By the time it comes into view ahead, I feel sicker than ever.
It’s still early, so there aren’t many people loitering around.
“This way,” Sienna says, hooking her arm through mine and leading me toward an entrance that isn’t the one we need for our seats.
Fear stops me from questioning her, though, and instead, I follow silently as she approaches the main entrance.
Despite everything surrounding me, I keep my eyes locked on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Sienna says when she slows to a stop beside me. “But…one of us had to do something.”
I look up at her, taking in her apologetic expression before she glances at a man sitting behind the customer service desk.
“Hi, we have a meeting with Hailee Caldwell,” Sienna says confidently.
The guy nods before tapping a few buttons on a control panel and speaking into his headset.
“She’ll be right down,” he informs us.
Sienna drags me away so we have some privacy.
“I can’t do this, Si.”
She takes both of my hands in hers.
“You absolutely can do this. You are Beatrice Walsh. You can do anything,” she assures me.
“Does she know why I’m here?”
“No, I didn’t think?—”
“Hi, I’m looking for Beatrice Walsh,” a soft female voice says, interrupting Sienna.
We both turn around to find a tiny woman with dark curly hair staring back at us with a smile.
“H-Hi,” I stutter, reaching my hand out to greet her. “That’s me.”
She studies me closely but doesn’t say anything.
“Great. Shall we?” she asks, gesturing toward a door behind her.
But as I move, Sienna doesn’t. I glance back as fear rips through me, but despite my silent pleading, she doesn’t take a step.
‘Good luck,’ she mouths. ‘Call me.’
And with that, my fate is sealed.
I’ve already danced with the devil. Now it’s time to face the consequences.
13
EVERETT
The atmosphere in the dressing room is weird.
There’s a level of excitement buzzing through the air, but there is so much more than that. Anticipation, fear, nerves.
We’re about to play game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals.
