Chapter 29 Damage Control Luna
Damage Control
Luna
The lighting is perfect.
Soft early morning glow spilling through the window brushes everything with a kind of romantic haze I couldn’t recreate if I tried. The ring light’s angled just right. My hair’s doing the swoopy thing I like, and my favorite Lightning crop top is hanging just right.
There’s a hum in my chest, the low-key electricity that’s half anticipation, half performance mode.
Beau and I are officially going public with our relationship.
Not that the wolves aren’t already out for blood, but this will be the ultimate confirmation.
My followers have been buzzing with talk about it.
They’ve been begging for more Beau since his first appearance with me at the rescue.
Thinking about that day brings a smile to my face, and warmth flows through my numb fingers again.
He stepped up then and now we’re going next level.
We’re sharing the news and preorder link for the calendar.
He was so funny helping me go through the pictures.
Too bad we’re doing it here. If we were at his place, Bluebeard could make a guest appearance.
Maisie watches from the couch as I adjust the camera one more time. “Okay, this looks professional,” she says. “Like, you might actually convince people you have your life together.”
“That is the goal,” I say, tapping on my phone screen to fix the framing. “We’re going for high-functioning chaos. No one needs to know I stress-ate three waffles this morning.”
“Four,” she corrects.
I flip her off without looking.
The camera’s ready. The giveaways are stacked.
JJ even agreed to DJ from the other room when I asked him as a joke.
That boy is a fame whore, and he’s going to get himself in trouble one of these days.
I’m just about to click over to the live preview when my phone buzzes.
I glance down confused when I see it's Beau.
Golden Boy: Got pulled into something for my dad. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.
Golden Boy: Sending JJ instead.
I stare at the screen.
Not a call. Not even a voice memo.
Just a text.
The tension drops out of me so fast it feels like someone cut a wire. I sit down slowly on the edge of the couch, head swimming.
He knew this was important. For us as a couple, for the charity and, even more important, for the hockey program.
Not to mention the boost in my earnings to help with Celeste’s dance school tuition.
We talked about this at her competition.
I never thought he’d let me down like this.
Especially after we talked things through on Wednesday.
I thought we were good. I understand his side, and maybe I don’t agree, but it’s his decision.
My skin prickles uncomfortably, and heat presses against the back of my eyes. I blink to keep the tears in check.
“Everything okay?” Maisie asks.
I nod, throat dry. “Yeah. Just... switch-up. JJ’s filling in.”
She raises a brow. “Seriously?”
“Apparently, Beau’s dad summoned him.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you kidding me? That asshat is bailing on you? Completely unacceptable. Unless someone is in the hospital or a coffin. Are they?”
I try to swallow down the emptiness. “Doesn’t sound like it.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to go into full rage mode, then closes it, eyes softening. “I’m sorry, Luna. You deserve better than that.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“Showtime,” I mutter.
And then I paste on a smile. The one that’s part armor, part instinct. The one I’ve been perfecting since the day I figured out how to be palatable on camera.
I open the door. JJ is standing there.
“Hey, Lightning fam,” JJ says when I open the door, voice softer than usual.
He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder, a six-pack of sparkling water in the other.
His unruly hair is slicked back off his forehead in a swoosh.
It’s almost as if he’s mimicking Beau’s style, but he went overboard on the gel.
But his head dips lower than usual. A little subdued.
Like he knows exactly what’s going on. He knows he’s not the one I was waiting for.
“Nice entrance,” I manage, smiling because I have to. Because the ring light’s already warming up in the corner. The entire team is probably watching, and I can’t afford to fall apart on camera.
“Where’s your tux?” I ask, trying to summon banter when all I want to do is scream into a pillow.
“Left it in the Lambo,” he says, stepping inside.
He’s unable to resist the joke, but he doesn’t breeze past me like he usually would.
There’s a brief moment, barely a second, where he hesitates in the doorway, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll stop him.
If I’ll say it’s too much, or that I’m not up for this.
I don’t have the luxury of quitting or wallowing in my pain.
There are too many people counting on me.
Maisie leans against the fridge, one socked foot tucked behind the other, brows knit with concern. “You okay?”
No, I’m not okay.
I smiled through a black-tie gala while Beau’s father looked at me like I should be carrying a tray full of hors d’oeuvres, not dancing with his son.
Like I wasn’t worth the time or the breath it would take to remember my name.
But I did it for him. And now he’s bailing on me when I need him.
For his asshole of a father. Clearly, he’s got his priorities in order, and I’m not one of them.
And now I’m here. Dressed, mic’d, lit. Waiting for thousands of fans, followers, donors, and sponsors to log on expecting a picture-perfect power couple and getting... this. Damage control with a side of emotional freefall.
“I’m fine,” I say, voice tight. “It’s not a big deal.”
JJ sets the drinks on the counter. Doesn’t respond right away. And that silence, from him is unexpected but appreciated. I kind of knew there was a good guy buried under all that chaos.
When he finally speaks, it’s low and careful. Much more unsettling than if he were his usual boisterous self. “I know I’m not the guy you were planning to go live with tonight.”
My eyes sting. I blink hard and look away, jaw tightening.
“But I showed up,” he continues. “And I’ll do whatever you need me to. Be ridiculous, be charming, hold the ring light, lie to the internet. I got your back.”
That breaks something loose in my chest. He’s not Beau. Smooth and polished on the outside, but hiding depths of emotion and anxiety beneath the surface.
But JJ showed up. That counts for something.
I clear my throat. “You still want to know your good side?”
JJ lifts a shoulder. “All of ‘em are equally chaotic. It’s part of the brand.”
My smile is genuine this time, small and shaky but present. “That’s why you bring the sparkle.”
He bumps my shoulder with his, light but steady. “Damn right.”
The room shifts around me, the tripod, mic, and props I set up earlier to give a sneak peek of the calendar.
Everything is positioned to catch the good angles, none of which includes my heart.
I’ll have to keep that locked away to hide the pain.
Nobody wants to see that. That’s not what social media is for.
I swipe a layer of lip gloss over my mouth, blinking at my reflection in the camera preview. I look good. Cheerful. Lit. Like someone who didn’t just get abandoned by the guy she thought was different. Typical. I should have known better.
The idea had been simple: a chill behind-the-scenes stream with the two captains.
We were going to banter about training, the calendar, and the big finale we’ve got planned to snag the donor once and for all.
A brief mention to confirm we’re dating, then moving on to the outdoor charity scrimmage we’re working on next.
This was going to be the big surprise for everyone tonight.
Serving the dual purposes of building excitement and deflecting some of the attention off Beau and me and our couple status.
Because that is not the thing I want the focus on. That’s not what my brand is about.
I slide into frame and hit the countdown. Three, two, one.
“Hey Lightning fam!” I say, trying to convey my usual level of enthusiasm.
“Welcome to the chaos cave. Today was supposed to feature your favorite defenseman, but someone,” I shoot a look toward the camera, “got pulled into Big Business Land. So, you’re stuck with the second most chaotic person I know. Sorry.”
JJ leans in. “Second? Rude.”
We banter. We joke. I talk about the gala, well, the highlights. JJ fills in with gossip about which alum tried to flirt with which coach. I give away a signed puck. Someone asks if we’ll be selling the special charity shirts again.
Everything is going fine.
Until it’s not.
“Where’s Beau really?” one comment reads. “Did you two break up?”
It’s not even a mean comment. It’s probably meant with concern. But it lands like a sucker punch. My lungs contract around nothing. My heart fumbles a beat.
JJ doesn’t miss a step. “They’re fine. He’s just busy saving the economy or whatever. Luna’s the real star of this duo anyway. Be honest, that’s why you’re all here. Whitaker is just bonus content.”
I smile as if I’m still breathing normally. “Yeah, we’re fine.” I blurt it out on reflex. Too quickly. “You know how it is. Sometimes you spill a drink on a donor’s kid and suddenly your night turns into a spy movie.”
That gets a laugh in the chat. The feed moves on. But I don’t.
By minute twenty, I’ve told the story about JJ trying to teach Bluebeard to walk on a leash, raffled off a jersey signed by both teams. Plus, I dropped a few hints about the upcoming charity scrimmage. JJ hams it up perfectly. I should be grateful.
But all I can think about is how Beau was supposed to be sitting here. That we were supposed to be going official as a couple. Now I’m wondering if I’ve been deluding myself.
JJ senses the energy shift, covering for me like a pro.
“You know,” he says, elbowing me with a grin, “I think Luna’s just sad because I’m prettier than her.”
I blink, force a smile. “It’s the eyelashes. I can’t compete.”
The comments light up with hearts and crying-laugh emojis. Someone writes: “JJ for MVP.” Another says: “Where’s BEAU tho?”
I laugh. It’s empty. Tinny in my throat.
“We’re both just busy,” I say lightly. “Hockey doesn’t sleep.”
When the stream finally ends, the silence in the room is deafening. JJ packs up slowly. My roommates hover like satellites in the living room.
Maisie brings me a glass of water. Beth places a warm lavender heat pack on my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. I stare at the floor.
“You did amazing,” Maisie says quietly.
I nod.
“I mean it. You were funny. Sharp. You didn’t let them see anything.”
That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m always sharp. Always smooth. Always angled perfectly toward the light. “I don’t think I know how to let people see the truth,” I say.
“What’s the truth?” she asks.
“That I’m not okay.”
“Luna. It’s okay to admit you’re not okay. It’s okay to be vulnerable. I know you have a lot riding on this partnership, but I wouldn’t be opposed to you throwing that asshole under the bus. I can’t believe he bailed on you.”
“I don’t want to lose him,” I admit. “But I’m worth more than this. I trusted him, and he let me down. Hard.”
“You are,” Maisie says. “You’re a freaking superstar, and you deserve to be treated like the queen you are. I have half a mind to hunt him down and interrupt his oh so important meeting.”
I shake my head. “Don’t do that. People are watching. They expect us to be something. If I mess this up...”
Beth tilts her head. “If you lose him, would you rather it be because you were honest, or because you made it look perfect until it broke?”
I don’t think I have an answer to that one. I’m starting to wonder where the influencer ends and the real Luna begins. The lines are blurring.
I glance down at my Insta account, idly scrolling.
My thumb hovers over the “new post” button.
There’s a picture in my drafts, me and Beau on the ice.
It’s of the in-between space when our practice was over and his was beginning.
He’s grinning, fresh and ready to go. I’m holding his helmet over my face like I’m hiding, even though I wasn’t.
I was covering up my flushed face and sweat-soaked hair.
I don’t post it.
Instead, I open our texts. The thread is full of memes, dumb voice notes, and middle-of-the-night selfies. I scroll past the good morning texts. Past the one where he sent a photo of Bluebeard curled up in his laundry basket. Past the brief apology from earlier.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. A clue? A map? A version of him that explains this one?
After my friends leave, I curl up in bed, imagining what I’d say if he were here. I’d ask him why he didn’t show. Not with anger, but with that soft ache you can’t quite hide. I’d ask him if he still wants this, or if I’m trying to keep the momentum going while he’s moving on with his life.
This isn’t me, though. I’m not one to dwell on a guy and obsessively wonder if he’s going to call. I take action, ask questions, and if it turns out this thing didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me? Well then, I’ll move on with my life.