Page 43 of Call the Shots (For The Arena #1)
JUNE
BEFORE, YOU WOULD’VE LAUGHED
The Romans ran high school training camps during the day, and nighttime held the same routine from the years past. Partying, going out to eat, seeing the sights, this wasn’t anything new, I went every year.
But in the past, it’d been just me and the guys.
Now, everyone was paired up in couples. It was a little different.
At the brewery, the unrelenting sun hung overhead, and I pressed the glass of water against my forehead. “Can someone hose me down?”
“Me next,” Willow groaned, fanning herself. “Not my hair though, I’ll actually kill someone.”
We snickered around the table before my phone pinged, bringing me out of my headache.
forty
plant sitter duties
Pictures popped up, and I snorted so loud everyone glanced my way. In a pair of Canadian-print swim trunks, Bear posed with an arm around my potted esperanza bush. The pictures flipped to Montoya walking ahead of him, swim goggles around his neck, my plant clutched in his arms.
The Gladiators were having a pool day at the gym on campus. I got another selfie from Bear, his arms behind his head, while my esperanza bush sat on the closest lounge chair.
me
omggg
forty
denalis forcing us out of rv for the day
had to bring the kid along
me
i see you left my other plants
forty
i picked my favorite thats what you do with kids
me
lol lol lol
dont let the soil dry
forty
and dont toss her in the pool? any other tips?
damn
so much faith in me
I showed the pictures to the table and Willow grinned. “Elijah sent me one, look.”
It was a photo of Bear dragging over an umbrella to shade my esperanza. I ran my thumb along my phone. Those pictures were silly and dumb and so sweet. My face warmed, and it wasn’t entirely because of the heat.
“When hockey doesn’t work out, you can teach them how to garden,” one of my best friends, Adam, joked.
My eyes flickered to his. “Hey.”
“What?”
“They don’t have a proper coach right now, they’re working with what they have.”
“Come on, June. Last year, you would’ve laughed.”
“Bear’s drafted to a professional team?—”
“Yeah, but he’s here.”
I flushed. “Well, he’s not contracted…um…it works differently in the NHL. So he’s drafted but he—um?—”
“Might not get added to the team anyway.”
“I…yes.”
I took a sip of my water in the awkward silence, feeling the defensiveness rear its head, which didn’t make sense. Adam and I had been close for years. I knew he wasn’t trying to upset me.
“They’re my friends,” I said finally. “They mean a lot to me.”
“They’re your boys and your summer wouldn’t be the same without them, yeah, I’ve heard it before.”
Suddenly I realized how many eyes were on me. My cheeks flushed. There was a familiarity in my friends’ glances, like…this was a conversation they’d already had.
Willow cleared her throat. “Are we getting dessert?”
“I don’t—” I stopped myself. “Did I do something?”
“I thought you were with hockey for the summer?” Adam said. “This doesn’t feel like just the summer. You were on the news.”
“Oh— that. I didn’t think they’d pick up the story?—”
“The thing is, we’ve been hitting you up since January.
Xavier’s a shitbag—I’m glad you left him—but it feels like every time we get somewhere with you, we’re getting kicked out too.
The last time we saw you was Ryan’s birthday party and now…
? You don’t have time for us, but you have time for the hockey team?
They’re your boys—fine—but I thought we were your boys too. ”
Voices spoke up, either hushing him or trying to change the topic, but with that same kind of familiarity. This had definitely been brought up while I was gone. I resisted the urge to slink down in my chair.
I never meant to hurt them, but I was such a mess after the breakup. There were days when I didn’t shower. Days when I was lucky to comb my hair. I couldn’t put my friends through that, so I hid away from everyone, only coming out when I knew I could put on the act.
It was different now. I still didn’t feel like myself, but I felt…
Not like the June before and not the mask I used after the breakup. It was more like I’d peeled something back and kicked away the husk. The Gladiators only knew me like that. They’d seen me angrier, louder, rougher, more demanding than I ever allowed myself to be.
“It’s not like that,” I said, a crack in my voice.
“We live in the same building now,” Adam pointed out. “Why is this the first time we’ve had a real conversation since Ryan’s birthday?”
Everyone started talking over each other, most of them directed at Adam, some directed at me, some were half-apologies on someone else’s behalf, and the others were tempering the situation before it smoothed itself over.
I sat quietly while the waiters brought out food and the conversation was pushed aside.
“June?” Adam leaned over, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry?—”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“You were part of the original four. The original squad. Everything’s happening so fast—I got engaged at paintball and you weren’t there. It was so fucking weird without you. I miss you. We miss the old June.”
I picked at my salad and nodded, unable to think of a response.
I’d been trying to settle into my past self, but if I was honest… The girl who could juggle Xavier’s events, hurry to class in four-inch heels, attend her dad’s campaign dinners and party until two in the morning, every day, every week, every month, was gone.
I knew she wasn’t coming back.
The headache was unbelievable before dinner. I took painkillers, but they made me feel sick. In the bathroom, I abandoned my new, lighter makeup routine for the Classic June look from before. Carefully, I tapped my brushes against the sink and blended powder until I was finished.
I wanted to do my makeup early to hang out with the girls for their shopping trip, but my eyes dropped to the dress. A silver dress that had too many creases because I didn’t pack it correctly.
“You don’t have another dress for tonight,” I reminded myself. “This is fine. Don’t look at it.”
I stepped closer, hiding my hips with the counter, and I peered at the makeup.
Makeup that looked caked on from too little primer.
Shit. My phone buzzed with Willow’s question, asking if I was ready, and my eyes drifted to the blue bottle on the counter.
My face cleanser and the makeup remover—I could start fresh.
With a deep breath, I texted Willow.
me
havent done my makeup yet go without me so sorry!!!
Another hour passed and I messed up my eyeliner. I had to rub my face raw to start over. One more try led to the wrong lipstick, and I scrambled for the cleanser, sending my foundation to the floor.
The sharp crack sounded like a gunshot and my stomach lurched at the waste—that bottle was so expensive. It oozed out, sprinkled with broken glass.
I dropped down. “No, no, no?—”
A knock echoed, and I flinched. Willow. “Are you ready, June? Dinner time!”
Don’t cry, no concha.
I took a struggling breath, fighting to calm down. This was as good as it was going to get. I had to accept that. The wrong dress, the wrong makeup, and the extra hours were gone. I left the mess behind to clean up later and opened the door, forcing the smile on my face.
“Time to take all the pictures,” she beamed, looking so beautiful in a periwinkle dress.
I picked at my own dress, headache pounding. “Okay. Great.”