Page 73 of Siren's Heart

"What the–" I scroll through even more posts from Asher's and Luca's team members, and their opponents. All of them have posted some lovely words about me and share the same hashtag. It doesn't stop there, though.

Luca reads over my shoulder silently, but I can feel him grin against my skin. My eyes widen the more I read. People I've worked with years ago came out to join the campaign, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t among the people that Kayla, Asher, and Luca called yesterday.

Joe9837: Worked with her on the 'Love is in the Air' music video, and she was beyond lovely. Always looking out for us and making sure we had enough to drink in 35-damned-degree Celsius heat. She's a gem, and y'all should treat her like it. Beyond disgusted at what happened. #StayStrongMillie

A$hley<3: I'm the barista who was at the first attack. She only came in to quietly order her coffees, and if she doesn't drink 18 of them at once, they were for their whole team. The tip she left me bought my groceries for the week. #StayStrongMillie, 10/10 would die for her.

"Look, even Mary came to your defense," Luca chuckles and points at a post further down from where I'm reading.

MarysPottery: Such a lovely girl, and thanks to her, I don't have to close my shop. Can't express my gratitude enough. She deserves all the love in the world.

The screen blurs as my eyes fill with tears. Happy tears, though. I don't know what all of this means for the future.

I know I won't ever be able to please everyone. There will always be people who hate me. But this is giving me the tiniest glimmer of hope that, ultimately, I will be alright.

"You deserve this," Luca whispers into my ear, and I wipe away one of the tears rolling down my cheek. "And so much more."

And you know what? Coming from him, I believe it.

Millie

"Why did we say yes to this?" I hiss at Kayla. It's finally here, the day of the big game. It’s taken way too long, yet it came way too fast, and I'm a nervous wreck, my hands shaking and my heart beating like it wants to jump out of my chest.

We're currently in one of the VIP boxes while we wait for the first quarter of the match to be done, until we join my parents in their VIP box for the second half, and it's hell. The cameras pan on us from time to time, which means we have to pretend we enjoy what we’re watching and aren’t metaphorically shitting our pants while we wait for halftime to arrive.

It’s not watching the game that makes me nervous. That part is actually kind of fun, even though I have no idea what's going on–but seeing the crowd? Listening to the announcers repeat over and over again, how many people are watching it on TV?

I don't need to know. I don't want to know. Fuck. Don’t keep reminding me.

"Relax. Everything's going to be fine," Kayla reassures me and pats my shoulder like I’m a dog, but she doesn't know how else to calm me down. "We got this."

"Do we?" I ask her nervously and start pacing the small room, biting the nail of my thumb. "What if I slip? Oh my God, millions of people are going to be laughing at me."

"You won't slip."

"What if the campaign didn't work, and they boo me off stage?" I continue biting my thumbnail, grimacing when it brings the splint on my wrist into a weird position. At Kayla’s insistence, I had a doctor look at it once Luca left for his last training. He agreed when I told him my suspicion that nothing was broken, but got me a splint to keep my wrist still in order to let it heal faster.

As for the online shitstorm? Over the past day, a lot of people came through and joined the positive sentiments about me. News outlets even picked it up and reported about it on TV.

But in real life? The one where I have to face millions of people with no internet face-to-face? I’m scared shitless. I have no idea if it worked. They might very well also throw tomatoes at me and boo me off stage.

"Ain't gonna happen. Don't focus on the haters. Focus on our fans." I roll my eyes. As always, that’s easier said than done.

"What if I forget the lyrics? Moves? The whole damned choreography?"

"Just look cute while you're doing it, and improvise. Nobody will care."

Well, I got the looking cute part down today. Both of us do. We're wearing body suits, mine light pink and hers a deep red, our hair falling over our shoulders for maximum dynamic while we're dancing, and both of us are wearing boots that reach our knees.

"But hear me out, what if–"

"Millie!" She steps in front of me, forcing me to stop walking. "It's. Going. To. Be. Fine."

But how does she know that? Her sharp gaze prevents me from asking that, though.

The crowd outside starts to cheer, and it's a deafening sound that makes my thundering heart beat even more wildly.

"Come on," she says more softly, reaching for my hand and pulling me after her. "Let’s go downstairs. We need to get ready anyway."

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