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

“YOU’RE sure you don’t mind spending your New Year’s Eve out here instead of with the guys?” Hazel asks as we glide around the ice that night, hand in hand. Her hair flies behind her, fluttering in the wind, and the tip of her nose is red from the cold. Under the stars in the sky, her eyes glow bright and mesmerizing.

“You’re sure your ankle feels okay?”

Her laugh is a puff of air in the cold night. “Alright. Point taken.”

I move so I’m facing her, skating backward, holding both her hands, and she tilts her head at me with narrowed eyes. “Something changed during the game tonight.”

“Caught that, did you?”

She smiles, waiting, and I’m quiet as we circle the rink.

“Everyone compares me to my dad. I look like him, I play like him.” I catch myself. “Or, I used to.”

Her hand squeezes mine.

“And I believed it, that I wasn’t just like him but that my life would be the same as his. I’d be old and miserable and alone and obsessed with hockey, and any woman who got to know me would see whatever ugly thing women see in my dad and walk away.”

My heart beats with urgency, blood whooshing in my ears. I’ve never said these things out loud.

Hazel gives me a soft, kind smile, though, and I think maybe she knew all these things. We never talked about them, but somehow she knew, and instead of being scared that she can see right through me, I’m relieved and grateful.

“But I’m not that guy. I just let myself think that.” My throat feels thick. “I never thought I would be a good captain, but I want to be, and I think part of being a good leader might be seeing what people want and who they are, instead of who they’re told to be.”

Hazel hums. “You’re a good captain.”

Affection and pride flood my chest. “Because of you, I am.”

She looks down, smiling to herself, and I wonder if her heart’s exploding with this feeling, too.

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

She sends me a side-long glance, and not for the first time, I wish I could read her mind. “Our deal was supposed to end tomorrow.”

My heart stops. We said it wasn’t fake anymore, but maybe she’s changed her mind. “Do you want it to?”

“No.” Her answer is immediate as she turns to me, eyes roaming my face, searching my gaze. “I don’t want it to be over.” Her lips part and she looks like she wants to say more, but she just bites her lip again. “I don’t want it to end.”

A possessive ache fills me. I’m so happy with her that it hurts, so I put my hands on her waist and skate us to a stop, holding on tight to her because she isn’t great at braking.

“I don’t want it to end, either,” I tell her, brushing her hair back, looking down into her eyes. “Let’s keep it going.”

“For how long?” She looks so hopeful but uncertain that my heart breaks all over again.

“For as long as you want, Hartley, I’m yours. Even longer, probably.”

Forever, I hope.

“I need to tell you something,” she whispers, and her eyes flash with worry and nerves.

When I take her hands, they’re shaking.

“I love you,” she says quietly, searching my gaze.

All I can hear is my pulse beating in my ears; all I can see is Hazel.

“I was scared to say it. I’m still scared, but—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip, studying me as my heart does somersaults. “I always want you to know you’re loved.”

Christ, my heart. My sweet, terrified Hazel is handing me her fragile trust to hold in the palm of my hand. I’ll do anything to protect it.

“I do.” Emotion surges through me, so strong it hurts. “I’ve known for a long time.”

“You have?” Her brows lift.

I nod. My hand slips to her cheek, and her skin is cold under my touch. “I was waiting until you were ready.”

She holds my eyes, swallowing. “You’re so patient.”

“You’re worth the wait.”

The furrow in her brow eases, and she lets out a long breath. “Aren’t you going to tell me you love me, too?”

My mouth tips into a smile. “You know I do.”

She nods. “Yeah. I know you do.”

I lean down to kiss her, hands in her hair.

“I love you,” I say anyway, and she smiles against my lips.

This must be what it feels like to have everything I’ve ever wanted.

“I love you, too. Happy New Year, Rory.”

“Happy New Year, Hazel.”