Be on time.
My face heated with something that felt too close to embarrassment. I was standing behind a venue in a shirt Vanessa picked because mine photographed tired, calming down over a text from my coach like he’d handed meinstructions on how to be a functioning human for the next twelve hours.
I typed, Got it.
Then, because apparently I couldn’t leave anything alone, I added, Already posted the tag correctly. Medal ceremony pending.
His reply took longer.
Don’t push your luck.
It should not have steadied me more.
When I went back inside, Vanessa was near the bar with two other creators, her smile bright and effortless. She saw me and excused herself.
“Where did you go?”
“Needed air.”
“You disappeared.”
“For five minutes.”
“At an event where people are asking for you.”
The guilt hit because she wasn’t wrong. “I’m sorry.”
She studied my face. “Are you on your phone with someone?”
“No. I mean, yes, I texted Coach about tomorrow.”
“Tonight?”
“It was schedule stuff.”
Her lips pressed together. “Can you just be present for one night?”
The words stung because I had been trying so hard I could feel the effort in my teeth.
“I am,” I said, then caught myself. My voice had gone sharp. I softened it, badly. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” She looked tired suddenly, and younger than she usually let herself appear. “But sometimes it feels like I get whatever is left after hockey and your moods and everything else.”
That shut me up.
Because there were a dozen things I could have said. Some fair. Some not. That she liked the parts of my life that came with followers and VIP sections more than the parts that needed patience. That I didn’t know how to be easy for her. That I didn’t know how to be easy for anyone.
Instead I said, “I’ll stay until ten-thirty.”
Her brows drew together. “Why ten-thirty?”
“Because I have recovery.”
She looked at me for another second, then nodded. “Fine. Ten-thirty.”
I stayed until ten-twenty-eight.
I ate half a turkey sandwich in my kitchen at eleven-fifteen because Coach Reid’s text sat in my head like a dare. Then I checked my notebook for the drill sheet, set my alarms, and lay awake longer than I wanted, staring at the ceiling while my brainreplayed Vanessa’s impossible and Declan’s don’t push your luck in alternating loops.
