The truth will come out.
It needs to come out.
Then Lottie and I can finally be publicly together, and people won’t care about posting photos like this online. I glance back at the photo still loaded on my phone, and I get an idea. I click on the photo, save it to my phone, and take a minute to set it as my wallpaper too.
Lottie and I are in this together, even if she’s talking to her mom alone, I won’t leave her alone on this.
Anxiety floods through my veins, and I break out in a nervous sweat. It will take about an hour for her to arrive to the office, and this room seems to grow smaller with each passing minute. My stomach grumbles. Or is that indigestion? Regardless, I needto get breakfast now, or I’ll be late for morning skate. So many thoughts race through my mind, it’s hard to be focused.
With a Stars hoodie pulled over my head and my stomach knotted in a tight wad; I head downstairs. Thank goodness only a few people are still in the banquet hall, and most seem to be finishing up.
Keeping my head down, I shuffle to the open buffet. The breakfast choices look and smell amazing. I beeline to the buffet and get an everything omelet. Then I take my plate to the farthest table from the entrance and sit with my back to it. I’m not avoiding the fact I’m in the headlines today. It's what happens when any professional hockey player is in the national spotlight. I'm also not the only one making headlines. I've seen Bryce and Taz making their own news, but I don’t want to talk about any of it right now. My mind drifts to Lottie and how badly I feel that she has to face this alone with her mom. But she insisted, and I know she can do it.
With my head swirling, I bite into my omelet, and to my dismay, my stomach churns, a bitter taste inching up my throat. There’s nothing wrong with the food. Maybe eating wasn’t such a good idea. Nausea builds, and I end up discarding my entire plate and returning to my hotel room, anxiously awaiting some news from Lottie.
I sprawl out on the floor and do my stretches, but each passing minute feels like an eternity—an eternity of checking my phone, doing another stretch, checking my phone, doing some push-ups, checking my phone, over and over. Wash, rinse, repeat. A million times.
My stomach knots tighten with each excruciatingly slow-passing minute, until I’m sure a basket has been woven in my gut. With a deep sigh, I open my phone screen and stare at the photo of us. The phone vibrates and I startle, fumbling the device and nearly dropping it. I’m almost too scared to look.
Lottie: I just parked, and I’m walking to the office. Wish me luck.
Hating I’m not by her side right now, I respond:
I’m leaving for morning skate, but I’m here for you. If you need me there, just say the words.
She doesn’t need me. She’s tough. I always knew she had that fighting spirit in her. It’s hard to explain, but her mom has a way of trying to squash it. As much as this photo wasn’t part of our plan, and the timing is terrible, I know she can handle it. I’m proud of her.
I race downstairs, and I’m the last one on the shuttle, before they close the door, and drive off. I close my eyes and try to relax my brain, but after about two minutes my fingers get fidgety, and I pick up my phone.
Nothing.
I tap on my screen, fighting the urge to text to check in, but then I laugh out loud. Seriously, she can handle it.
I stare out the window, all the while my stomach churns with anxiety. Lottie and her mom must be arguing. I should have insisted on going with her. I can picture her mom, snooty chin elevated, staring down at Lottie. It’s about time someone put Senator Halloway in her place.
We arrive at our destination, and I jump to my feet. My mind still racing. I don’t want drama for either of them, but if it’s finally time for her mom to learn a lesson, I won’t mind if the whole truth comes out. How Bodan was just a prop. She certainly better not try to convince Lottie to take all this damage and claim she was cheating. That thought enrages meso much my fingers curl into fists, and I fight the urge to punch something.
When my phone finally buzzes, my stomach is in such shambles that I’m half-hunched over. Standing just outside the door, I rush out, “Hey,” my voice mostly breath. “I’m here.”
She exhales like she’s been holding it for her entire meeting. “Well, she didn’t yell too much.”
I blink. My voice won’t work. Even though she can’t see me blinking, I hope she knows it’s a solid attempt to commiserate.
“She said,” she continues in her rehearsed professional voice she uses at work, “that I put her in an impossible position.”
I tighten my grip on the phone, fighting the urge to grind my teeth. I am a professional hockey player here. I don’t need extra dental bills. “Of course she said that. Like Bodan was all your idea.”
“She said I crossed a line I should’ve known better than to approach.”
Shaking my head, I can totally see her mom saying that. I know the exact facial expression she used when she said that—the one where her brows furrow and her eyes practically go cross-eyed. It’s one of the scariest faces that woman makes. While I’m ruminating on it, I’m glad Lottie favors her dad’s facial expressions more. Lottie never makes that face. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I blurt out. “Don’t let her convince you to take the blame for this. She forced you to be a distraction from her foot-in-mouth disease.”
“She said I embarrassed her,” she adds quietly. “And my whole family legacy.”
I close my eyes. I also know the face Lottie is making—the one where she pinches her lips together so tightly they pucker in the middle, like she’s forming a dam to hold back all the tears she refuses to cry. “You know, Lottie,” I say as gently as I can, “it’sokay to feel hurt from her reaction. You don’t have to hold it all in.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I could cry right now because I’m furious.”
“What are you angry about?” If her mom did something to her, I won’t hold back. I can feel my blood pressure spiking.
