress.”
I looked around to be sure she meant me. “I—Thank you.”
“Where did you get it?”
“She made it,” Rye butted in.
She nodded her head appreciatively and melded back into the other people around us with her date.
“Rye.” I swatted his arm.
“What? I told the truth. It looks amazing, Lilah. You’ve got killer talent.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded, but his mood shifted back to grim.
Part of me wanted to duck away from the attention Rye always drew, but in this dress, I felt like I could at least not embarrass him by standing at his side. This moment had been almost twelve years in the making after his first time on the ice.
Did Hawthorne Prep have a banquet like this? When would it be?
Part of me felt bad that I was out with my best friend when Mason was probably going through some horrible hockey gauntlet run by his father.
While I didn’t win the parent lottery with my dad, I could see Mason hadn’t either, despite the family’s wealth.
Being in Seattle would be good for both of us. We’d at least have each other.
As he scanned the room ahead of us, Rye’s jaw ticked. His whole body tensed and his breathing was so heavy that I heard it.
Discomfort rippled through me. I patted his arm again, concern growing. Was I feeling this uneasy because he seemed ready to break something?
“Are you okay? Why are you so freaked out?” I asked.
He snapped his gaze to me and seemed to fight to relax, even smile, but it barely turned the corners of his mouth. “No reason.”
Worrying about him at least kept me from spiraling about myself.
I could show up for my friend and put my own drama aside for a while.
I hadn’t even told him about the grade audit.
No need to spoil his night by getting him pissed off on my account.
There was no doubt he would be. And that was why he was my best friend.
Rye led us to the table across the room where Nora, Sam and Max were already seated.
It wasn’t until we sat that I could take in the room.
This was way more people than the Verona High athletes.
Previous sports banquets had been held in a local hall Rye had complained smelled like cigarettes and hadn’t been renovated since the nineties.
His mom hugged me tightly. “That dress, Lilah. So stunning.”
“She made it,” Rye chimed in, sweeping a hand up and down to showcase the dress.
Nora gasped and held my shoulders to spin me around for a survey. “Is there anything you can’t do?” She hugged me again.
“Thank you for thinking of me for the extra ticket.”
Nora’s eyebrows knitted together and she looked at Rye before smiling even wider and patting my shoulder.
Then it was my turn to survey the room. A large banner hung over the stage at the front of the room announcing we’d arrived at the State Sports Gala. The glittering lettering that caught the lights.
A jolt rocked me. State?
“I thought you said this was for Verona?”
“It is. And everyone else.” Rye’s voice was strained.
“But…” The thread wrenched in my chest, twisting it painfully, and I swept my gaze to the side and met his.
Mason.
Mason sat at a table with his dad, stepmom and Zoe. Then it all clicked into place. The eyes of anyone else in the room hadn’t filled me with unease. It was Mason. I’d known he was here without seeing him and that thread between us stretched taut with agitated restlessness.
His tight, heavy movements screamed guilt. His fists clenched against his thighs, but he made no move to stand up. His dad said something to him and he tore his gaze from mine.
The rest of Havoc sat at tables surrounding him with their families and dates.
Girls from Hawthorne Prep. Their hands barely covered their whispered questions, and what I didn’t catch from reading their lips, I got from the questioning looks, shoulder taps and sly smiles as they spotted me at a Verona table.
A hot flash lit beneath my skin.
Mason was here. Mason was here without me. Mason was here without me and had no intention of me ever finding out.
“Lilah?”
Nora’s gentle touch on my elbow ripped me out of my trance.
Everyone else was sitting.
I collapsed into my chair between her and Rye. The beading strung along my back bit into my skin. Betrayal burned at the edges of my vision. Every time I tried to reason away why he was here without me, I kept coming back to the sensory overload buzzing under my skin.
Rye watched me.
I needed a lead vest for the X-ray-level stares that bombarded me. “You knew he’d be here,” I whispered.
“I didn’t know.”
“But you thought he might be.” I stared at Rye.
A single sharp snap of his chin. “You hadn’t mentioned the gala.”
“And if he wasn’t here?”
“Then it would be a nice night out with you. But he is here. And not with you.”
Hurt bloomed in my chest, unfurling barbed thorns and needles beneath my skin. Tears stung the backs of my eyes and I blinked like a broken doll trying to keep them at bay. I had to sit beside Rye on his night and act like the betrayal wasn’t slowly swallowing me whole.
Sounds transformed into layers of buzzing and droning.
I tried to hold myself together but my hand trembled. I balled it up and shoved it under my leg. The beading dug into my skin, shifting my focus from everything falling apart.
There had to be a reason for all this. I sucked in a breath and held it until my head swam. One breath at a time, but nothing stopped my heart racing.
Everyone around me clapped.
Rye held my curled fingers and flattened them before he draped his arm over the back of my chair. His arm couldn’t protect me from whatever this was.
Claustrophobia took hold, and the walls of the room seemed to pulse with my breaths, getting closer with each one.
Players from different schools got up to accept awards and have their pictures taken, but I couldn’t pay attention to anything beyond the tug at the center of my chest. Like Mason was testing his end to see if we were still connected.
“Lilah, are you okay?” Nora leaned in close and ran a reassuring hand down my arm. Her concern snapped me out of my brain fog. I tried to smile, sat straighter and laid my hands in my lap.
This was her night as much as Rye’s. She’d worked hard to get him here and she didn’t deserve my breakdown taking away from the moment.
“I’m okay, just felt a little overheated.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She poured me a glass of water from the linen napkin-wrapped pitcher set between us and pressed it into my palm.
I sipped it, choking on my embarrassment and the sharp stabs of betrayal, unsure my stomach could handle more than air at this point. I forced myself not to look over at Mason’s table. I offered up a wobbly smile to Nora, not wanting her to worry on Rye’s big night.
“This year’s MVP has accepted a position at Rhode Island, which is sure to be a short stop on his way to the pros. Let’s hear it for the most goal-scoring player this season, Mason Petrov.”
For a brief moment, I thought there was a mistake. I had it all wrong.
Then Mason stood and walked through the tables with a hardened march that might as well have been skating toward an opponent on the ice.
Crackles of anger, betrayal and hurt swirled in a potent cocktail in my chest.
He stepped on stage to accept his award. I kept my plaster-thick smile in place, staring off into nowhere. Long seconds ticked by. Rhode Island. He had accepted the offer from Rhode Island. When?