The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)

BEHIND HIS DESK, Ward lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“What a fucking mess,” he mutters, and I’m grateful he didn’t send me to postgame press.

All the questions would have been about the trade, and my answers wouldn’t have been professional.

“Alright.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Let’s get some things clear. I think I know the answer based on your pregame interview that’s being broadcast on every sports network, but do you want to leave?”

“No.” I swallow past the rock in my throat, looking Ward dead on. “I love this team. It’s the first place I’ve ever felt like I belonged. I know I’m not playing like I did last year, I know I’m not the superstar you signed, and I’m probably not even the captain you wanted—”

“You are.” He pauses. “I didn’t make it easy on you this year, Miller, but I wanted to see what being captain meant to you, and who you really are.” His eyes glint. “You’ve shown incredible progress. What you’ve done so far this season? It wasn’t easy. I know that. I see Rick commentating, I see the headlines about you.” He looks out the window at the city. “Part of this job is learning to block out what doesn’t matter and hold on to what does.”

A flash of memories hits me: running up the stairs with Hazel while she shrieks with laughter, passing to the guys at the pickup league, celebrating with my team when a play worked. Telling my parents I loved them, even though it was hard.

Those are the things that matter.

“And even tonight,” he goes on, “when the pressure was higher than ever to revert to your old ways, you didn’t.”

I considered it—ignoring the plays and taking the puck for myself, sinking it in the net to get my numbers up and show management I can be whoever they want me to be.

I can’t, though. Now that I’ve had a taste of winning as a team, I don’t want to go back.

“That being said,” Ward adds, “there are three offers on the owner’s desk.”

My lungs feel tight, and there isn’t enough air in the room. None of it matters if the owner wants to sell me. I’m either an asset or a liability. It’s all money, in the end.

“Here’s what I’m going to do.” Ward leans forward, interlacing his fingers. “I’m going to call in a favor the owner owes me and ask to keep you, and you’re going to keep up whatever you’ve been doing this season.”

I’m hit with a tsunami of relief. I’m not leaving. It wasn’t all for nothing.

“It was Hazel. She changed my life.”

“You made quite a spectacle earlier.” Through his exhaustion, his eyes dance with amusement.

I wince. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “It’s okay. I’m happy for you, Miller. It’s not every day that you find that.”

“I know.” I pull a deep breath in, letting the anxiety drain from me. “Thank you, coach. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“You have my jersey hanging in your home.” He shrugs, eyes twinkling. “I can’t trade a fan.”

He shoots me a good-natured grin and I chuckle.

“It’s not actually up yet. It’s propped on the floor because I haven’t had a chance to hang it.”

“You put me on the floor?” He shakes his head, still smiling. “Deal’s off.”

We share a laugh and I think about his jersey, and his career. “Do you miss playing?”

He stills, looking down before shooting me a tight smile. “Every day, Miller. But developing players, seeing who someone can be before they realize it themselves and then being right? It’s just as rewarding, maybe more. What you did at the League Classic, putting Owens on offense, was very interesting. Got me thinking about a few things.”

Something snags in my thoughts. “Did a team make an offer because of what I did?”

His mouth flattens. “No. The offers came after the rumors started.” He glances at the door. “Call Hazel in, would you?”

When I open Ward’s door, Hazel jumps to her feet. My dad paces beside her, waiting.

“What did he say?” Hazel asks.

“That he’s going to call in a favor to keep me.”

She wraps me in a tight hug, and I relax into her as it hits me that I won’t have to leave her.

“Thank god,” she whispers, and I nod, rubbing her back.

“Miller, Hartley,” Ward calls from his office. “Let’s go.”

Hazel shoots me a confused look and I take her hand, pulling her into the office. Once we’re seated, Ward clears his throat.

“McKinnon has been sent back to the minors.”

Hazel stiffens. That’s why he wasn’t there tonight. I figured he was still benched.

“Because he tried to kiss me?” she asks.

Ward lets out a heavy sigh. “No, but I should have made the call when that happened.” He glances between us. “This doesn’t leave this room, but he was the inside source who started the rumors. There were no offers until the rumors started.”

“Shit,” I murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, unimpressed. “Shit. He wasn’t the right fit for the team from day one but I thought,” he gestures at me, “with the progress you were making, maybe he would, too. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and I thought a new group of guys he could learn from would push him to change.” He rubs his jaw. “But no. My gut said he wasn’t a good fit but I ignored it.” He shakes his head in regret and frustration. “I’m sorry to both of you.”

“It’s okay.” Hazel’s mouth twists. “It’s behind us.”

He gives her a terse nod, and I wonder how long this is going to weigh on him. Hazel’s hand slips into mine, and we smile at each other.

“It’s late,” Ward says, glancing at our joined hands. “Go home.”

We say goodnight and I pull Hazel out of his office. We walk my dad to his car, and he gives me a quick, uncertain hug before climbing into the driver’s side.

Hazel and I watch as he drives away, and she looks up at me with all the love and affection I’ve been searching for my whole life.

“Rory. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, baby.” My chest beats with pride and elation. “Let’s go home.”

I’m exhausted, she’s exhausted, and I intend to keep her in bed for at least twelve hours straight.

She nods, smiling, leaning on me. “Let’s go home.”