JJ leans toward me. “Isn’t that where their women’s team has that weird dog mascot?”
I don’t answer. A rush of heat spreads through me, but my fingers are numb. I’m weak, my head spinning.
“The feedback we’ve received,” she continues, gaze not quite meeting mine, “is that the donor felt misled about the… presentation of certain partnerships involved in the campaign.”
My face goes hot.
No one says my name because they don’t have to.
This whole thing was built around Luna and me. Our rapport. Our collaboration. Our perfectly polished videos, pictures, and livestreams. And now, some jerk with video editing software and too much time on his hands has leaked a private video that’sblown up into a PR disaster. That’s how easy it is for social media to turn on you in this day and age.
The AD flips the screen again. The logo vanishes. “We’re doing what we can to maintain the relationship,” she says, which means it’s slipping through our fingers. “But I expect all of you on both teams to be mindful of what you post and how it might be interpreted. Eyes are on us now. Don’t give them a reason to look twice.”
The department is going to lose the influx of funds. And the worst part is, the women’s team will feel it worse than the men’s.
Meeting adjourned.
Outside, JJ nudges my shoulder. “Man, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Because, like, that looked rough. Even for you.”
“Drop it.”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender and wanders off, probably to raid the vending machine.
Dev hangs back. Doesn’t say anything. Just gives me a look shadowed by his hoodie. It’s probably concern, but I don’t engage with him, just walk out the door. I can’t deal with this right now.
By the time I get home, my shoulders are so tight it’s like they’re trying to climb into my ears.
I don’t even take off my coat. Just kick my shoes halfway into the front closet and head for my room. All I want to do is put on my headphones, crank up some music and try to get lost in the noise. Forget about the meeting, and her, and watching my future slip away.
But before I reach the stairs, my phone rings.
Of course it does. And of course it’s him.
I stare at the screen. Just the name Dad. No emojis. No nicknames. Just sharp letters on a dark screen.
I answer on the third ring. Not because I want to. But because it’s easier than dealing with the aftermath if I don’t. I never thought I was the kind of person to take the easy route. After all, I worked my ass off to get where I am in the hockey world. But in retrospect, he’s the one person I never stand up to. I just smooth things over and go along with his tyranny.
His voice is clipped, precise, like it always is when he’s irritated. “I heard Bridgefern is dropping Lakeview in favor of Western Shore.”
No hello. No how are you? That’s never been his style. Why waste time on pleasantries? Not with your children. Potential business partners, maybe.
I press my knuckles into the countertop. “Where did you hear that?” How does he even know about the sponsorship deal when I just found out myself? Probably has some connection to the donor, or the foundation. The wealthy often stick to their own.
He blows past my question. “These optics are terrible, son. I thought you knew better than to get involved in this sort of unprofessional publicity. Especially after what your sister put me through last year.”
“Right.” Cece getting exposed on the internet without her consent was all about him, after all.
He pauses, which is worse than if he just started yelling. “I warned you, Beau. About distractions.”
“I’m aware.”
“You thought you were being clever volunteering with her at that unsuitable place,” he says, and I flinch. “But nothing good ever comes when you lower yourself to actually date someone so beneath you.”
My mouth dries up. “She’s not…”
