Page 43 of Until the Last Star Fades

“Eww, it’s swelling!” The woman winced to her equally gorgeous friend. “A doctor might need to reset it. There’s a hospital about fifteen—”

Hospital? He made a sour face. “No, it’s fine, really. Cheers for the tissues.” He plunged his nose into the Kleenex and escaped their scrutiny, rushing past Mediterranean and vegan restaurants toward Bleecker Street. Turning the corner, he headed east, his nose throbbing harder with each quickened step and pound of his heart. He carefully steered clear of the various metal hatches—open or closed—along the gum-stained sidewalk.

A few blocks later, an oasis in the April heat stood proud on a corner—The Red Lion pub. Ben slipped inside, craving a beer, air conditioning, and somewhere to clean up. He immediately felt at home. His favorite soccer team, Tottenham Hotspur, was playing Manchester United on the numerous flat screens, and a red telephone box stood guard in the corner. Familiar names: Boddingtons, Newcastle Brown Ale, Strongbow—imported beers and ciders—called out from a framed board behind the bar. He removed the stained tissue from his nose and fled to the men’s room, its mirror confirming what he’d suspected—he looked a bloody mess. Washing away the dried blood, he prayed his swollen nose wasn’t broken. Brilliant. How’s this going to look at job interviews?

Back at the bar, he ordered a Smithwick’s and scowled at his shattered phone. New cracks joined old fractures zigzagging across its screen. He carefully opened the browser and selected the top search result, still waiting post-crash.

NCAA Men’s Ice Hockey Final: North Dakota Fighting Hawks 3, Boston University 2. Winning goal scorer, Josh King…

Her fella wasn’t hurt; he was the hero.

The rest of the article began to dissolve into a jumble of half-formed letters, so Ben abandoned it, selecting the images tab instead. I bet Riley stayed in Saint Paul longer to celebrate. Makes sense.

Photos of the players celebrating on and off the ice slid underneath Ben’s fingers as he searched for Riley in the crowd or by Josh’s side. Nope. He opened a YouTube video of the previous day’s standing-room-only homecoming in their college rink. Riley’s fiancé, all muscle and brimming with confidence, wearing the team’s distinctive Kelly green and white hockey jersey, was front and center—the team captain, the game-winning goal scorer, adored by everyone. He took to the microphone and made a speech like he was born for it, thanking the coaches, team staff, and “the best fans in college hockey, as well as our families, who’ve always been there to drive us to practice at the crack of dawn. This celebration is for you, too!” Cheers rose from the crowd and the UND band’s trumpets, tubas, and trombones erupted into an annoying tune Ben didn’t recognize.

Mystery over, then. This is why she didn’t text back. She has HIM. What could you offer her? His stomach pinched. You’re kidding yourself if you think she’d ever be interested in you in that way, Fagan. Josh is somebody. You? Nobody.

He took a long swig of beer and stared at the football match on the screen, the ache in his nose morphing into a full-on headache. His phone buzzed on the bar—a text from Piper.

Hey! Wanna go out Friday night?

Nineteen

Riley withdrew from the world, choosing to stay with her mom. She called in sick to Sephora and her BBC internship, temporarily vanishing from campus. Her swimsuit remained in her backpack, balled up and ignored, and unread notifications congregated in her social media accounts. More important tasks beckoned, like running errands to the pharmacy and bank, plus accompanying Maggie to her first revamped chemotherapy treatment. It hadn’t gone well.

Maggie returned home more nauseous than usual, could barely eat, and was tormented by an angry red rash that had sprung up across her abdomen and back. Stoic as ever, she downplayed her discomfort and exhaustion, telling her daughter in no uncertain terms that with only a month left until graduation, she was jeopardizing her degree and she should “get her ass back to the East Village, pronto,” but Riley wouldn’t listen. The thought of returning to school, hoping no one would find her crumpled in the corner of a restroom stall crying her heart out, made her sick to her stomach. She needed to be by Maggie’s side, making things easier any way she could. While her mom napped, she did laundry, cleaned the apartment, and prepared meals, trying to keep her hands and mind busy. Sitting still with nothing to do let the unthinkable creep into her thoughts, stoking the cold fear that grew inside her. But, once her mom was awake, Smiley Riley was back in action, boosting spirits and building a wall around her depression so no one, especially her mom, would be the wiser. Maggie knew, though. Moms like Maggie always did.

The only person Riley spoke to regularly was Piper, whispering underneath a blanket on the couch while Maggie slept. Sometimes after their chats, Riley would bawl in the shower or muffle her cries with a pillow, but later, puffy eyes and a swollen nose betrayed her secret. Messages and texts—including an angry email from Riley’s landlord demanding rent—clogged her screen, remaining unanswered until Piper stepped in, dealing with Riley’s super, and keeping Casey and Erika in the loop, allowing her best friend to focus on her mom.

Reaching her fiancé, however, had proved nearly impossible since North Dakota won the NCAA final the same day Maggie’s news broke. Josh had sent her a text immediately following their victory and Riley spoke to him briefly, but she barely had three minutes with him before the media relations director whisked him away for the post-game press conference. A text followed the next day.

Sorry about yesterday, babe. They’ve got us booked for interviews and meet and greets, it’s crazy! I’m sorry I can’t fly home to be with you right now.

And that was it. Since that message—six days ago—Riley’s calls, FaceTime attempts, and texts went unanswered by the team captain. His social media feeds, on the other hand, were updated with photos of ecstatic teammates sprawled on the ice with the NCAA trophy, images from the standing-room-only celebration on their home rink, and party shots—lots of boozy party pix, bleary-eyed and posing with people she didn’t recognize. She knew the big win would come with unavoidable obligations this week, but why hadn’t he spared a few minutes to get in touch?

Fuck it. She stopped folding towels in Maggie’s living room and texted him.

I’ve changed my mind.

Josh replied within seconds.

What?

Riley shook her head. Well, THAT got his attention. She sent a FaceTime request. It barely beeped before her fiancé answered, neatly dressed in a suit, Kelly green tie and a white shirt, the collar of which stood out against a purple bruise on the side of his neck. Ouch! Male voices joked in the background, but Josh ignored them, staring into the screen.

“Riley, what’s going on?”

“You tell me.” She squinted. “What happened to your neck?”

“I got whacked with a high stick on Saturday—”

“Josh got payback, though!” A deep voice, accompanied by a face Riley recognized—a freshman teammate—interrupted. “Fucking legend! Scored the winner while that asshole stewed in the box! Won us the whole freakin’ thing!”

“Yeah, well…” Josh winced, scratching his playoff beard. “Give me a minute, bro.” He shifted his phone so the camera captured him from the chest up as he started walking. “Rye—”

“KINGY!” Several teammates hollered as he rushed passed. Riley couldn’t tell where they were. The pot lights, ambient music, and Josh’s clothes suggested they weren’t on campus. He turned a corner, entering somewhere quiet. His furrowed brows and the space’s shadowy light made him look majorly pissed off.

“You’ve changed your mind?”