Page 45 of Bad Wolf

By the start of the third period, I walked Anna back out to find sanctuary in the family suite, and I’m heading back to Scott’s.

Maybe he’ll regain some of his composure if I’m no longer there.

* * *

Afew nights later, Jason invites me for drinks at what I now know is the team’s local bar, Full Moon. It’s owned by an ex-Wolves player and does a really good job at toeing the line between a fan bar, and a safe, chill-out spot for current players.

I go through the same rigmarole again, choosing an outfit and deliberating over whether this is a good idea or not, because hell if I know anymore.

I want to look cute, but not like I’m trying too hard. Really, I want to look like the old me. Sure, I still look the same, older of course, but that girl’s eyes shined like she was ready to conquer the world.

This girl looks more like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff without a safety harness.

I settle on a metallic pink mini skirt, black lace bustier, and my trusty jacket. I only have one pair of heels, my boots, so they’ll have to do.

I play around with my makeup a bit, building more and more as I go, too distracted by my racing mind to focus on the sweep of the eyeshadow blender.

The Wolves head out for a long away series tomorrow and that gives me the chance to think about the other things I need to get done if I want to start setting up my life. A week of actually knowing there’s no way I’m going to see Knox will give me at least some reprieve.

There are apartments to be viewed, a work wardrobe to cobble together, and hopefully, new furniture to assemble.

Pouring over the contract Casey sent me, I discovered I’m going to be paid way above what my experience should earn, which only makes me more determined to do a good job for him and Anna.

And thank the lord for the internet and home-based working, because those work outfits I mentioned need to be bought on a firm budget. My salary is off the charts, but not nearly enough to set a whole new life up on one paycheck.

When I pull out of my thoughts and focus on my reflection in the oversized handheld mirror, I’m not mad at what I see. Smokey shadow, artfully smudged, makes my eyes pop. The pink stain highlights the natural plumpness of my lips, and I’m not gonna lie, it bolsters me a little.

If I can get his attention, then maybe I can get him to listen and finally be free of this lie.

And dressing up like this will go a long way in achieving that.

Jenna, the saint, has promised to accompany me tonight and the door swings open, yes, she has her own key. I realize I’ve been practically staring into space instead of getting myself together. I’m so nervous I’ve gone down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

I hop up off the couch and sprint into the bathroom to take my hair out of the no-heat rollers I set in earlier.

“Two secs,” I yell, as I unravel the bendy wands and turn my head upside down, blasting the ends with a holding spray and then running my hands through them.

A few minutes later I’m grabbing my jacket, pulling on my boots, and headed to the subway station closest to our corner. Arm in arm, we catch up on the day, Jenna speaking animatedly about some new cake filling she’s perfecting. I find she’s able to ease all the worry I had swirling inside of me by doing nothing more than being her amazing self. I snuggle closer into the crook of her arm.

Jenna just has this way about her, and I’m starting to understand that if Scott’s job is as harrowing as I believe it to be, then she just might be his breath of fresh air.

We’re chatting as we enter the bar and the doorman gives her a nod in greeting.

“You come here much?” I ask her as I take in the bar, which is basically a shrine to hockey and all things Wolves.

It’s your typical wooded sports bar with accents of teal and memorabilia everywhere. Heaving and so noisy—just as it should be. One large screen above the bar and others scattered around.

“Not loads, but definitely enough for him to recognize me. If I do come though, it’s with Scott.”

“Crazy how you two are so close, huh? After all this time you’re still thick as thieves.”

She stiffens at that, and I chastise myself instantly.

“I mean, it’s incredible the way you two still look out for one another. How you’ve remained best friends all these years.”

She relaxes, “Yeah, I mean we have our own lives outside of our friendship. I like to, um, well I do stuff that’s separate,” she stutters, “Like just so much stuff. But yes, twenty-two years and still very much friends.” She shakes her head and moves us to the bar.

“The best of friends,” I say, helping the poor girl out.

---