"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "Okay, fine. Yeah, I'll call."
"Good." She stands, presumably to go check on Aunt Ivy. I join her on my feet, suddenly full of energy. "Hear him out. I'll be rooting for you."
My vision blurs as I hug her again. "Thanks, Mom," I whisper.
"No, hunny," she says, holding tight. "Thankyou."
"Yeah, I saw it. The one with Liam Montgomery's perfect. I'd say go with that for now, and we can tweak the others to post throughout the rest of the week. Yeah… uh huh, right. Okay, perfect, talk then."
My eyes shoot back down to my phone as I pretend my ears didn't perk right up at the sound of Liam's name. The man standing in front of me outside the hospital doors turns around, and we nearly collide.
"I'm so sorry," he says as I fumble my phone in my hands.
"No, don't be. I wasn't paying attention."To anything but your phone call.
"I get so lost in work calls, sometimes I forget I don't actually live in a baseball bubble."
I offer him a forced laugh, glancing back down at my screen. I tried Drew twice since I got out here despite knowing he's already on the ice. Both calls went straight to voicemail, which is not unexpected, but doesn't help to fill the pit in my stomach.
So now, I wait.
Seven more minutes until Robert arrives in his black sedan.
"I get that," I say, though my mind is still looping through every possible scenario with Drew.
"Do you follow the Gators?" he asks, sucking from the vape in his hand.
"I'm, uh, more of a hockey girl," I answer, distracted.
My words tumble out before I can filter them. And my stomach flips at how easily they do.
Drew.
"But I know Liam," I add quickly. "He's great."
"Highest baseball IQ on the field."
"Yeah." I smile, pretending that's exactly what I meant. That I'm impressed by his stats and not that he's an incredible father, loyal brother, and one of the kindest souls I know.
"I've actually been working with his brother for the Flames recently."
The second I say it, my chest tightens. I've been so caught with what's next with Drew that I forgot to worry about what's next forme.
"Oh, what is it you do?"
"I've been filling in as their social media manager until their new hire could start permanently."
"No way! Wait, so you're the one who made the post of the guys reenacting pictures from their childhood?"
I smile thinking of Ward sucking his thumb at the ripe age of twenty-seven and Petrov wearing an ushanka as Burns played his babushka, spoon-feeding him mashed potatoes. "Yeah, I did a question box asking the fans what they wanted from the boys, and couldn't unsee that idea."
He hits his vape again and blows the sweet smoke behind him. "It was hilarious," he says, turning back to me. "Seriously, gold. If you're ever looking for something else outside of their organization, give me a call." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, sliding a business card from the clip.
"Oh, uh..." I read the name and title written across the middle: Miles Whitaker - Director of Digital Content. "Honestly, that's all the experience I have. It was just temporary—a favor, really."
"Well, it's sort of my job to keep tabs on all the media for the Golden City teams. You know, make sure we match up. And your stuff has been good. Funny. People probably eat that shit up. We're currently looking for a fan engagement specialist. It may not pay as much as a social media manager position, but there's room to grow. And honestly, just going off of what I remember seeing, that's your specialty."
I'm left speechless, his offer taking me aback and a low rumble in the distance distracting my thoughts.
