I push my tulle dress to the side and yank off the other shoe, throwing it in the trash in aggravation.
In what fucking world did I ever think going anywhere near Scotty was going to end any differently?
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, my mascara undoubtedly streaming down my face, as I duck around the corner of a closed-down convenience store, collapsing against the brick wall. My breath is heaving, and the shot of adrenaline gives way to something worse: humiliation so complete it feels like I might die from it.
The moment I pull my fake lashes off, everything in me unravels. The tears come hot and fast, streaking through the layers of glitter and makeup, impossible to stop.
My legs give out, and I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the dirty sidewalk with the tulle bunching around me.
The blue is faded, the tulle is ripped, and there’s a line of dirt at the bottom, but there’s no point in fixing it.
The damage is already done, and I’ll have to pay for the dress to be replaced anyway.
Hell, I’ll probably get in trouble for leaving the paid gig the way I did.
I try to swallow down the humiliation, but it’s not working. It’s still there.
All those guys. All those hockey players. Staring at me.Laughingat me.Recordingme for Scotty's stupid reality show. Capturing every second of me standing there like an idiot, holding a birthday cake while a room of athletes watched me unravel.
Their laughter hit me first—sharp, mean, and unmistakably aboutme.
All my hope died then. I was just something to laugh at. It didn’t matter that I worked my ass off to get good at something, or practiced singing until my throat hurt—I wasjust content.
The punchline for Scotty’s TV show.
He acted shocked, but was he really surprised, or did he know? Did he—did he do it all on purpose?
The thoughts come thick and fast in my head, each one more painful than the last.
How long had they been planning this? Was everything between us just a setup for his dad's fucking TV show?
I try to catch my breath between sobs, but I can't. Every inhale catches halfway up my throat. The air feels too thin, and the world starts to spin, my vision blurring like I’m swimming underwater and sinking fast.
A car passes by on the main road, and I fold forward, burying my head between my knees. Maybe from a distance I just look like some girl in a costume catching her breath, not the pathetic mess I actually am.
I need to pull myself together. I need to move before anyone else sees me…or Scotty finds me.
With shaking hands, I dig deep into the skirt tulle and pull out my phone.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing from Scotty.
No text. No missed call. No “I’m sorry” or “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that” or “Please don’t go, Princess.”
The tears burn hotter, because that silence says everything.
He didn’t call because he knew. He expected this. That’s why he wanted to offer me a lift. He knew he’d be here anyway.
If Scotty wanted to warn me, he would’ve.
A cold, hollow feeling spreads through my chest, settling heavy under my ribs.
If that doesn't prove it's a setup, nothing will.
I wipe my face, smearing more makeup across my cheeks, and dial Lyss's number. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, what's up? Are you still at that birthday party? I thought you had a date with Scotty after?” Her voice is casual—completely unaware I've been completely and utterly humiliated.
