Page 49 of Twisted Shot
After they hang up, Mila sets her phone down on the couch cushion beside her and stares at the ceiling.
A nervous thrill bubbles under her skin. This campaign is the biggest thing she’s ever managed herself. It’s going to mean long hours, messy logistics, big personalities, and expectations she’ll have to exceed at every turn.
Beneath the nerves, there’s also hope. This could be the step she has been working toward for years, the one that finally pushes her into the big leagues and allows her to emerge from the shadow Richard has cast over her career.
CHAPTER 17
MILA
Two weeks later, Mila is back in Hartford. This time she’s got company. Naomi is right behind her, phone glued to her ear, rattling off deliverables in rapid fire.
And bringing up the rear, scowling like someone pissed in his green juice, is Richard.
Because of course her emotionally constipated ex is here to sulk through the entire week with the enthusiasm of a man on his way to a colonoscopy.
Her campaign is off to a strong start. Email open rates are through the roof, social buzz is building, local sponsors are biting. But none of that helps the nervous energy doing cartwheels through her bloodstream this morning.
Today’s their first big event, and she’s been holding her breath since sunrise.
The parking lot outside the Connecticut Children’s Hospital is already swarming with local news vans when she arrives. Volunteers in bright green jackets and Whalers players in jerseyspaired with truly unhinged costume accessories mill around. One guy is wearing a Hulk mask with his full hockey kit.
Jesse, naturally, is in a bright blue cape and a sparkly crown. LikeFrozenmeets pro sports.
Mila steps out of her car in her favorite navy blazer and a pair of low heels she hopes say polishedprofessional eventhough she hasn’t slept in two days.
Natalie had texted her that morning.
Natalie
Breathe. Smile. You’ve got this.
She makes her way toward the group, tablet in hand, heart thudding like it’s prepping for overtime.
The event is simple enough—players visiting pediatric patients, handing out mini sticks and foam pucks, then announcing their new “Whalers Wish Box” initiative. Every week, the team will host kids from the hospital in a private suite at home games. Free tickets. Free snacks. Player meet-and-greets. The works.
Mila’s proud of her team. She should be beaming.
But there’s one problem. One massive, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw-clenching problem.
Theo’s here. Standing outside the front doors, wearing his jersey over a long-sleeved thermal. Hair tousled. Hands shoved in his pockets. Looking like he’d rather face a penalty shot in no gear than step into a room full of sick kids and flashing cameras.
And more importantly—he’s avoiding her.
He’s not being rude exactly. He nodded when she arrived. Gave her a quiet, “Hey.” But that’s it. No small talk. No warm half-smile like the one she’s come to expect from him.
She shouldn’t care.
She really, really shouldn’t.
But she does.
“Everything good, boss?” Jesse sidles up beside her and Naomi, ridiculous cape flapping in the breeze, cheeks pink with excitement and cold. “Because if you need me to liven things up, I can make balloon animals.”
She cuts him a sideways glance, lips twitching. “You know how to make balloon animals?”
“No,” he says, dead serious, then grins. “But I’ve got confidence.”
She snorts. “You’re like a golden retriever that learned how to talk.”
