Page 54 of The Final Faceoff
Before I can answer anything to Leif, he types,Do you need me?
I swallow. Do I need him? Probably. But I type,I’ll message if I do.
Leif: You should’ve brought me. I hate that you’re doing this alone.
I hate it too. But showing up with a six-foot-four famous hockey goalie would be weird, right?
Hailey: That would be positively weird.
Leif: Maybe I should just leave now.
Wait. No. He didn’t actually type that. That’s my thought, not his.
I shove my phone into my bag and take a shaky breath. What if I’m wrong? What if I’m about to humiliate myself in the middle of a very expensive restaurant, in front of a very expensive-looking man, and his very expensive-looking date?
But what if I’m not wrong?
I can’t go through the next eighteen years of my life wondering. Wondering if I denied my child a family. I square my shoulders, drop the menu, and get to my feet.
Showtime.
With all the grace of a woman who is absolutely not internally spiraling, I march toward Marcus’s table. And because I’m having that kind of year, I accidentally bump into him. I’m sure it wouldn’t have happened if I had tried.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, gasping as I meet his eyes. Then I let my face light up in faux-surprise. “Wait . . . Marcus?”
Marcus Carter blinks at me. No recognition.
Fantastic.
“It’s me, Hailey.” I flash a nervous smile. “We met in Greece a few weeks ago.”
His brow furrows. “Greece?” He turns to his date, looking genuinely perplexed. “Baby, when did we go to Greece?”
The blonde tilts her head and studies me. She has that gracious, polite expression women use when they sense something is happening but aren’t quite sure what.
“You might be confused,” she says with a perfectly curated smile. “I don’t think we met you then.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m really good with faces.” And instead of saying,Your boyfriend and I might have brought back a souvenir from Greece in the form of a tiny human,I add, “I’m pretty sure.”
Her smile stays perfectly in place. “We went to Greece four months ago.” She eyes Marcus. “Maybe she’s confusing you with someone else. You do have one of those faces.”
And if I have any doubts, she actually pulls out her phone and shows me pictures of them. I should tell her that his pictures on social media don’t have them—he’s cut her face out. But that’s definitely not the hotel where we stayed and now I’m totally doubting that this is my . . . was his name even Marcus?
Fuck.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Then I laugh.
Too loud. Too forced. The laugh of a woman who has made a catastrophic mistake but is pretending it’s a totally normal Tuesday night.
“Oh my God, you’re absolutely right,” I say, nodding like my head is on a spring. “Silly me. Wow. What a mix-up, huh? Greece? Hah. Can’t believe I—” I let out another too-high laugh, like this is a hilarious misunderstanding and not a sign that I should never be left unsupervised.
Marcus still looks vaguely confused, but his date? She’s already done with me. She’s giving me that polite but firm smile women use when they’re internally deciding whether to call security.
I need to leave.
Now.
