Page 31 of Breaking Away

You must be desperate, reaching out to me.

I am.

An undeniable fact I convey by sending the face-melting emoji.

He’s typing.

And then, he’s not.

Right. It’s probably hard to brainstorm a way to end this conversation.

My phone vibrates. I check his reply and gasp.

LOKHOV

If you want to watch me play, a car picks you up.

It sounds too easy. There have to be strings somewhere, but I’m backed into a corner and can’t think of anything else to do.

ME

Okay…

LOKHOV

Can you be ready soon?

Cue internal panic. (Is this really happening?)

“Don’t wear the dress if that’s the problem,” my mom concedes through the door. “Speak to Tyler wearing whatever you want, sweetheart.”

ME

I’m ready now. Staying at the same hotel.

LOKHOV:

Five minutes.

ME

Are you sure? I’m asking for a lot.

LOKHOV:

It’s only one game.

Right. One game is… one game. A gurgle of a laugh escapes me. It feels like an escape hatch has cracked open, and I can duck out that way—avoiding my real life for longer.

ME

So get in the car… and then what?

I’m wondering, should I book a flight? From what my phone tells me, Vancouver is playing an away game. I should look up where they are going, so I can head there. Then I’ll sit in the stands, buying the ticket myself, of course, since I don’t want to owe Lokhov anything beyond what he is already doing for me, even though I know players get complimentary seats.

My phone buzzes.

LOKHOV:

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