* * *
@NHLOnline: Hockey’s heartbreaker is off the market!
My phone buzzes. Text from Tyler.
Tyler
DUDE. Who is she?! Way to go!!!
Another from Kalen.
Kalen
Bout time you settled down, Candy!
Team group chat exploding with questions.
And then, at the bottom of my notifications:
Rick
Management will love this. Keep it going. This is exactly the image we needed.
I pocket my phone. Look down the empty street where Chloe disappeared.
Someone explain to me how, within the last ten minutes, I’ve somehow:
found the woman I’ve been looking for;
claimed her as my girlfriend without asking;
got a viral photo taken;
made her think I orchestrated the whole thing;
let my phone call prove her worst assumptions;
confirmed I’m exactly the fake, performative person she thinks I am.
Solid work, Kane. Really stellar.
The wind cuts through my jacket. My breath comes out in clouds. My hands are cold, shoved deep in my pockets.
What am I doing?
The smart move: Go home. Leave her alone.
The Rick move: Capitalize on this. Make it work. Get her to play along somehow.
The right move: I have no idea what the right move is anymore.
But if I do nothing, she’s going to find out about the photo from Barcelona from someone else. From Maya. From her own phone blowing up with strangers asking about “Candy’s girlfriend.” From her face being tagged in posts she never consented to.
And that’s not fair to her.
I pull out my phone. Stare at it. But I don’t have her number.
Never did.
