Deanna

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My headphones connect, and my jaw drops. They’re singing a song that Zach and I wrote together. I mean, I didn’t get writing credits because we just played around with the tune on one of our off days, but still. I didn’t just get dumped—I got replaced. By a newer, shinier model. My eyes sting and I blink the tears away.
Behind the Net (Vancouver Storm, #1)
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