Page 9 of All That Glitters

I shake my head. He dips his chin in Marigold’s direction.

“Nice meeting you, Red. Hope you give my boy here a run for his money.”

My brow furrows. What does that even mean in this context? Marigold must not have the same question, because she laughs. Laughs. At him. My hands clench into fists.

This is going to be a long season.

Nash disappears around the corner, and I turn my attention fully on Marigold.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to practice today? A little warning would have been nice. I could have organized some interviews with the guys.”

Marigold rolls her eyes.

“First, I can organize my own interviews. And second, how was I supposed to warn you? It’s not like I have your number in my phone.”

I ignore the way her words tear through my chest like a bear’s claw.

“We’ve both had the same phone numbers since sixth grade. We memorized each other’s that year.”

Her lips twist into a sardonic smile.

“Huh, funny, I would have thought if that were the case you would have called and told me about the internship before I found out on my own.”

I run a hand over my clenched jaw.

“Charlie wants us to work together,” I remind her. “We can’t do that if you don’t communicate.”

“Fine. I’ll email you when I think I can come to practice.”

“Email me? Are you serious right now? Goldie—”

“No.” Her voice has enough vitriol to make me freeze. “Do not call me that. Ever again.”

The finality of her words brings back the feeling of spinning out. I might as well be upside down in a ditch with the way my heart is pounding.

“I’ll email you my notes and when I’m coming to practices or games,” she says after a beat of choking silence. “I’ve already got contact info for my initial interviews, but I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

“Okay,” I rasp.

For a second, it seems something like regret flashes over her features. But as fast as it appeared, it’s gone, and her with it. She stalks down the hallway and out of sight. Leaving me to swallow the bitter pill she just shoved down my throat.

Chapter five

Invasion

Marigold Belmore

I storm out of the arena, plumes of anger pouring off me. Who is he to bring up the past like that? As if the memories don’t feel like a thousand-pound weight on my chest every second of every day. As if just looking at him doesn’t dig up all the hurt I’ve been burying since last summer. He doesn’t get to talk about middle school like we’re still friends. Not when he threw our friendship away like last week’s newspaper.

“Hey, Red, got a sec?” Nash’s voice makes me stop my parking lot rampage and turn around. The blond hockey player pushes off the wall he was leaning on and saunters over.

“I thought you had a date to get to,” I say skeptically.

He shrugs. “Maybe I have a little more time than I let on. I tease Sinclair, but I don’t wanna push him too far. He’s got that nickname for a reason.”

I bob my head, though the last thing I want to do is talk about Jameson’s hockey skills. He’s a very physical player. Always has been, even when we were kids. And according to Nash earlier, Jameson has earned the moniker Sin Bin Sinclair on account of how many times he gets thrown in the penalty box. I don’t know if Nash is telling the truth or not, though, because I’ve avoided watching their games.

“Is there something you need?” I ask.