Page 150 of Only Ever You

He puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls my face to his. When he kisses me, my whole world recenters.

Michael is my constant.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

a true winner

MICHAEL

Twenty years old

Isla’s BMW is at the rink when I show up for her practice, but she shouldn’t be on the ice today. Elena reminded her she needed rest before she leaves for France in two days. She needs the time off, both physically and mentally.

After her panic attack last night, I couldn’t agree more. I’d never mention it to her, but I’m worried she isn’t mentally ready for the competition. It kills me to see her struggle. She’s phenomenal. She gives more than a hundred percent of herself when she’s on the ice. The dedication, the focus, her mastery? I’m in awe. My heart damn near sings when I watch her on skates. It doesn’t matter if she’s doing her short program or her free skate performance.

She’s a true winner to me.

When my phone pings, I snatch it up from the passenger seat. The device feels heavy in my hand, metaphorically speaking. Because, once again, I lost myself to the negativity on my socials. If not for my need to see Isla tonight, I would’ve stayed holed up in my room, stuck in my head again, believing all the shit I read about myself.

Fuck, this pressure is driving me nuts.

I turn off the engine, but instead of climbing out of my car, I unlock my phone. I know better, but I don’t know how to tune it all out.

I navigate to my notifications, and when the comments appear, my heart spasms painfully. Some of the mentions and tags are positive. Some fans are praising the hat trick. There are even a few edits posted, highlighting the goals I scored. In one, Ash, Bouchard, and I rush to the Dolphins’ net, damn near on fire. The quick video makes me smile. Coach was the happiest I’d ever seen him when he entered the locker room. So happy, he even gave us a day off.

But my smile slips when I scroll to a new comment. There’s a whole slew of them in a row, each fan acting like a fucking scout with a clipboard, like they have the kind of knowledge that makes them qualified to judge every shift, every lift of my stick, every scrape of my skates.

A good handful of them don’t pretend to have anything nice to say about me.

let’s see if he can keep it up I highly doubt he will

stop this bs! one good game doesn’t erase the damage caused by the accident

lmao, at this age, his dad was a real star, this one is a cheap replica

still living off his dad’s name have no idea what Phantoms see in him

My jaw tightens, and a wave of nausea hits hard. I close my eyes and press the back of my head against the headrest.

It’s fascinating and absurd how my brain scrolls past the numerous good comments and chooses to highlight only the hateful ones. I’ve tried to work it out, to understand why it happens…but I didn’t like the answer I got.

What I discovered when I finally dug deep is that I only see the negativity because it reflects how I think about myself. I don’t need validation to confirm I’m doing well. I’m actively looking for evidence to prove to myself I’m shit.

Will it ever stop?

I open my eyes and focus on the screen again.

idk I actually love watching Thompson on the ice, he’s hot af. Does some really nice stuff to my lady parts iykyk

he’s only twenty, but I’d let him have his way with me if he was willing

does anyone know if number 17 is single?

I shudder. Instead of feeling smug about the comments, I feel objectified. I went from being a disgrace, a talentless, entitled asshole, to just a hot guy women want to fantasize about.

Still struggling to step away from the bullshit media about me, I continue. A comment catches my attention…and makes my blood boil.

Thompson isn’t single, and unless you’re a girl from a wealthy family, he won’t even look at you. unless you’re ridiculously talented at something. Then, he’ll latch on like a parasite