“I liked the poem. Loved it, in fact,” I mutter as I push out of the bar and set off at a jog down the sidewalk toward the arena. It’s a good fifteen blocks, but I can’t stand the idea of waiting for a bus or a cab right now. I need to be in motion, on my way to Jus and the future and all the unexpectedly amazing things it will hold.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Libby
At the arena, I head for the staff entrance, pulling out my phone to text Laura and beg her to come let me in, but when I round the corner my sister is already waiting for me, huddling in her puffy white jacket between two stoic faced security guards.
When she sees me, her breath rushes out and a worried look tightens her usually elegant features. My sister is easily one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, but when she’s worried she looks like a mole that crawled out of its hole expecting the dark of night and found morning sun instead.
“Okay, so this is happening, isn’t it?” She takes my hand, holding tight as she leads me toward the door. “You just did the romantic comedy heroine dash through the airport to catch the guy you love before he gets on the plane, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it was just the street. And that wouldn’t work anymore with airport security and boarding passes and stuff,” I say, still panting from my run. “But I do love him, La. I was lying to you yesterday. And myself. At least a little. I’m sorry.”
She pulls me inside and shuts the door, closing us into the dimly lit hallway that leads to the staff offices and the locker room beyond. “You don’t have to be sorry. You just need to be sure you’re ready for this, Libs. You know he has a history. He’s sworn he has feelings for the rebound girl before.”
“I’m not the rebound girl,” I say without a shred of doubt.
Laura’s lips curve on one side. “No, you’re not. I’ve never heard him use the ‘L’ word, let alone write it down and whip it out for show-and-tell on national television. The guy legit has it bad.”
“Me, too,” I say, a smile stretching wide across my face. “I can’t wait to see him.”
“Oh, you’re going to see him.” Laura motions for me to follow her as she bustles down the hall. “But everyone in the stadium needs to see you, too.”
“What?”
“You two can’t start something like this in front of a stadium full of fans and hundreds of thousands of people watching across the world and then leave them hanging.” Laura snorts at the ludicrous idea of privacy. “They deserve to see the happy ending, Libby. What kind of PR manager would I be if I let you get away with giving Justin his answer behind closed doors?”
My feet stop moving for a few seconds, and I end up jogging to catch up with Laura and her much longer legs. “What are you saying? You want me to go out there? On the ice?”
“No! Not on the ice. That’s against regulations, and besides, you can’t skate worth a shit.” She covers her mouth as she pauses in front of her office door and adds in a softer voice, “Hey, no cussing in here, okay? I’m watching Chloe for Brendan. Her babysitter bailed at the last minute, and she obviously can’t stay in the locker room while the guys are showering after the game.”
“As if I’m the one who needs to be warned to watch my mouth in front of children,” I say, scowling as I grab a handful of Laura’s coat and hold on tight. “But I still have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t want to make a scene, Laura, I just want to—”
“Too late for that, babes.” She breezes into her office, where Chloe is stretched out on the furry white rug near Laura’s desk, drawing a truly excellent cat with long curvy whiskers that seem to have a life of their own.
Chloe glances up, grinning and kicking her feet when she sees me. “Hi, Libby! Justin is in love with you! He used my markers to make his poem. And it had the word fart in it, and my dad thought that was a terrible mistake, but I thought it was awesome. Didn’t you think it was awesome?”
I laugh, even though I’m still extremely wary about whatever evil scheme La is working up. “Yes, I did think it was awesome. That drawing is awesome, too, honey. You are so talented!”
Chloe shrugs. “I am. I might be an artist when I grow up. Or a human rights attorney like my mom used to be. Or a professional skier.”
“That sounds amazing. Maybe you can be all three,” I say, chest tightening as I turn back to Laura and whisper, “I wish they could stay like this forever. By the time my kindergarten girls reach third or fourth grade the change in their confidence levels is so disheartening. The self-esteem of our girls in this country is a national crisis and I—”