Chapter 25
KIERA
“Oh my god!” Elli exclaimed, leaning forward on the couch. She pointed at the enormous TV. “That’s Lukas! He’s suited up. He must be playing!”
“What?” I looked up from my phone, I was way behind on my work. The algorithms weren’t happy with me because I hadn’t posted in days, and I had a backlog of emails from sponsors.
Besides that, the last thing I wanted to do was watch Sean’s game. We were done. And while it had been fun while it lasted, I was still kicking myself for letting down my guard and letting it—us—happen at all.
This was the way things always ended—Thank you, Loretta—the only difference this time: I might be losing a group of girlfriends, too.
The only reason I was even sitting on the couch and not in the guest room, isolating myself in my misery, was to keep Elli company and to hide the fact I’d let things with Sean fall apart so quickly.
Elli jabbed her finger toward the screen. “See? Number thirteen. That’s him!”
I set my phone on the coffee table and scooted forward to sit beside her at the edge of the cushions. “Lukas didn’t tell you he was going to play tonight?”
“I don’t think he knew.” She groaned and flopped back against couch. “I wish I was there!”
“I’m sorry.” I flopped back with her.
She turned her head toward me. “What are you sorry about?”
“You’re stuck at home. Babysitting me.”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and slapped her hands down on the couch cushions. “Would you stop? I’m not babysitting you. That is, unless, you’re babysitting me right back.”
“Fine,” I said. “We’re both stuck behind a 24/7 security guard instead of being at the game.”
“We’ll be able to watch it better on TV,” she said, obviously looking for the silver lining, as was her way. “The cameras miss nothing.”
That’s what I was afraid of. The last thing I needed was a high-def close-up of Sean.
Fortunately, the players were running their warm-up drills with so much speed they were nothing more than a blur of color—red and black signaled a Minnesota Spriggan; green and yellow for a Las Vegas Leprechaun.
Soon, a buzzer blew, and the teams withdrew to the opposite ends of the ice, waiting for the moment the starters would be announced and they’d skate forward to meet at center ice.
The music pounded, and the crowd-hyping graphics flashed on the big screen. They were good, but not as good as the ones Elli had made for the Spriggans’ home games.
“Yours are better,” I told her.
She hooked her arm through mine and squeezed. “Thanks.”
“And now…” The announcer’s dramatic flair was like a verbal drum roll.
I returned my focus to my phone, not wanting to see Sean’s face on the screen and wishing I had earplugs to block out the sound of his name.
“Starting for the Minnesota Spriggans… On offense… Rafe MacConall!”
Their visiting crowd roared.
The announcer continued with, “Tate Brasssssss!”
Feet stomped, and someone blew an air horn.
“And Will Ques-en-berrrrrrrrrryyyyyyy!”
The offensive trio skated forward together into the spotlight.
“Wait,” Elli said. “What about Lukas? He’s one of the best forwards in the entire league. Why isn’t he on the starting line?”
“He has been hurt,” I reminded her. “And you didn’t think he was even expecting to play tonight.”
She gave her head a little shake and bit the corner of her lip.
“And on defense,” the announcer continued, “Sean Murrrr-phyyy…”
I quickly bowed my head toward my phone.
“…and Luuu-kas Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaakken!”
There was a second of stunned silence, then the crowd lost its collective mind, stomping their feet and cheering.
“Defense?” Elli asked.
“Is that bad?” I asked without looking up. Sean played defense, and he was amazing. At least, he looked amazing to me.
“It’s not bad,” Elli said. “It’s just…”
“Who usually plays defense with Sean?” I asked, scrolling through my feed without really focusing on any of the images.
“My brother.” Elli rose from the couch.
I looked up as she moved to stand just inches in front of the screen.
“I didn’t notice before,” she said, “but I… I don’t see him.”
“He’s not on the bench?”
“No,” she said. “He’s not there. He’s not at the game.”
I set my phone on the coffee table, feeling her anxiety fill the room. “Where would he be?”
“No idea.” Elli took her own phone from her pocket and hit a button.
I assumed she was calling her brother’s number, and I waited while she let the phone ring.
It rang for a long time, well past the point where I realized he wasn’t going to pick up.
I heard the muffled sound of a voicemail message, then Elli said, “Evan? It’s me. Tiny.”
Her eyes flicked to me, and I gave her an encouraging smile.
“I’m watching the game,” she told him, “and you’re not there. Are you okay? Call me.”
She disconnected, and her eyes went back to the television.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” I said.
Elli nodded, but she didn’t look away from the game.
“If something was really wrong, the team wouldn’t play,” I said, not really knowing if that were true, but it felt right. “Or they’d make some kind of major announcement.”
“Maybe,” she said.
My thoughts raced, trying to come up with a change of subject that would take her mind off her worries. The problem was, the only thing either of us had going on in our lives was worrisome.
Elli came back to the couch as the game began, and we sat in silence. I watched the game in solidarity with her, even though it hurt.
Minutes in, she said, “Murph’s really good.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “Thanks” didn’t seem appropriate; it wasn’t like I could take credit for his talents, and it seemed especially wrong now that we were over.
What I could say was that Sean Murphy was, beyond a doubt, the most beautiful man on the ice, though I didn’t want to say that either.
First, acknowledging Sean in any capacity tore at my heart.
Second, Elli would have her own opinion about who was the most beautiful.
Third, talking about any player’s beauty would be no better than commenting on the stylish design of their costumes.
Or…uniforms, I guessed. I’d sound completely clueless about the game.
Which was true, of course. Unlike Elli, I didn’t know hockey. But maybe that was exactly what we should be talking about if it took her mind off her missing brother.
So, even though it hurt, I forced myself to ask, “What makes Sean so good?”
“Well,” she said, “He’s fast. But they’re all fast. I think what really makes him stand out is how smooth he is.
Like a dancer. When it comes to nymphs, I wouldn’t guess he was a dryad.
More like an oceanid, the way he moves like water.
And he never stops moving. It’s like he’s afraid to stand still. ”
An image of a graceful tree root emerging from a lake came to mind, the image of a mother who stood still for too long, and a son who was a second too late to stop the inevitable from happening.
“I met his mother,” I blurted, then instantly regretted saying anything. At first, Sean had been reluctant to tell me anything about her. Maybe he kept that part of his life private from everyone.
My careless comment did, however, pull Elli’s attention away from the screen for the first time since the game began, so that was good.
“You did?” she asked.
“Uh…yeah. I…um…got trapped in a lake.”
She furrowed her forehead at me.
“A lake in the woods.”
The way she continued to stare told me I was in for a penny, in for a pound. I sighed, then gave her the story. “These little sluglike things circled me, then this tree root came up out of the water and swatted them all away.”
“A tree root?”
“Sean’s mother has turned into an actual tree. I don’t really know how, but…” My chest felt tight. “There’s an oak tree in the middle of the forest who cares more about me than my own mother.”
Elli turned her entire body toward me. “Kiera…”
Her tone was placating, but of course, she’d never met Loretta.
“Then Sean met my mother, and the difference between his mom and mine was so huge it was laughable. He saw behind the curtain.”
“What do you mean, ‘the curtain?’” Elli asked.
“Chickie,” I said, breathing out. “He got one look at what he was getting into with me, saw that I was trash, and took off.”
Elli clicked her tongue. “He did not.”
“Oh, he made it look good,” I said. “He would never hurt my feelings. But as soon as he knew I was safe with you, he was gone.”
“He had a team meeting, then an away game.”
“Have you talked to Lukas in all that time?”
Her lips thinned. She knew I was right. As far as I was aware, the two of them had talked three times since yesterday afternoon.
“Sean hasn’t called me once,” I told her. “Not even to make sure you and I got back here okay.”
“Because Lukas would have told him.”
I shrugged.
“Have you called him?” Elli asked.
I shook my head. That would have come off as clingy and desperate. Once someone got rid of the trash, they didn’t go back to reclaim it. “I’ve been down this road too many times before.”
“He’ll call you after the game,” she assured me, then glanced at her phone and tried her brother’s number again.
Still no answer.
The game continued, and I glanced back and forth between the television and my phone.
For a second, to boost Elli in the algorithms, I considered commenting on one of her posts about Sean. The last one she’d done was a video, and she was right: Sean did move like water. The effect was exaggerated by the video being in slow motion.
It didn’t help my heart the way it captured him biting down on his lower lip, his green eyes narrowing in concentration, his powerful shoulders swinging, and his muscular thighs flexing with each stride as he powered himself down the ice, chasing an opponent who never saw him coming.
At least that guy had an excuse when Sean slammed him up against the boards.
For me, I’d seen Sean coming from a mile away and aimed straight for my heart. I’d just been too dazzled—or too stupid—to get out of the way before I took the hit.
I hovered my thumb over the video, wondering if I should give the video a simple “like” or if I should just leave it alone.
Still undecided, I switched over to my own accounts and noticed something strange.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, what?” Elli asked.
“I gained over fifty thousand followers since this morning.”
“Not too surprising,” Elli said with a shrug.
I jerked backward. “It’s surprising to me.”
“All the guys followed you,” she said. “Didn’t you notice?”
I blinked. “No. I didn’t notice.”
Elli slid her gaze back to the TV. “When they follow someone, their fans get interested; they like to follow who their favorite player is following. It’s a vicarious fanbase.”
“But…why would the team follow me?” I asked. “As far as I know, none of them are into women’s fashions.”
Elli gave me a look that said she thought I was a little crazy. “They’re your friends. Duh.”
I stared at her for a beat, then Elli returned her attention to the game.
Instead of pondering this bizarre revelation—especially since the guys weren’t likely to stay my friends once they learned Sean and I were over—I focused on posting something from my drafts.
I’d just finished when a text from Jen popped up:
Just so you know, your birthday party is still on for Tuesday, and I need to get the invites out—pronto! It’s short notice as it is, so I need your guest list.
I responded:
Just you guys.
Plus Murph, Lukas, and the rest of those guys, right?
I stared at her text for a while before responding:
If you want.
What do you mean if *I* want? Don’t *you* want them there?
I don’t want to put any of them on the spot.
They were all so nice, even after they realized Sean and I were over, they’d probably still come to my party out of obligation to Elli.
Plus, it would be really awkward if Sean felt required to be there.
It would be even worse if he got the invite and refused to come. I pressed my fist against my heart and tried to massage away the hurt.
The bubbling dots of Jen’s next text continued for several minutes before it finally popped up.
Don’t be ridiculous. Any other friends?
Other friends? What friends? But I couldn’t admit that to Jen. We were still barely past the acquaintance stage ourselves. I didn’t want her to think I was pathetic. I racked my brain.
We could invite my neighbor, Aurora. Some of my old co-workers at the boutique might come, too.
I sent Jen the emails that I had in my contacts so she could add them to the invitation list.
That’s when a new notification pinged on my phone and—grateful for the interruption—I opened it. One of my followers was commenting on a post.
I was a little surprised to see how old the post was; it was a bathing suit photo from last summer. Moreover, it wasn’t the usual red emoji heart or the gushy, “This suit is soooo cute!!!!”
My throat constricted, and my pulse raced as I read through the words. I reached out, grabbed Elli’s wrist, and squeezed.
“What is it?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
I flashed her my phone, and her face went slack when she read the comment.
You know what we want. And if we don’t get it, there will be more photos of you online—but this time, wearing even less.
“Kiera,” Elli asked. “Does someone have naked photos of you?”