Her lips press into a thin line and her head tilts into a disapproving angle. “Boy, Lottie. This is so unlike you. Why are you being so difficult?”
“I’m not being difficult. I’m being honest,” I snap. Real anger I’ve never allowed myself to feel toward her starts to simmer in my gut. Why can’t she see me for me? It’s like I’m a phantom she can look right through. Before I lose my cool and start screaming, I try one last time to speak calmly. “I’m seeing someone, and I need to respectfully end the Bodan arrangement now, which actually works out perfectly, because he needs to grieve instead of playing these stupid games.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turns back to the mirror, holding the dress up to herself and admiring every angle. “Or maybe I should wear this dress?” she mumbles, lost in her reflection.
My mom is completely ignoring me. Not surprising though. She’s never seen me. Clenching my fists, I inhale deeply. “Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to that funeral.” I try to end the conversation with a civil statement, but Ty’s voice echoes in my head.
You say sorry too much.
I straighten and glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Ty standing there. When I don’t see him, I turn back to my mom and swallow.
He’s right.
He’s been pointing it out for years, and I’m only now seeing it for myself. There is no reason to apologize to my mom for doing what I want with my life. “Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry.”
She freezes, giving me a bewildered look in the mirror.
“I’m not sorry,” I continue as my heart pounds. “It’s time to break up with Bodan. He’ll understand, and he can move on with his life and properly grieve his grandpa. You can put your dresses and jewelry away, because we aren’t going to that funeral.”
Her eyes flash. “Oh, come on, Lottie. Snap out of it. You can’t break up with him now.”
“I will. And I’m done pretending.” Spinning on my heel, I do something I know she’ll consider rude, but I don’t care. I storm off before she’s done speaking.
Behind me, she scoffs, “You’re making a mistake!”
For a brief second, doubt creeps in. A public breakup is never easy. I’ll likely be painted in a bad light, but it needs to happen. I can’t lie anymore—not to the public and not to myself. “Maybe I am making a mistake,” I whisper, careful she won’t hear my reply. She’d just come back with some rebuttal I don’t need. “But at least it’ll be mine.”
With that, I leave her standing in front of her mirror, continuing to admire a version of herself and a life that I’m finally done trying to fit into.
It’s time for me to be honest with what I want.
It’s time for me to make my own decisions.
And I’ve never felt better.
twenty-seven
Tyson
Ridingtheteambusto the arena, I can’t stop replaying this morning with Ham. I left without getting a chance to tell Senator Halloway about Lottie and me. She’d dramatically insisted she and Lottie needed to take off the rest of the day to “prepare for the funeral.”
I didn’t even get to talk to Lottie, because her mom was panicking so much. I have no idea if Lottie’s even coming to the game tonight. Honestly, I doubt it. The only way it wouldn’t be a huge fight is if she drags Bodan, and he’s clearly not going to a game the day his grandpa died.
Following the guys, I step down from the bus and suck in a huge breath as a throng of reporters crowd the sidewalk,cameras ready. It’s always nerve-racking, but I remind myself it’s an honor to be representing our country in this tournament. I have a duty to appear friendly, and I wave as we file past the crowd. Once inside, I exhale. It’s quiet here; the doors are still locked to the public. Only arena staff and team members move through the hallways.
Imagine my surprise when I round the corner and nearly slam into Lottie. I do a double take and stop so abruptly that I almost trip over my own feet. “Lottie? How’d you get in here?”
She looks wrecked. Her hair is half pulled back, like she tried for a neat little bun but gave up halfway. Stray strands frame her face. Of course, I think she’s stunning, but this is far from her usual perfect hairdo.
She’s not crying, but her eyes are red, evidence of earlier tears. That scares me more than if she were crying now. My heart ticks up a notch as I step forward. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Ham’s friends with the security here, and I begged him to help me get in here to see you. I don’t have long,” she says so fast, I barely catch it. “I know you have a game.”
I reach for her without thinking. My hand brushes her wrist, then I pull back—remembering we aren’t public yet. My fingers twitch to touch her again. “Slow down.”
“I tried to tell my mom about us,” she says, throwing her hands in the air, “but she won’t listen. She kept looking at herself in the mirror, like she was imagining herself sitting next to celebrities at the funeral. She’s insisting she’s going to this funeral for PR, but there is no way I can go.”
Her mom is so infuriating that my jaw tightens, but I manage to keep my voice even. “Okay.”
