Chapter 5

　　MELISSA'S POV

　　I stepped out of the cab and pulled my hoodie tighter, the cold bit my cheeks as I walked up the stairs to my place.

　　My place was at the third floor, my street was a little bit quiet. A corner unit with big windows and soft yellow curtains.

　　It wasn't huge, nor fancy. It was just plain, normal for the kind of life I'm living. But it was mine and that's all that matters.

　　I unlocked the door and stepped inside, warm air greeted me. My house still the same way I left it, wooden floors, a bookshelf filled with old hockey medals, pageant crowns, and folded workout towels.

　　One side of the living room was all weights and resistance bands. Gotta stay fit, didn't joke with that.

　　I turned my gaze to the opposite direction, my full-length mirror and a lighted vanity table stared back at me. I missed them too.

　　I kicked off my sneakers and tossed my duffel down, placed my phone on the couch and took in a deep breath. It's been a long day.

　　Finally. I sighed, my legs ached but there's this peace that comes when I stare at all my medals and remember all my achievements. It's worth every painful joint.

　　Peace, that's all I crave and now? I've gotten it.

　　I threw my hoodie onto the couch and stretched, my legs were becoming numb and so I began to knead gently.

　　My shoulders still felt the pain of the game, but I didn't complain, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Because pain was part of the win, pain is gain.

　　I had just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in a warm hoodie and shorts, when my phone rang.

　　Liam.

　　I answered and put the phone on speaker and kept folding my clothes.

　　"Brown!" he shouted over loud music. I could picture him dancing and grinding against any willing backside of a girl.

　　"Why is it that loud?" I asked, shaking my head.

　　"Because we're in the club, baby and you should too, but you're too comfortable on your cozy apartment, I bet." I blinked.

　　"Didn't Coach literally say

"

　　"Yeah, yeah, no scandals, blah blah," Jay's voice cut in from the background.

　　"But rules are meant to be broken!" "Coach is gonna be pissed if a scandal happens but like I said, rules are meant to be broken."

　　"I'm not part of that quote," I said, grabbing a clean pair of socks. "And trust me you're not gonna convince me otherwise."

　　"You have to come!" Liam said. "Everyone's here. Even Lucien's dancing."

　　"He doesn't dance and that's something we all know so quit

"

　　"He does now and you need to see it, it's hilarious." The pounding music from his end was sickening and extremely annoying but what could I do? Nothing.

　　I sat on the bed. "I'm not in the mood."

　　"You never are."

　　"Exactly."

　　"Come on, Melissa," Jay said. "One drink. One dance. Then we'll carry you home like a princess." I rolled my eyes.

　　"I'm not a princess and I'm definitely not in distress, dance all you want."

　　"You were literally crowned one."

　　"That's different."

　　"No, it's not!"

　　Someone shouted "MELISSA!" in the background. A bunch of them joined in, chanting my name like it was a sports match.

　　"Peer pressure," I muttered.

　　"It works," Liam said confidently.

　　I laughed once under my breath. "I'm sorry. Not tonight."

　　"Nooo!"

　　"I'll come to the next one," I added.

　　"You always say that."

　　"I mean it this time, just text me the details for our next outing and I'll be buying everyone drinks."

　　"Okay, what if we just showed up at your place? What then?" Jay asked out of the blue. No, not my house, not my safe space.

　　"You wouldn't." I whispered but I know he can be crazy but that's part of why he's my friend.

　　"We would."

　　"I won't open the door."

　　"What if we knock really hard?"

　　"I'll call security." I replied, eager to get him off the phone but he wasn't having it.

　　They all groaned dramatically.

　　"You guys are children," I said.

　　"You love us," Liam teased.

　　"I tolerate you and that's something I'll stop doing in a while."

　　"That's good enough!"

　　I shook my head, still smiling a little. "Be safe."

　　"Yes, Mom." they chorused, I chuckled before hanging up.

　　The silence came back fast. I dropped the phone onto my nightstand and went to the kitchen to microwave dinner.

　　It was leftover rice pudding and I didn't care what it tasted like. I leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge. On it, I'd pinned one photo — me in a pageant gown, crown slightly crooked, holding a hockey stick.

　　That night, someone online said I looked confused and maybe the person was right.

　　"Are you a princess or an athlete?" Both, idiot.

　　I ate in silence, scrolling through my modeling agency group chat.

　　New castings in London. Photoshoot options. "Your face is in this week's feature," someone texted, attaching a fashion mag.

　　I zoomed in. Yep. That was me. Dark lipstick, hair slicked, with a cold eyes.

　　I didn't recognize myself — in a good way.

　　The lights dimmed as I walked to the bedroom, my body hummed at the sight of the bed. That's more like it, I say within me.

　　I pulled open my closet and ran my hand along the fabric. Dresses, jerseys, heels, cleats, all lined up neatly.

　　Two lives. One body.

　　My fingers paused over a red pageant dress I hadn't worn yet. It was a lovely dress and I knew it'd fit my form perfectly well.

　　I stepped into the mirror and stared at myself.

　　"Too much," I whispered.

　　People said that a lot. I was too much for one box. Too cold to be a pageant queen. Too pretty to be taken seriously in sports.

　　I used to care. I was vulnerable and it made people realize they could use my fears against me.

　　But not anymore.

　　My phone buzzed again.

　　Unknown number. I stared at it, debating whether to pick it up or not.

　　I left it, let it ring. Whoever was calling would stop at the first ring, but I was wrong because it didn't stop. Was the person dumb? Didn't he or she get the memo?

　　My thumb hovered over the screen, then I swiped. I didn't have a choice, I couldn't switch of my phone.

　　"Hello?" Silence.

　　I frowned. "Hello?" I said a little louder.

　　A man's voice crackled through, calm and professional.

　　"Miss Brown?" I straightened.

　　"Speaking."

　　"We received your portfolio… and I'm sorry that

"