Page 127 of Ruin The Friendship
Swiping out of the article, I text my mom back.
Me
We need to talk later.
Mom
About what? They loved the photos.
Me
I never gave you consent to share those.
And the article basically insinuated that I trapped him and he never wanted kids!
I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll call you later.
I turn my phone off, shoving it into my back pocket and taking a few more deep breaths. Heading out of the stall, I wash my hands, ignoring people staring me down. When I leave the bathroom, Dottie is standing by a pillar with twogiant bags of popcorn. A grin lights up her face, and I muster up what I hope is a convincing smile.
“Everything okay?” she asks, passing me a bag.
I take a huge handful, shoving it into my mouth so I don’t have to speak. If I say anything, I’m sure I’ll break.
I nod and gesture toward our section. Dottie eyes me warily, but thankfully, she doesn’t press it. We head to our seats, the blaring bass music thumping in my ears as the DJ announces the guys, and they fly onto the ice for warm-ups. Fletcher turns his gaze to the stands, but I chicken out, looking to the floor and slumping in my seat while Dottie stands and cheers for him.
I shovel bite after bite of popcorn into my mouth, doing everything in my power to keep my eyes off the ice.
“Are you okay?” Dottie asks.
I wave her off. “Fine. My back is kinda sore, so sitting feels better right now.”
Hopefully, that’s convincing enough.
“Ah, I remember those days,” Dottie replies, rubbing my shoulder.
I smile awkwardly. Lying to Dottie makes me feel horrible, but I have to talk to Fletcher first.
When warm-ups finally end, Dottie sits beside me to settle in for the pre-game light show. The giant screen plays the video they show every game, and Fletcher’s beautiful face illuminates the arena as he says a few things about the team and their motto.
I have no idea what to think. Have I been so oblivious to how he feels? Is he only stepping up because it’s me? What does this mean for our future?
They announce the starting lineup, and the national anthem plays, but I’m so lost in my head. The puck drops. Dottie cheers beside me when Fletcher takes possession. Iwatch him closely, but his body is a blur. I can hear the sounds of the cheering crowd, the blaring music, but it’s all muffled. It feels like everything is happening outside of my body.
It’s a rough game. I haven’t seen Fletcher—or anyone on the team for that matter—play this poorly in a long time. We are losing 1–5, and it’s only the second period.
When the third period starts, Trigg is replaced by Filimonov, the backup goalie. Trigg sits on the end of the bench, the look on his face is pure defeat as he shifts his gaze down to his hands. Fletcher sits beside him, glaring at the ice.
Boston scores again within three minutes of the start of the period, and the arena starts to clear out as fans call it quits, leaving before the game is done.
The final horn blares, ending the game 1–7. I can’t even bring myself to stand up and clap as the boys leave the ice, heading straight to the locker room.
Dottie rubs my shoulder. “Rough game.” She grabs the empty popcorn bag and stands. “Do we want to meet him in the tunnel?”
I shake my head, knowing that’s not a good idea. “Can you bring me home, actually? I’m not feeling well.”
Dottie eyes me carefully. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No, everything with the baby is fine. She’s moving around like normal. I’m just exhausted.” I rest my hand atop my bump. “I think I’m getting a cold or something.”
