“The female in the middle of that mix was none other than Rory Ashford. She is the daughter of the Vancouver Wolves’ GM.”
“Turn it off." A player shook his head in disgust.
The television snapped off.
All the eyes shifted to me. I swallowed, feeling stupid.
“You okay?” a player asked.
I nodded.
“You’re all right. If that had been my girlfriend, she’d be hysterical right now.”
“Same,” someone else agreed.
I nodded, working to keep all the emotion off my face. “Thanks.”
I made my way to the farthest seat away from everyone. I curled up on the seat and turned my body away from the group. I felt vulnerable, weak, and on the verge of my own hysterical tears.
My phone was blowing up. Two calls from Dad and about a million texts.
Me: I’m fine
Dad: Tell.Baxter.To.Call.Me
The last thing I needed was Dad coming to my defense.
Me: Dad. Please. It’s tense right now
Dad: I knew it was a mistake to let you go
Me: If it wasn’t for Logan, it could have been way worse
Dad: Call me
Me: I have to go, they are boarding
A slight lie, but I knew if I talked to Dad, I would begin to cry and I probably wouldn’t stop. My cheek was on fire, and I felt dirty, angry, and completely overwhelmed. I avoided making eye contact with anyone.
I sat there, pretending to work on my phone, until they called us for boarding.
I usually satin the front, in business class, with the rest of management. When I walked to my seat, I saw Baxter sitting in the seat next to my assigned seat.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
I carried on, heading to the back, where the players sat. I picked a random seat, jammed my bag in the baggage bin and crawled over to the window seat. I put on my seatbelt and covered myself with the blanket I stole from business class. The players filed in after me. Everyone left me alone. No one sat beside me, probably because I was curled up in a tiny ball and staring out the window. My body language screamed 'leave me alone'.
Someone shoved their bag in the bin above my seat. Then a familiar masculine citrus scent hit my nostrils.
I glanced up at Max. He had the start of a black eye and a split lip.
We didn’t speak when he eased his big body into the seat beside me. I watched as the flight attendant walked us through the usual safety procedures.
“You okay?” Max’s voice was low.
I knew he was asking about the fight, but I pretended he was talking about the takeoff.
“I still don’t like to fly.”
