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.”
