I answer automatically, leaning on all the practice I’ve had with reporters.
“We trusted the system.” I know they’re being nice about my almost own goal. “Everyone stepped up during that game.” My breathing is heavy from the intense media interrogation. But I keep going. “It’s an honor to represent our country.”
My usual lines. Polished and to the point. I keep glancing toward the crowd behind the cameras without meaning to. I know she’s not here; it’s just a mediaevent. And she’s not answering her phone anyway, so there wasn’t an invitation to be here as my whatever we’re calling it.
A few hours later, the team takes over one of the lounge areas in the village to continue our celebration. Music is playing softly, and someone brings drinks while half the team is still buzzing as though it’s post-game energy.
Coach Madsen, in all her glory, claps me on the shoulder as she walks by.
“Hell of a game,” she says as though we just played today. “That breakaway in the second period? Perfect read.”
We’re only one game away from the gold medal. The gold medal. Olympic winners. Every practice, every move, every game has brought us this far.
I shrug lightly, but my insides are on fire with pride. It really was one hell of a game.
“Just doing my job.” I keep my inner cheerleader at bay. Imagine that for a second. Skye Callahan with an inner cheerleader? Ha. It’s almost laughable. But the way I’m feeling right now? It’s like the entire Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading Squad is screaming inside me. I’m not even a Cowboys fan, but I know they have a shit ton of cheerleaders.
“Keep playing like that, and we’re bringing the gold home.”
“As long as it’s not an open net, right, Cappy?” Paige nudges me.
I laugh. I can’t even deny that the open nets are my downfall. I know it, and everyone on my team knows it. It’s a hockey player's biggest rival.
All of those thoughts slide away as I melt into the moment and allow my brain to travel.
Too bad it goes to the one place I was hoping to avoid until later tonight.
Violet.
I can’t help wanting her here as I look around at my team. The thought hits hard, even after last night and the lies that came to the surface. I just can’t help thinking that Violet filled some kind of space I didn’t realize was missing.
“Earth to broody hockey legend.” Rissa plops down beside me.
Paige sits down with her phone in hand and a strange look on her face.
“What?” I ask, not sure I actually care, but the way they’re staring at me says they have some kind of bad news.
“Social media is blowing up,” Paige says, showing me the phone.
“Someone post one too many pictures of their grilled cheese?” I reply with disinterest in my tone.
“It’s about you,” Rissa replies.
I watch her eyes dart toward Paige as they both look from me to the phone.
“Still struggling to care here.”
“You're crazy, stalker ex is apparently in Milan,” Riley walks over to the group. “That’s what you’re talking about, right? That’s why you’ve got your phone pulled out.”
My throat goes dry, and I hope that Riley is just blowing smoke with her weird psychic ability. But Paige and Rissa don’t brush her off or tell her to draw a new tarot card. They simply stare at me.
“What?” Forming sentences becomes a chore.
“Yeah,” Paige says, scrolling further down her screen. “People spotted her at the Olympic Park earlier today. Fans are losing their minds.”
I feel something cold slither down my spine. There’s no way she’s here. There’s no way she’s still pushing the story that I abused her. Not while I’m making history for myself and my career.
“That’s great.” I try my best to sound disinterested.
