I can’t believe you did that.
I bite my lip and type:
Did you mean what you said?
But I delete it.
The camera pans around, and I catch a glimpse of shock on Daisy’s face before it shifts away. I send her a text, too.
Wtf just happened???????
Neither of them will answer for hours, so I watch the rest of the interviews and ceremony, constantly searching for Hemi and wishing the camera would swing back to him to analyse his face. Is he okay? Does he regret what he said? When will I see him again so I can kiss him?
Everything wraps up around seven-thirty, still earlier than I’m usually up, and I gaze out the, now light, window and wonder what to do. Hemi would tell me to eat, so I eat breakfast, drink coffee, and kill time until I get a response. And by kill time, I mean a book is open on my lap for hours and I barely read a sentence, occasionally breaking up the day by checking the news. Hemi’s face is splashed across the sites, and the NZHerald has three articles about him, which is overkill. One of the news sites even published an article about me, theorising who I am with a grainy photo of Hemi and I in Arrowtown. No doubt I’ll get a call from my agent and publisher soon asking what I want to do about it. My books are published under a pseudonym, but it’s not impossible to find my legal name. And I can’t bring myself to care. I’d rather be in the spotlight than not have Hemi.
At ten P.M. South African time and nine A.M. NZ time—god, has it only been two hours?—I get a response from Daisy.
Dunno what you did to him in Wanaka, but thanks. Send me the gift registry.
I frown at the text.
9:10 A.M.
The gift registry?
Yeah, for your wedding.
Fuck off. He might not mean it.
I send the message, but I hope he did mean it. I think he did, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself or assume anything like I have been.
9:12 A.M.
Liam. He said it on LIVE TV. You’re more than friends after he called you in the middle of a panic attack. He sat in my physio room talking about you all week. Pretty sure you’re safe thinking he meant it. Bask in the glow of being loved. Going to sleep now. Love you!
How dare she leave me with those messages and go to sleep? I huff and chuck my phone down. Although, she’s probably been up for hours dealing with high maintenance athletes so she deserves the rest.
My phone buzzes, and I turn it on absentmindedly. My eyes widen. There’s a text from Hemi.
9:15 A.M.
We didn’t win because of me.
9:16 A.M.
You would have lost if you didn’t score that try.
Maybe. But I wouldn’t have played the way I did without you.
My cheeks heat.
9:17 A.M.
Glad I could help.
9:18 A.M.
Sorry for talking about you on national TV. Slipped out because I was thinking of you. But I meant it. All of it.
