Page 35 of Double Puck

I open my mouth to respond, but she beats me to it.

"And I thought maybe we could have a chance to talk tonight? Before the game this weekend?" Josie's voice is hopeful but cautious, like she's testing the waters. "If you're not too busy with work stuff, that is."

The words hit me sideways. After days of awkward hallway encounters and me being generally terrible at human interaction, she's still willing to try. Still wants to fix whatever mess I've made of our potential friendship.

My throat feels tight. "I'd... yeah. I'd like that."

"Alright! Buzzkill and she’s done!" Beck interrupts, one hand pushing the phone further away so Josie disappears again. "She’s coming. Rose is coming. Mason, obviously—"

Mason raises a hand, possibly from motion sickness, possibly just had enough.

"And Finn," Beck adds, triumphant.

"Finn is coming?!" I gasp, glaring at the screen. “So Colin bought a table and you somehow brought the most chaotic possible version of the Beachside Bears?”

"Kinda." Beck rolls his shoulders. "Finn heard the word gala, but we're not really sure he knows what it means, so he asked around. Last I saw, he was on Google figuring out what to wear."

The last shred of my composure dissolves because of course Finn MacAllister is coming. He’s probably adding “How slutty is too slutty?” to his search history as we speak.

I straighten in my seat, doing my best to ignore the scattered laughter from Declan’s car echoing through my speakers as I catch the speckle of high rises starting to come into view around the next bend.

"Look, I gotta go. I'm nearly there. But I should tell you, these events are long," I warn, unable to resist. "I hope you all bought comfortable shoes."

Beck coos mockingly. "Aw, look at you, worrying about me. Didn’t know you cared so much, Spreadsheet."

"Goodbye!"

I silence the call, and by the time the skyline sharpens against the glass, my mother’s world has snapped firmly into place around me. I roll the windows up as I approach the hotel valet and smooth my hair, my shoulders instinctively squaring.

It doesn’t matter what Colin's inbox is doing now, or that Beck Morrison is currently a wanted man who's colliding with my life like a living hurricane.

Tonight?

I have to be the perfect Madden daughter.

And she doesn't get to make mistakes.

I shift into park outside the estate that would put Versailles to shame, and the circular drive gleams like a polished mirror in the night.

It's lined with Rolls Royces, Aston Martins, and one black Lamborghini that looks like a midlife crisis wearing sunglasses.

As I open my door, the faint sound of a string quartet filters out from somewhere near the back terrace. The scent of gardenias lingers in the air, curling through the breeze like it too paid for an exclusive invitation to this event.

I can't believe the Bears are coming.

Scratch that.

I can't believe BECK MORRISON is coming.

Everything about this moment is... scripted. Perfectly choreographed. Exactly the kind of event my mother thrives on.

I can't let a bunch of hockey players mess this up.

I step out, handing over my keys to the white-gloved valet as he looks over my convertible with awe in his eyes. "Try not to scratch it. It was a graduation present, but I've become attached."

"Of course, ma’am," he says, bowing slightly. "Enjoy your evening."

I adjust the silky gown that clings to me a bit more than I expected, its sharp neckline cutting across my shoulder now I'm standing straight. My heels click against the pavement, and before I’ve even made it three steps, a woman in an immaculate black dress appears with a bright smile.