“I feel sick.”
“Six cups of coffee will do that,” Kinsley says under her breath as she rises to her feet.
“Where are you going?” My heart is racing, and I can’t seem to stop bouncing my left leg.
“Home,” she says, leaving no room for arguing. “And you should go watch your hot new husband at his game.”
I decided against that after the first coffee. Pretending when it’s just the two of us is one thing, but being Mrs. Bennett in front of an entire arena? What would I say if someone asked me about him? That he likes huckleberry-flavored foods and his forearms led to my demise?
“But what do I tell Wren?” My voice is bordering on a whine and I give her my best puppy dog eyes but they’re both completely ineffective on my best friend.
“Woman up.” She winks, then reaches for Skylar. They look cute today. Matching but in their own styles. Skylar is wearing a baggy, white sweatshirt and Kinsley a tank top, but they’re both in jeans and tall boots. The most picturesque, adorable couple. It makes me feel like even more of a fraud. Especially after I let my curiosity get the best of me last night and I searched my and Travis’s names. To be fair it was one o’clock in the morning—relevant only because it speaks to my state of mind. I historically make terrible decisions after midnight. See: Get married in Vegas.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it was basically as Everly had said. A few sites had picked it up and ran a short piece, primarily centered around Travis. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s a fan favorite or well-liked. His stats are good, and his face is…better.
Iwassurprised that people seemed to buy our relationship with so little proof. They couldn’t even find a picture of us together to run with the article. Instead, they took one of him in a lavender-colored suit before a hockey game and an old team headshot of me from several years ago and mashed them together. It felt a little like one of those life-goal boards I might have created in middle school of cut-out magazine photos, complete with a vision casting of me marrying my favorite celebrity.
The articles themselves didn’t say much. My favorite was titled: “Everything you need to know about hockey superstar Travis Bennett and Olympic hopeful Hannah Walsh.” Olympic hopeful is decidedly better than struggling, medal-less gymnast. And the “facts” were mostly of Travis and his professional and dating history. Hopeful or not, there isn’t much of note about me yet.
Once Kinsley and Skylar are gone, I toss my cup and head outside. The cool air steadies some of my anxiety and caffeine jitters. But as soon as my phone starts vibrating again, they’re back.
I stare at Wren’s name and the cute photo of her that fills the screen. She’s thirteen in her contact photo, taken when I dared ask her to pose for a photo. She’s giving me a death stare that feels a little too pointed right now.
Letting out a deep, calming breath, I mentally compose a text that is filled with excuses of my busy schedule and plans to call her later—all lies. That is until the call ends, and she immediately sends a shouty caps text.
Wren
WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?
I guess the jig is up.
I call her once I’m in the Jeep, sans video because of safety and all that. Also, I’m chicken.
“Where have you been?” she asks instead of the standard greeting.
“I’m sorry.” I decide to say less. She’ll see through my excuses if I start babbling about training and my busy schedule. I’ve always tried my best to make sure she doesn’t feel like an inconvenience. I never thought that would backfire on me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Mhmm. Are you mad about the payment for the extra course I added to my schedule? Did something bad happen at the gym? Did Kinsley finally talk you into doing ayahuasca?”
“Not exactly.”
“Really? I knew you’d cave eventually! What was it like? Did you hallucinate your past and future lives? Did you talk to coyotes? Tell me everything.”
“I did not do ayahuasca.”
“Oh.” She sounds almost disappointed.
“We went to Vegas last weekend.”
“Like a week ago, right? I saw the pictures on Kins’ Instagram. Are you still hungover? I don’t think that’s possible. Unless it’s because you’re so short the alcohol stays in your system longer.”
“You are only an inch taller than me.” How easily she gets me sidetracked. “Something happened when I was in Vegas.”
“Did you lose all your money gambling?”
