I pull her in tight, right there under the parking lot light, sweat and pads and all. "Sweetheart," I murmur against her hair, "you could try for the rest of your life. You will never disappoint me."
I set her down, lace my fingers through hers, and look back at the glowing building. Inside awaits a victorious locker room, mypissed off brothers, and the phone in my bag with all the missed calls I've been running from my whole life.
"Come on," I say. "There's one more thing I need to do tonight."
Chapter 20
Josie
Ihave officially entered a state of emotional whiplash so severe I should probably be wearing a neck brace.
Tonight, my career imploded, my mother branded me a slut in a parking lot, and a handsome man in full hockey gear declared his love to the night sky. Now we're clomping down a service corridor while the muffled roar of the arena bleeds through the concrete, the building itself still riding the high of the celebration.
"You know you're leaving little skate marks on the floor," I say, wiping mascara off my cheek with my free hand. "Colin is totally going to bill you for that."
"Worth it."
"You're also still wearing your gloves. You've been holding my hand with a hockey glove this whole time."
Declan turns to look at me, that grumpy expression returning for a moment of brief satisfaction. "Do you want me to take itoff? Because the hand under here has been sweating for three periods and I'm trying to keep the romance alive."
I consider this. For about one second. "Keep the glove on. Possibly forever."
"That's what I thought."
Declan keeps tugging me along, and as we round the next corner, Rose comes sprinting like she's being chased by bees. Her cheeks are flushed, her braid is flapping behind her, and she's… holding my phone above her head?
"Rose?"
"JOSIE! Oh my God. Josie. Phone. You need—okay, breathe, Rose—" she skids to a stop in front of us, hands me the phone, and doubles over with her palms on her knees. "You left it in the box and the damn thing hasn't stoppedbuzzing. I thought it was going to catch fire."
I look down at the screen and my stomach drops.
The notifications are stacked so deep the numbers have given up counting.
There are hundreds. No.Thousands. Of mentions, tags, and DMs. There's even three missed calls from Colin, and one from a number labeled ESPN, which cannot possibly be a good thing.
Shit. Is this it? Is my career over?
After what happened last night, and then just now in the arena.
I don't remember leaving the box. I don't remember pushing through the crowd, or the way their faces blurred into a sea of pity and shock.
The only thing I remember is the jumbotron lit up with that headline, and my mother turning slowly, like a horror movie villain, to look at me.
"Youwhore."
That's how the woman who raised me chose to greet the news that her youngest daughter had found love, success, and a man willing to fight for her.
I chased her through the building, all the way out into the darkness while every accusation she spat over her shoulder landed like another slap across my face. I was a slut. I was a disappointment. I had disgraced her mother's name.
But the worst part was when she said Dad would be ashamed.
Because in that moment, after seeing everything I had worked for, that arena so alive, so full with joy and excitement despite what was happening down on the ice, I believed her.
For one horrible, soul-crushing moment, Ibelievedher.
And then Declan Morrison came clomping across that parking lot, his blue eyes blazing with a fury I'd never seen from him before. He stood beside me and took her blows, just like Dad used to after we'd come back inside, drenched and beaming after an afternoon playing sports together outside.
