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On the drive to the event, Emily talks about the guest list she’s somehow seen, about the people she hopes to meet, and how nights like this matter for connections, for visibility. She calls it “networking.” She’s the Phantoms’ new PR assistant, so to her, maybe this feels like another task she needs to complete. She’s confident and excited, already in work mode.
I listen. I nod when I think it’s expected of me. And I keep my answers short.
This is my role tonight, among other stuff I’m not particularly fond of, like walking the red carpet and enduring the reception and dinner. Talking to other athletes is probably the only activity tonight that has any appeal, but I can’t even focus on who I hope to see because Emily talks my ear off the whole way.
So, I sit back, letting her voice fill the space while my thoughts drift.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
my michael
ISLA
Twenty-two years old
Blake lifts me off the floor and squeezes me tight. “Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
I hug her back, inhaling her perfume—it’s something citrusy yet flowery. While the combination might sound strange, it works, and it goes well with her personality. She’s vibrant and cheerful and never afraid to take up space, no matter what critics say about her. She doesn’t care about the buzz in the media, about the noise. She lives her life to the fullest, not at all bothered by what people think about her.
“I missed you,” I tell her as I take a step back. “It’s been, what? Eight months?”
She looks up at the ceiling of my hotel suite and hums. “That sounds right.” Eyes bright, she studies me. “How are you? How is your shoulder?”
I snicker, locking the door and stepping farther into the suite. “How about we go sit on the couch before we dive into conversation?”
The hotel on the Upper East Side is quiet, with great views of the park. It’s exactly what I need to prepare for the gala tonight. With the whirlwind my life is about to become, it seemed like the best solution. A moment of calm before I dive into the madness that is the media circus.
“How are you?” Blake takes off her sneakers and folds her long legs under her.
I can’t help but smile at her. “I’m good. I’ve got six months until the Olympics, so every day is as nerve-racking as the last, but I’m so much better now at managing my fears and worries—”
“And your panic attacks.” She snaps her mouth shut, her brows pulled together. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m still so sorry about freaking you out that day.” I pick at an invisible piece of lint on my leggings and then look up. “I’m still seeing the therapist I found while I was recovering from my shoulder injury. She specializes in cognitive behavioral therapy. Dr. Brown honestly saved me. I’ve been seeing her for two years, and I haven’t had an attack in over a year.”
Blake nods. “I remember Dr. Brown. She’s hot. With those glasses and her red hair, she was hard to forget.” She flashes me a smile. “Anyway, I’m happy you’re doing so well. How’s the shoulder?”
With a sigh, I shift on the couch. “It’s been two years. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?” she says, a little too loudly. “I still have PTSD from watching you go down like that. Your poor shoulder…and your pretty face. I thought you were done.”
“It was an AC joint sprain. It’s relatively common for athletes, really. You must know that. I was back on the ice in eight weeks.”
“Yeah, sprains are common, and so is the concussion you ended up with. Doesn’t make it any less scary.” She shudders. “And the right side of your face was one big bruise.”
I take a deep breath and focus on her. “I’m fine, I promise. Physically and mentally, I’m in a very good place. This is my last chance at the Olympics, and I’m dedicated to doing my best.”
She assesses me with her lips twisted into a scowl, but eventually, she sighs, letting her shoulders droop. “Fine. I’m only acting like this because I care about you. I hope you know that.”
“I know.” Angling across the couch, I pat her hand. “I care about you too, so I want—”
“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head. “We’re not done talking about you yet.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Babe, I’m nosy. You’ve known this about me for a very long time.” A wide grin spreads across her lips, her gray eyes shining. “So…New York, huh? You’re here training for the Olympics, right?”
Pursing my lips, I give her a look. “You already know the answer.”
