She recoils, and I immediately regret what I said, but pushing her away is best for everyone.
Regaining her composure she says, “You’re right. I should have. The last thing I want is for either of us to suffer career damage because of reckless mistakes.”
“Don’t worry, Hearst. There’s nothing between us,” I say. It’s somewhat true. Idon’twant this, because what it entails isn’t good for me. It’s not good for her, either.
“I’msorry for my lapse in judgement,” she says somberly. “I should have been more professional. From here out, that’s all this is.”
“I agree that’s the best course of action,” I say as I turn to leave. “This season is more important to me than anything.”
“Same for me.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Chapter 34
Freddie
I wrap the rest of my filming for the holiday special on Halloween day. Fontenot makes gumbo, Häkkänen rice pudding balls, and Morales some Christmas tamales. I can’t wait to see how the special comes together when Grace puts her editing spin on it. My father’s consultants should be pleased enough to stay away a while longer.
Halloween night arrives the following Friday. Living with your parents as a twenty-something has a way of sapping the fun out of going out, so rather than getting drunk and coming home at three in the morning with burrito stains down my shirt, I’m staying in. Plus, I’m beat. I’ve been at the arena and traveling nonstop since the season started and I need a break, especially since we’ve got an afternoon home game against the Mallards tomorrow. Luckily for me, Margot is antisocial as hell and Grace is jetlagged from her recent trip to the Philippines, so they’re both coming over for wine and scary movies.
Margot’s the first to arrive. I hear my mom fawning over her when the door opens downstairs. I can’t make out the entire conversation, but I hear snippets ofyour studio must be doing so wellandyour parents must be so proud.It’s a glaring reminder that Margot is the daughter my parents wish I was—the daughter Elle is shaping up to be. Smart, successful, and business savvy, with an MBA and JD hanging her wall.
“Margot,” I say over the banister. I shoot my mom a look that says she can leave us alone now, and she looks back at me like I’m a bitch for interrupting.
“I brought wine.” Margot offers when she comes upstairs. I take the bottle of nebbiolo to the bar and am in the process of pouring two glasses when Grace walks in.
“Oh my god, have you all seen the Monarchs’ story?” she says.
“No?” I reply.
“Why would you ask me that?” Margot echoes drolly.
Grace opens her phone, scrolling till she finds what she’s looking for. “This. I can’t.”
It’s a repost from Westergren. He’s dressed as a vampire, and with a cape and fangs, he’s a dead ringer for Bela Lugosi. The person to his left is dressed as Jason Vorhees, vintage hockey mask and all—Poirier, I think, from the wave of dark hair peeking out from behind the mask. Finally, I drag my eyes to the third person and burst out laughing. Mattias isn’t dressed up at all. Still, my immediate thought is what they’re doing—who they’re seeing.
“Uh-huh. You have some explaining to do.” Grace looks at me in an accusatory way while she helps herself to the wine. “Tell us about your little scandal.”
“Not you, too,” I groan. “That was clickbait and the Flicks girlies ran wild with it.”
Grace lowers her voice to a whisper. “You can lie to your parents, Freddie, but you can’t lie to us. You’re practically drooling all over my phone screen.”
“You’re imagining things.” I take a large gulp of wine.
“You’ve hooked up with him,” says Margot.
“Shutup,” I hiss and point downstairs. I don’t think my mother would tattle, but I can’t be too careful.
“Oh my god, you did.” Grace gasps.
“Did he make you come?” Margot asks.
I drag a hand over my face. “Oh my god, guys.”
Grace looks at me expectantly. “Well? Was it good?”
