I stand before a crowd or reporters. Lana has already schooled me on what topics I can safely discuss. My exhaustion is one, my need to escape another, and she’s more than happy for me to state that Logan is responsible for the bruises on my face. I’m also allowed to admit that I’ve pressed charges and filed a restraining order against him, but she forewarned me on the dangers of saying too much. She needn’t worry. I won’t give that jackass anymore air time than he deserves. I’m done letting him ride my coattails, and it’s enough knowing that the whole world now understands what kind of asshole he is.
I step up to the microphone and thank the press for coming, and then I launch into the scripted, public apology that Lana had drummed into me from the time we left the hotel in Banff. A hundred flashes go off, and I try my best to compartmentalize. I attempt to smother the anxiety building within my chest by taking several measured breaths as Lana opens the conference up to questions.
“Stella, how long have you known Calgary Crushers center Van Ross?”
“Will you and Van continue a relationship given that you live in different countries?”
“Is Van as physical in the bedroom as he is on the ice?”
“What do you think of the moniker is StellVan?”
“Do you actually enjoy hockey?” On and on their questions go, and I answer them as best I can with reasonably standard responses: not long, no comment, definitely no comment, that name is ridiculous, and yes, I do like hockey—now that I’ve had the chance to watch it while wrapped around my own hockey hero. I leave out that last part.
One particularly enthusiastic reporter pushes closer to the stage. “Stella, Ryan Gorman for the Nashville Sun. Can you tell me what you and Van Ross were doing before his run-in with the paparazzi on his Alberta property, and why was he naked?”
I freeze. I completely choke, but Lana steps up beside me turning her megawatt smile on the crowd. “He’s a hockey player. Aren’t they always naked?”
Ryan continues. “Stella, what do you have to say to your younger fans, the girls who look up to you as a role model for no sex before marriage?”
“No further questions. Thank you,” Lana says. She takes my arm, attempting to lead me away from the microphone and the crowd of reporters, but I pull away.
“I made a mistake, and it cost me everything,” I say, desperate to be heard over the commotion of shuttering lenses and reporters shouting my name. “I hurt someone I cared about deeply, and I’m not sure if he’ll ever forgive me, but Van, for what it’s worth. I’m sorry.”
“Enough,” Lana hisses, and security crowd around and usher me into the waiting SUV as a barrage of reporters shout my name.
Lana and I are in my living room. I bite my nails as we watch the Stella of a few hours ago answer the inane questions of the reporters on the TV. I look sallow, and despite the heavy makeup on my face, the bruise is only just covered. I don’t want to believe that was intentional, but at the moment, I wouldn’t put it past Lana to request this of my makeup artist.
“Stella, what do you have to say to your younger fans, the girls who look up to you as a role model for no sex before marriage?” The reporter with the beady eyes and the smarmy grin asks, and his attempt to rattle me hasn’t gone to waste. I look like a deer in headlights as Lana states with her no-nonsense tone of voice that there will be no more questions.
“I made a mistake, and it cost me everything,” TV Stella says. My heart hammers against my ribcage. Van, please be watching. Please.
I wait for TV Stella to deliver the next line, but she’s replaced by a chipper reporter. “And there you have it. The reigning queen of country putting the hockey wife-life behind her.”
Her male counterpart chuckles, and they trade newsreader jokes back and forth on my romance with Van. I get to my feet, flick off the TV and glare at Lana. My chest aches, and dread twists my belly. “They left out the most important part. They cut it, and now he won’t see. You have to ring the station and get me an interview. He needs to know he wasn’t a mistake. I was the one who messed up.”
Lana pours herself another glass of wine. She’s been pacing my living room this whole time. “Stella . . .”
“I have to fix this. I have to go back and tell him that it wasn’t true. That they took it out of context.”
“Stella.”
“What?” I snap.
“You can’t go back to Canada. You have a meeting first thing with the label. They want to discuss your future.”
“My future? What does that mean?”
“It means that this little stunt with Van could have cost you your career.”
“Lana, I—”
“Look, I know this is new for you, and you’re swept up in the excitement of it all, but have you given serious thought to a relationship with this man? He lives in a different country, not to mention how much time NHL players spend at away games and training.”
“I know.”
She sighs and rubs her temple as if I’m a petulant child giving her a migraine with my temper tantrum. “He’s not the one for you, honey. He’s just not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know he’s going to break your heart. Just this morning, three girls talked to the press about Van Ross, and his team mates.”
“What?”
“Stella, I don’t know what kind of lines he’s been feeding you, but he’s tarred with the same brush as all pro-athletes, and he’s suicide for your career.”
“Why? Because a handful of hockey hookers talked to the press? What did they say?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What did they say?”
“That Van’s type is sweet and innocent, until it’s not.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he eats little girls like you for breakfast, chews them up, and spits them out before moving onto the next body who’ll warm his bed.” I reel back as if I’ve just been slapped. Lana sets her wine down with a sigh. “The point is, you’re only going to get hurt in the long run. It’s better that you let the world think that Van Ross was a mistake, one you have no intention of repeating. You have much bigger things to focus on. Throw yourself into gaining back the trust of every fan you let down when you walked away from that arena. Focus on the people who love you.”
Ouch. That stings like a bitch. Is Lana right? Was I just another conquest to Van? I don’t want to believe that, but maybe I don’t really know him at all. Either way, he made it clear he doesn’t want to see me by forcing me to leave with Logan. Player or not, Lana is right. I need to forget I ever met Van Ross.