Chapter 93 The Interview and the reporter
Chapter 93 The Interview and the reporter
“You know Vanessa, don't you?” The words came out colder than I intended. Beck's hand froze on the coffee mug. “What?”
“Last night. The text said to ask you about her. So I'm asking.”
“Ivy, I don't know what you're talking about.”
“The blonde reporter. The one who said you'd make an exception for her. Who is she to you?”
He set the mug down slowly. “No one.”
“That's not an answer.”
“Neither is a random text from a stranger.”
I stared at him. The morning light cut through the blinds, striping the kitchen floor. He hadn't shaved. Dark circles under his eyes. He looked as tired as I felt.
“You're hiding something.”
“I'm not hiding anything. I've never met her before yesterday.”
“Then why would someone send me that text?”
“Because someone wants you to doubt me.” He reached across the table. I pulled my hand back. “Ivy, listen to me. I don't know Vanessa. I've never talked to her. She approached you at the rink, not me.”
“She said you'd make an exception for her.”
“People say a lot of things.”
I wanted to believe him. The kitchen was quiet. The coffee was getting cold.
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Call her. Put her on speaker.”
He didn't hesitate. He pulled out his phone, scrolled to a number I didn't recognize, and pressed call.
Vanessa answered on the second ring. “Beckett Harrington. I was hoping you'd call.”
Beck put the phone on the table. “My girlfriend is here. She has questions.”
A pause. Then: “Ivy. Nice to hear you again.”
“He says he doesn't know you.”
“He doesn't. But I know him. I've been following his career for years. I'm writing a profile on him for the magazine.”
“And you told me he'd make an exception for you.”
“He will. Once he reads my pitch.”
Beck's jaw tightened. “I'm not doing interviews.”
“Everyone does interviews. It's good for your brand.”
“My brand is hockey. Not magazines.”
Vanessa laughed. It was light, practiced. “We'll see. Think about it. I'll send over the questions.”
She hung up.
Beck turned to me. “Satisfied?”
“She wants something from you.”
“Everyone wants something from me.”
“She wants more than a story.”
He stood up, walked around the table, and knelt beside my chair. “I don't care what she wants. I care what you want.” He took my hand. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“I know.”
“Then trust me.”
I looked at him. His eyes were steady. His hand was warm.
“Okay.”
He kissed my forehead. “Let's finish breakfast.”
Practice was intense. Scouts filled the stands, clipboards out, eyes on the ice. Beck was focused, sharper than I'd ever seen him. He scored twice. The coach yelled encouragement.
Vanessa was in the stands. She had a camera now, taking photos.
I walked over. “You're not supposed to be here.”
“I have credentials.”
“From who?”
“The magazine.” She lowered the camera. “I'm not the enemy, Ivy.”
“You're not my friend either.”
“No. I'm not.” She looked back at the ice. “But I know things about your boyfriend's past that might surprise you.”
“Like what?”
“Like the reason he transferred schools freshman year. Like the fight that almost got him kicked off the team.” She smiled. “The one involving his ex-girlfriend.”
My blood went cold. “Maren?”
“No. Before Maren. Someone he never told you about.” She tucked her camera away. “Ask him about Jenna.”
She walked away.
After practice, I waited by the lockers. Beck was last out, still in his gear, hair wet.
“You're still here.”
“Who's Jenna?”
He stopped. His face went pale. “Where did you hear that name?”
“Vanessa. She said you had a girlfriend before Maren. Someone you never told me about.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “It was a long time ago. It didn't mean anything.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because it was nothing.”
“You're lying.”
He stepped closer. “Ivy, I was fifteen. She was a teammate's sister. We dated for two months. It ended badly. Her brother found out and started a fight. I transferred schools.”
“You transferred because of a girl?”
“I transferred because I was tired of the drama. I wanted to play hockey. Not referee my personal life.”
“And you never thought to mention her?”
“She doesn't matter. She never mattered.” He touched my face. “You matter.”
I wanted to believe him.
But the cracks were showing.
Elena called that night. “I looked into Celeste's story. Her mother really was Margaret's accountant. And there really was a car accident. But I can't find any evidence of foul play.”
“So Celeste could be telling the truth?”
“Or she could be paranoid.” Elena paused. “Either way, Margaret is dangerous. I think you should keep your distance from both of them.”
“What about Vanessa?”
“What about her?”
“She's digging into Beck's past. Trying to find dirt.”
“Ignore her. She's a journalist. They thrive on drama.”
“She's making me doubt him.”
“That's her job.”
I hung up. Beck was in the shower. The water was running.
I stared at the wall.
Another secret. Another crack.
We lay in bed. His arm was around my waist. I stared at the ceiling.
“Ivy.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Jenna.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I was ashamed. I was young and stupid and I let a girl get between me and my future.”
“That's not an excuse.”
“No. It's not.” He turned to face me. “But it's the truth.”
I looked at him. His eyes were tired.
“No more secrets.”
“No more secrets.”
He kissed me. Slow, warm, his hand cupping my cheek.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I'd deal with Vanessa.
Tomorrow, I'd deal with Margaret.
Tomorrow, I'd deal with Celeste.
But tonight, I just held on.
My phone buzzed. I wondered who it was.
“Vanessa isn't just a reporter. She's Margaret's goddaughter. She's been feeding her information about you and Beck for weeks.”
I sat up. Beck stirred.
“Who is this?”
“Someone who wants you to survive. Meet me tomorrow. No Beck. No Elena. The old rink. Midnight.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I'm the only one who can save you from both of them.”
I turned off the phone.
Beck's arm tightened around my waist. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
He did.
I didn't.
The old rink. Midnight. Another trap.
But maybe the truth.