Page 8 of Sticks & Serpents

Lucy leaned forward, her pink hair bobbing as she spoke. “How about a signed jersey from Brett Sinclaire? That would draw a crowd. Especially since he's coming.”

Freya nodded vigorously. “Yes! And maybe a VIP dinner with one of the players? People love that kind of experience.”

"Are you volunteering Connor Bradley?" Sam asked. "Because, if so?—"

"Bradley is working," Freya said with a smirk. "And there's no way in hell he'd volunteer for this."

"Unless you made him."

Freya smirked but said nothing.

“That’s a great idea!” Daphne replied, her eyes lighting up. “About the VIP dinner. Let’s make sure to include it in our promotional materials.”

“We should also consider local businesses for donations—maybe gift cards or merchandise? Or even a silent auction?" Sam interjected, his arms crossed thoughtfully. “It’ll help foster community support.”

“Good call,” I added, feeling a surge of confidence. “We could reach out to the shops downtown and see what they might be willing to contribute.”

Daphne scribbled down our suggestions before moving on. “Now, for intermission entertainment—what do we think? We can’t just let people sit around.”

“Mini-games would be fun!” Lucy suggested with a bounce in her seat. “Like a shootout challenge for fans or even a quick game of floor hockey with some kids from the community.”

“I like that!” Freya exclaimed. “And we could have prizes for the winners!”

I couldn’t help but smile at their energy; it was contagious.

Daphne clapped her hands together, her excitement palpable. “All right, let’s add those to the list! I mean, I don’t get having spectators participate, but since it was already suggested once, there must be something to it. And what about alumni? Who’s coming back this year?”

"Obviously Brett Sinclaire," Lucy said. "And since Freya nixed Connor Bradley?—"

"I would love to get Ryker Kane here," Sam said. "He went to Crestwood."

"Did his brother go to U of M?" Lucy asked.

Sam made a face.

As they continued tossing names around and debating logistics, I jotted down every detail while suppressing my own thoughts about Damien's looming presence back into my mind.

It was just summer planning—a harmless way to spend my time until school started again. Nothing could go wrong... right?

Daphne clapped her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention again. “Let’s make sure to coordinate well! You all know your roles now, so let’s get to work and make this charity game unforgettable! Reach out to your player and start to get their outfits and equipment in line. I'll be sending texts in a group chat, so please make sure I have your number!"

My attention drifted in and out of the meeting, caught between the excitement of planning and the looming dread that hovered in my chest. The discussions swirled around me—raffle items, intermission games, and player assignments—but I barely registered any of it. Then, suddenly, my phone buzzed against the table.

I glanced down, my heart dropping as I saw the unknown number flash on the screen.

Wrong choice, little lamb.

A chill ran down my spine. It was him.

I could feel the blood drain from my face. How did he even have my number? The last time I checked, I hadn’t given it to him since... well, since everything fell apart. And then I blocked his number and changed it.

My pulse quickened as I instinctively locked the screen, willing myself to focus on anything but that message.

The laughter and chatter around me faded into a dull roar as I fought to ignore what was happening in my pocket—the weight of his words pressing down like a heavy blanket. My fingers trembled slightly as I glanced around the room, searching for anyone who might notice my unease. Everyone remained absorbed in their discussions; no one looked my way.

“Let’s finalize our plan for getting Brett Sinclaire here,” Daphne said brightly, drawing me back into the moment. Her voice rang with excitement, yet all I could think about was Damien’s taunt.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I wouldn’t play his game this time. This summer was supposed to be different—focused on planning and charity work without him intruding on every thought or feeling. But the reality of his message crept in like a shadow over everything.

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