Chapter 20
By the time we check into the hotel, I feel like I’ve lived three days in one.
The flight, the bus, the cameras, the endless chatter.
Travel days are their own special kind of chaos, but they’re also my favorite to film.
There’s something about showing the fans those little moments—boarding the bus, stepping off the plane, walking into the hotel lobby—that makes them feel as if they’re right here with us.
We got some great footage today. When we landed, I held June back for a minute before boarding the team bus.
I explained how I usually capture the team arriving and leaving, keeping the clips vague enough that no one can track our exact location, but still giving the fans the illusion of being part of it.
She listened carefully, nodding, wide-eyed and eager, her phone in her hand, ready to help.
The moment we climbed on board, every player went straight to their old seat without anyone having to say a word. Superstition is a powerful thing.
I made my way toward the back, June following close behind.
“Are we following procedure here too?” she asked, smiling.
“Always,” I said, laughing.
We passed Thiago and Rogue, side by side again. June paused beside them.
“Mr. Gallagher?”
“It’s Rogue, lass,” he corrected, the corner of his mouth twitching.
She grinned. “Mr. Rogue, then. Where shall I sit?”
He tilted his head, that knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “You may sit with Catalina.”
I rolled my eyes but kept walking. June stifled a laugh, dropping into the seat beside me. The bus rumbled to life, and I busied myself with pretending not to feel Rogue’s gaze on me.
Now, standing in the hotel lobby, my shoulders finally drop. Room keys are handed out one by one. Some players share, some have singles, it depends on contracts, preferences, and years with the club. June and I are assigned a large double suite with two queen beds and a view of the city.
As soon as we step inside, June looks around in awe. “Does everyone get their own room like this?”
“Not always,” I say, setting my camera bag down. “Some share. It’s a mix. We’ll get separate rooms in the future once you’re settled.”
She shakes her head, still smiling. “I don’t mind. I’m used to traveling with my sisters. We’ve even shared one bed a few times.”
That earns a laugh from me. “Same. My sister and I used to steal each other’s pillows growing up. Marianna would always end up with both somehow.”
“How many siblings do you have?” June perks up instantly.
“Just me and Marianna. She’s back home right now, but she’s coming to Great Lakes soon to stay with me and Briana for a while.” My chest warms just saying it. “It’s been too long.”
“I’d love to meet her. I’ve got two sisters myself—April and May. I’m the youngest. April’s on her way to California, chasing her dream job, and May’s still at home for now. We’re all trying to figure life out.”
There’s something comforting in that confession. We share a grin, the kind only sisters—or people who understand sisters—would.
We unpack in companionable silence. The hum of the city filters through the window. I take a slow breath; this part of the trip always feels like a reset.
June’s phone buzzes. She checks it, then glances at me. “One of my friends lives here. Do you mind if I try to see her later?”
“Not at all. Today’s basically a rest day, anyway. Enjoy it.”
“You have plans?” she asks.
“I’m just meeting up with a friend a little later.”
She nods and disappears into the bathroom to freshen up. The room feels too quiet once the door clicks shut behind her.
I sink onto the bed and finally check my phone. I could text anyone, but lately, he’s the one I reach for when my thoughts get too loud.
I can still feel Rogue’s stormy eyes on me, as if he never really looked away. My fingers still smell faintly of coffee and sanitizer from the flight. Still, typing to him feels like breathing again.
There’s a notification I hadn’t noticed before, sent early this morning, before the flight.
Good morning. Hope you have a good day.
HalfWritten.
A simple message, but it hits different after spending hours next to Rogue. I bite my lip, staring at it. He’s consistent, thoughtful, and always knows how to make me smile without even trying.
I type back.
@OneLastLine:
Hi. I hope you are having a good day too.
The three dots appear almost instantly.
@HalfWritten:
How are you doing today?
@OneLastLine:
I’m okay. Work started a little earlier than usual today. Long morning.
@HalfWritten:
One of those days already?
@OneLastLine:
Something like that. Nothing bad, just busy.
@HalfWritten:
You always sound calm, even when I can tell you’re tired.
@OneLastLine:
I’ll take that compliment.
I pause, thinking about how to word my next message and decide it’s best to go straight to the point.
@OneLastLine:
Can I be honest with you about something?
@HalfWritten:
Always.
My heart stutters. I stare at the blinking cursor for far too long before I start typing again.
@OneLastLine:
You’ve been such a great friend to me. Honestly, you’ve helped me restore my faith in humanity a little.
So I need to open up and get your advice on something.
I feel like I can talk to you about absolutely anything, without any kind of judgment.
But I haven’t been completely honest.
Lately, I’ve been … confused. There’s someone else, we work together, and I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.
There’s a long pause. I almost regret sending it. My fingers tremble a little as I wait for his reply.
@HalfWritten:
You like him.
@OneLastLine:
I don’t know. Maybe? It’s complicated.
I really value what we have, and I don’t want to hurt you or make this weird. You’re … important to me. You know that, right?
@HalfWritten:
I know.
You don’t have to apologize. Feelings aren’t something you owe anyone an explanation for.
@OneLastLine:
Still, it doesn’t feel fair. You’ve been so good to me.
@HalfWritten:
You deserve good things.
And if this guy respects you, cares about you and makes you smile, then that’s where you should be.
@OneLastLine:
You’re really okay with that?
@HalfWritten:
Truth be told, I wish I could be that person.
But if he deserves you—if he’s lucky enough to see what I see—then good for him.
Follow your heart. Don’t hold back because of me, or because of anyone else for that matter.
My throat tightens. My fingers hover over the screen, unsure how to respond.
@OneLastLine:
You’re kind. Too kind honestly.
@HalfWritten:
Maybe.
But you make it easy to be.
@OneLastLine:
I don’t want this to change things between us. What we have means a lot to me.
@HalfWritten:
It won’t. The friendship we’ve built over these last few weeks isn’t going anywhere. I’m not willing to let you go that easy.
@OneLastLine:
You’re sure?
@HalfWritten:
Positive.
And hey … if things don’t work out with this guy, maybe you’ll give me a chance?
@OneLastLine:
I will.
And thank you for being cool about this, and for not making this weird.
@HalfWritten:
Never. You deserve to be happy. However that looks.
I stare at the screen for a long time, my heart thudding hard against my ribs. His words feel heavier than they should—too understanding, too final.
Slowly, I close out of the Veil app and open my messages. My fingers hover for a second before I start typing.
Me:
Hey, do you have plans for today? There’s something I’d like to show you.
I hit send before the courage fades. The city hums outside, alive and endless, as I stare at my phone waiting for his answer.