The video from yesterday’s donor meeting loads. It’s the same photo I’d seen with my mom and me shaking hands with her new donors. I hadn’t realized there was drama surrounding it. My chest tightens.What if it’s something I did?That explains why my mom was snapping at me. My hand trembles as I tap the screen to press play. The logistics crew is running around the stage, taking down my mom’s banner. I walk offstage. Instead of following me, my mom strides back to the podium and grabs her notes.
One of the crew members looks at her and says, “Hey, did you hear about the Mapleton hockey player who made the Stars roster?”
She dramatically throws her arms in the air like she’s beyond exasperation. “Yes, I’m a senator, but I swear, if I have to pretend to care about hockey, I’m moving to Florida.” Her lips barely move, like she’s trying to mumble, but her mic is still clipped to her collar—and it picks up everything.
Oh, no!
She doesn’t know her mic is hot. My hand flies to cover my mouth, suppressing a scream, and I keep watching in horror.
“They have hockey in Florida too.” The crew member chuckles. “Anyway, just an FYI—it might be good PR for you to tweet your congratulations, since it looks like they’ll be doing a lot of the same public events you are during Fourth of July week.”
“Ugh, seriously? The last group of people I need to be seen associating with is hockey players. My daughter’s goats have better discipline than half those guys—” The mic squeals and cuts out as someone from the crew must have finally realized it was on, but it’s too late. My mom’s eyes grow wide—cartoon-wide—and my jaw drops.
This is horrid!
And to think she was lecturing me about decorum earlier. No wonder she was paranoid. It all makes sense. Ever since Mapleton got its own AHL team, hockey has been huge there. And, sadly for Mom, a large portion of her voter base is hooked on it. My fingers float to my temple as I press them there, trying to ease the sudden headache. This is not the PR she needs going into one of the biggest holidays ever—the 250th birthday of our country—and we have a full itinerary of events for her to campaign at. “How bad was it?”
“Twelve points down.” Brett’s expression is grim.
“Yikes.” My gut twists into a loopy knot, weighing heavily in my stomach. “What are you doing about it?”
“Well, that’s where you might be able to help.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Turns out the player is your brother’s friend. Remember—the one I met when we were in Mapleton? Tyson. We might need to pull him in for an event, so it looks like your mom supports him.”
“Wait. What?” My brows knit together. Maybe Mom was right about me daydreaming too much? I haven’t missed an hour of work, but apparently, I’ve missed a lot of details. “Tyson is playing hockey here? In DC?”
“Yeah, he’s on the Stars team.” Brett shrugs, then adds, “Do you think maybe he could help spin this?”
I hear his question, but my mind is racing in another direction.
Ty is coming here—to DC, where he knows I live.
And he didn’t call me to tell me?
Does Ham know?
This seems so odd.
Unless Ty’s avoiding me.
“So … what exactly is this hockey tournament?” I get the question out, though my head spins with all the details I don’t have.
“This year there is a special tournament to celebrate the 250th birthday of our country. The league built two all-American teams of the best players to face off right here in DC. There’s a women’s and a men’s tournament, and it all starts on the fifth. The players are arriving any day now for media and practice.”
“How did I not know this?” I force my face to stay neutral, but my heart sinks.
“You do spend an awful lot of time daydreaming.” He shrugs again, adding a kind smile. “Anyway, back to my question. Doyou think you can reach out to the guy and see if he’ll help us? Maybe pose for a nice photo.”
My heart slams so hard against my chest that I grab the step railing to steady myself. It’s true, I’ve been avoiding the news a lot lately. If it’s not something that lands directly on my desk to deal with, I don’t bother with it. It’s all overwhelming. Brett leans forward, as if to remind me he’s waiting for an answer. “Hmm, that’s an idea.” I nod slowly, indicating I’m considering his request before I say, “I’ll, ah, think about it and get back to you. I have goats to take care of.” Before he can reply, I hurry off, speeding down the front steps with my heartbeat roaring in my ears.
I can’t get over the fact that Ty is coming here, and he didn’t text me.
And it will be July.
July is always our thing.
