Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 24
Maddie
The Titans’ staffer’s badge swings from his lanyard as he leads me down the concrete hallway, his strides brisk enough that I have to quicken mine to keep up. Somewhere above us, the arena hums. It’s not even game time yet, and still, I can feel the low thrum of twenty thousand people gathering.
I clutch my crossbody bag a little tighter. It doesn’t hold much—lip balm, my phone, tissues, my Illinois driver’s license and forty bucks—but it feels like a shield. A poor one, considering my stomach has been in knots since I left the house.
Grayce is fine.
More than fine.
I repeat it like a prayer as the staffer swipes us through another restricted door. Grayce is with the sitter Brienne recommended—a woman raising three boys of her own and who Brienne and Drake use to babysit their boys. Brienne had assured me she was the best, the kind of mother you can call last minute and she’ll throw in a pan of pizza rolls and have a craft project ready.
I believed her.
And yet, it’s the first time since this all started that I’ve gone out without Grayce. The guilt hovers heavy, whispering that I should be home reading Brown Bear for the thousandth time, not trailing a stranger through tunnels like I belong.
I’m still baffled by what possessed me to say yes because it had nothing to do with my wants and everything to do with Atlas. He asked me to be here… to support him. He also asked me to hang with him and the team after the game. I suppose a bit of curiosity drives me, but I could see it was important to him and that’s why I said yes. As for agreeing to hang out after the game, I figured if I’m going to have guilt for leaving Grayce, I might as well lean into it.
“This way,” the staffer says, holding open a heavy door.
The suite is a different world.
Plush carpet muffles footsteps. The lighting is low but golden, glinting off sleek marble counters. Flat-screen TVs line the walls, already streaming pregame commentary. A buffet stretches the length of one side, polished silver lids gleaming over steaming trays. On the other side, a bar gleams with rows of crystal glasses and every liquor bottle you could imagine. Staff in black uniforms glide silently, topping off drinks, whisking away plates, offering trays with bite-size things too pretty to eat.
It’s crowded with expensively dressed men and women leaning against high-tops and laughing over cocktails, pausing from time to time to check their phones. Jewelry flashes, perfume curls through the air, and I catch just enough snippets of conversation to know I’m way out of my element.
I freeze just inside the door, every nerve screaming that I don’t belong. Jeans and a sweater—nice enough, but not this. I might as well have a neon sign over my head that says Impostor.
And then Brienne is in front of me. I recognize her because I googled her out of curiosity the evening I was presented with her invitation. Atlas has talked about her, but I had no idea how incredibly powerful she is. She’s not just a rich woman but also a business leader, entrepreneur and pioneer. I learned that she not only heads up one of the largest banks in the United States and owns a professional hockey team, but she just bought a formula race team based out of England.
She is disarming. Chic, yes—blond hair gleaming in the perfect chignon, eyes sharp as cut glass—but her smile is so warm it feels like I’ve known her forever without us ever having spoken a word.
“Maddie.” She says my name like she’s been waiting for me. “I’m so glad you came.”
And then she hugs me. All-encompassing, none of that air-kiss crap, and with an extra squeeze on the end.
The tight coil in my chest loosens by a degree. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“You’re always welcome here.” She glances around the suite, dismisses the cluster of VIPs without apology, and steers me past them.
Relief pulses through me that she doesn’t bother with introductions I don’t want. Instead, she guides me straight to the tall man at the center of a small group.
“Drake,” she calls, and her husband turns.
I recognize him from my Google searching—Drake McGinn, the Titans’ primary goalie but out on injury. Tonight, he’s in a sharp suit instead of pads, but there’s no mistaking the athlete’s bearing.
If Brienne epitomizes cultured chic, her husband is all rough edges with his long hair, beard and tattoos. I’ve never seen two people so diametrically opposed in the looks department, but the way they stare at each other with utter devotion, I can’t imagine any two people more perfectly matched.
Brienne brings me right to him. “This is Maddie.”
His handshake is warm and firm, his smile easy. “Good to meet you, but I feel like I know you already from Atlas. How are you liking Pittsburgh so far?”