Page 76 of Twisted Shot
With that, he’s gone—suit bag slung over one shoulder, keys jangling, muttering to himself about whether he packed his tie. The door clicks shut behind him.
Theo exhales, low and slow, not quite relief and not quite dread, but something heavier, caught somewhere in between.
Outside, Jesse’s car rumbles to life, the muffled thump of music filtering through the driveway before it fades down the street.
He heads upstairs to where his tux is laid out on his king-sized bed.A tailored Armani suit with a subtle midnight blue sheen, purchased two years ago on his mother’s insistence. “You never know when you’ll need to look like you belong,” she had said, in that clipped, practiced voice that always made him feel like he didn’t.
The irony isn’t lost on him.
He sits on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees, eyes on the what waits beside the jacket.
His stomach is tight.
His hands aren’t shaking, but they want to.
He hasn’t spoken to her in several agonizingly long weeks. Not since the promo shoot, when his words came out raw and uneven and far too honest. He hasn’t answered her messages. Not one. And she’d sent several. Kind ones. No pressure. Just…there.
Waiting.
He feels like absolute dog shit for not answering her. Knows he’s hurt her. Knows every unanswered message chipped away at something delicate. And still, he didn’t respond. Didn’t explain. Now his silence festers, because there’s no excuse that doesn’t sound like cowardice.
He didn’t ignore her out of anger. Or disinterest. It was fear. Still is.
Because wanting her is easy. It’s the most natural thing in the world. But having her feels impossible.
What happens when she realizes the mask is better than the man?
He scrubs a hand over his jaw and stands, moving to the solid oak dresser. The invitation waits there, exactly where he placed it the day it arrived. Thick, expensive cardstock. Embossed silver lettering. The Whalers logo pressed into the bottom corner like a seal.
Winter Masquerade
A gala in support of
the Connecticut Children’s Hospital
Guests are encouraged to embrace the masquerade theme with elegant masksor costumes.
Theo stares at the words. He’s read them a dozen times, maybe more.
Tonight is about the hospital. About the team. About appearances.
But the theme of the evening doesn’t seem like a coincidence.
It feels like a door being held open.
Maybe Mila didn’t write the words. Maybe she did.
But either way, this is his chance.
A chance to stop hiding. To stop punishing himself for the way he stumbles through life like an awkward creep, avoiding eye contact and connection beyond anything surface level. A chance to be the man he’s only let himself be in the dark—when the mask is on and the world isn’t watching.
He’s absolutely fucking terrified.
But he’s also done pretending he doesn’t want her. Done giving in to the belief that wanting something means he’ll break it.
He suits up slowly, piece by piece. The tux fits perfectly. Of course it does. His mother would accept nothing less. But tonight, it stretches across his shoulders like armor.
When he’s fully dressed, he stands in front of the mirror. Straightens the cuffs. Adjusts the tie.
