I skated back to the hash marks, annoyed and focused, and did it right.
After practice, I checked my phone and got hit with the entire outside world at once.
Vanessa: Babe can you send me a selfie from the locker room? Not shirtless, the brand wants authentic athlete boyfriend not thirst trap.
Vanessa: Also we got invited to that launch tomorrow. You need to come. It’s good exposure.
Vanessa: Did you post the restaurant tag from last night? They asked.
Vanessa: Jace??
There was a picture too, Vanessa in oversized sunglasses holding an iced coffee, perfect mouth curved in a smile, Denver sunshine doing exactly what she wanted it to do. She was beautiful. She was also good at her job in a way most people didn’t respect because they thought being watched wasn’t work.
I knew it was work.
I just didn’t always want to be part of the set.
I typed, Practice ran long. I’ll post later.
Then deleted it because it sounded annoyed.
Typed, Sorry, just got off ice. I’ll handle it.
Sent that.
Her reply came fast.
Vanessa: Thank you baby. Also wear black tomorrow. Navy clashes with the backdrop.
I stared at that longer than I needed to. The letters didn’t blur exactly, they scattered. Tomorrow. Launch. Black suit. Post tag. Selfie. Treatment. Video. Call Dad. Pay Harper’s bill even if she yells. Don’t forget laundry. Don’t forget to eat. Don’t forget not to be a dick.
My hand tightened around the phone.
Roman passed behind me. “Influencer diplomacy?”
“International incident.”
“You going to survive?”
“Historically, yes.”
He didn’t laugh. “You look fried.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
That was the thing about Roman. He let you lie, but he never believed you.
My sister called while I was sitting in my car with the engine off, trying to remember where I was supposed to go next. I answered because if I didn’t, she’d text Dad and say I was dead.
“Do not send me money,” Harper said instead of hello.
“Great talking to you too.”
“I’m serious.”
“I haven’t sent you money today.”
