Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
CONNOR
Luke
Good luck today
Me
Thanks man
Ollie
If they say no I say we finally do that nude calendar we’ve been talking about
Finn
*that you’ve been talking about - leave us out of this
Aiden
There’s no way you would make enough money to run a rink off that
Ollie
You haven’t seen my junk
Aiden
Thank fuck
Finn
As if anyone would pay to see that
Tanner
No need. He keeps showing it to everyone for free anyway.
Ollie
Fuck off, I don’t vibe with all this negativity
*Luke removed Ollie from the group chat*
Luke
Problem solved
I tap my foot against the floor, trying to let out some of the excess energy zapping under my skin.
The cheap plastic folder bounces in my lap with every tap.
I should have done another three laps on the ice this morning, just to get it all out, but I was already cutting it close getting that last round of practice in, and I’m not sure showing up late is the right way to impress a room full of local politicians.
Even if they’re the ones running late now.
So yeah, my knee is bouncing like a pressure drill and there’s nothing I can do about it, no matter how much the receptionist glares at me.
I finally take pity on him and tuck my right foot behind my left to keep it in place. I pull my phone out to distract me instead.
Ten minutes later, the door across from me opens and I click my phone shut, just as a young woman pops her head out. “Connor? We’re ready for you.”
I stand, tucking the plastic folder under my arm and fastening the button on my game day suit. I pretend not to notice how relieved the guy behind the desk looks to finally be rid of me when I follow the woman into the room.
I count my steps the way I count them from the locker room to the ice before a game. Pitching to a room full of people in suits can’t possibly be worse than facing down twelve angry guys with blades strapped to their feet. Right?
The space is set up for twenty, but I can count on one hand the amount of people in the room. Half of them don’t even bother to look up when I enter. Well, that’s awkward.
“When you’re ready,” the woman says, taking the seat on my right.
I think I might throw up when I slide the stack of papers I prepared this morning out of the plastic folder.
The printer in the library ran out of toner halfway through the run, so there’s a faint red streak of ink running across most of the copies.
It looks like a third grader’s art class project.
The only thing keeping me rooted to my spot is the bright yellow Post-it note I attached to the front of my copy this morning. Riley, Hayden, Elias, Mads…
Twenty-four reasons why I should be in this room, fighting for what I believe in.
Twenty-four reasons to get me out of bed on hungover Sunday mornings.
Twenty-four reasons I can’t bolt for the door like I want to.
Twenty-four reasons that I roll my shoulders back and straighten, hoping my imposing height is enough to earn me back a shred of the self-respect they stomped out the moment I walked into this room.
“Three weeks ago, the decision to demolish the Southbay Ice Rink was made in this very building.” I step forward, handing the copies of my proposal to the guy at the end of the table. He passes the stack along without so much as glancing at it.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to stare at the painting on the back wall to keep from reacting. “I’m here today to ask that you revert that decision.”
The woman closest to me leans forward, eyes flickering over the front page of my proposal as she taps the end of her pen against the table.
“Over the last five years, more than a million dollars has gone into its upkeep. Why should we keep allocating funds to a condemned building when there are better things we could be using those funds on?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way it hurts to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“This arena is a pillar of the community. In the last five years, great effort has been made to engage local community groups, including a volunteer run training program for kids with potential. Last year alone, three of those kids were able to go to college on a scholarship because of that training. Cutting off the funding to the arena would effectively shut down that project and take away a vital after-school activity in the local community.”
“You make a compelling case.” She nods and my shoulders sink with relief the same way they do when I make a solid pass or score higher than a C on my exams. It’s the never-ending relief that I haven’t somehow completely fucked it all up. “We’ll think about it.”
I leave the council chamber downtown feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Even the slight drizzle of rain isn’t enough to get my mood down, as I stop by Daisy’s favorite Chinese restaurant for takeaway on my way home. I’ve been feeling too anxious to eat all day, but now that it’s over I’m feeling the post-adrenaline hunger hitting me hard.
Daisy is writing at the kitchen counter when I step through the door.
She’s got a pen stuck through her blonde hair where it’s pinned up into a messy pile while she types furiously on her laptop.
She doesn’t look up when I enter and I know better than to interrupt her by now, so I head for the living room instead.
I made the mistake of interrupting her the other day, and she spent the next two hours sulking because she forgot where she was going with the scene she was working on. When I asked her what the fuck a scene was, she tried to suffocate me with a pillow.
I don’t wait for her before I break into the first container of food. Fifteen minutes later, she pops her head through the archway to the living room. “Is that Chinese?”
“The very best,” I tell her, even though she’s already perched on the couch beside me, peering into the first bag.
She eyes the container of spring rolls in my hand, so I slide it across to her and her whole face lights up. She pops one into her mouth and lets out a small moan as she chews, and I try really hard not to concentrate on that sound. Food first.
“How was your day?”
“Better now.”
“That bad?”
She shakes her head and waves her hand dismissively, but in all honest she looks exhausted. “It’s this second act. Tarah wants me to rewrite it all,” she tells me while I offer her the chicken chow mein. “How was yours?”
“Good,” I tell her, pulling the pen from her hair and tossing it onto the coffee table. Judging from the surprise on her face, she definitely forgot it was there. “I went to the council.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.”
I shrug noncommittally. “That’s okay. I don’t expect you to remember everything.”
“No, but this is important to you. I should have,” she tells me, setting her food down and turning toward me, giving me her full attention.
I don’t think I’ve ever had someone tune into me that completely, like the most important thing to them is to hear what I have to say.
“What did they say?” she asks, while I fight the urge to rub at the suddenly tight feeling in my chest.
“They’ll discuss it. I should know by the end of the month.”
“That’s amazing.” Her smile lights up her whole face, and I get the overwhelming urge to pull her as close to me as I can.
Not finding any good reason that I shouldn’t, I set my food next to hers and wrap one arm around her waist, tugging her all the way into me.
“We should have everyone over to celebrate,” she says, leaning into me. I rest my chin against the top of her head, finding comfort in how well she fits against me.
I love that she loves my friends. I love that she slots right in.
I love that she wants to celebrate this even if we don’t have a definitive answer yet.
But there’s no way I’m sharing her with my friends tonight, not when being around other people means I have to keep my distance from her like I don’t itch to touch her all the time.
“Nope, not happening.” I shake my head. “My only version of celebrating tonight is watching that ridiculous medical show of yours, if you can drag yourself away from your manuscript?”
“I’m all yours.” She beams up at me, and fuck me if I didn’t wish those words were true.