Faking It With The Hockey Star

Harper’s POV

I woke up starving. My body felt like it had been dragged through three different wars, which made sense after the exhausting whirlwind of the past few weeks.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in forever, there was no immediate crisis. My documentary was defended, my exams were nearly over, and Justin was beside me, sleeping peacefully with one arm stretched across my side of the bed. He looked so calm without the weight of hockey and family drama on his shoulders.

I carefully grabbed my phone, scrolling past group texts from my family, Ava, and Mia, until my heart sank at a name I hated seeing: Dad.

Dad: So you finally finished your little documentary. You probably think you’re some big shot now.

Dad: Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still not a big shot.

I rolled my eyes, keeping my voice to a whisper so I wouldn’t wake Justin. "Has this man really not given up yet?"

I knew I shouldn’t respond, but anger got the better of me.

Me: Leave us alone.

Dad: Leave you alone? What do I even need you for? I have my family. I have my beautiful wife. I have my kids.

Dad: What makes you think I need you? You miserable little brat.

Dad: I wish I had beaten some sense into you the same way I beat your mother.

My blood ran cold, and my breathing stopped. He had just admitted it in writing. It was more than enough to prove a pattern, and I was not going to let it vanish. I immediately screenshotted every message, saved them in a secured folder, forwarded them to Justin, and emailed copies to myself.

Quietly slipping out of bed, I walked into the dark kitchen and called my brother.

Noah answered after a few rings, his voice waking up fast. "Harper? You okay?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," I said softly, leaning against the counter. "Just wanted to check in."

Emma grabbed the phone next, chattering about getting ready for school, complaining about homework, and letting me know Mom had eaten and taken her medication. Hearing their sweet, normal voices grounded me, pulling me out of the dark spiral my father always tried to drag me into.

After hanging up, I poured a glass of water, staring blankly into the quiet room. Suddenly, two broad arms wrapped firmly around my waist from behind, pulling my back flush against a warm, broad chest.

I jumped, dropping my head back. "Jesus!"

Justin chuckled against the crook of my neck, his hot breath sending a shiver straight down my spine. "Good morning."

"You scared me," I breathed out, leaning back into him as his lips traced a slow, lingering line from my jaw up to my ear.

"You disappeared," he murmured, his hands sliding down to rest low on my hips, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

"I got text messages from my father," I confessed, handing him my phone.

Justin’s entire demeanor shifted. His jaw clenched as his eyes swept over the screen, his chest rising heavily against my back. "Did you save everything?"

"Every single word."

"Good. Don’t delete a thing." He set the phone down, turned me around in his arms, and caged me against the counter. The raw intensity in his eyes softened into something deep and fiercely possessive. "Come here."

He turned me fully in his arms, trapping me gently between his body and the edge of the kitchen counter. Before I could say another word, his mouth captured mine.

It wasn’t a gentle morning kiss. It was deep, hungry, and possessive, his tongue tracing my lips until I opened for him with a low sigh. His hands slid up from my waist, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of my neck to pull me impossibly closer. The heat between us flared instantly, scorching through the thin fabric of my clothes.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his chest hard against mine as the taste of him completely wiped my mind clean. There was no father, no past trauma, no stress over finals; there was only the heavy, electric rhythm of his mouth on mine, the feel of his broad hands mapping my body, and the delicious weight of him pressing me back against the granite.

When he finally pulled back just enough for us to breathe, his lips hovered a fraction of an inch from mine, his dark eyes burning with an intense, gorgeous light.

"Good morning," I whispered breathlessly, resting my forehead against his.

A low, satisfied smile touched his lips. "Much better."

I leaned in and captured his mouth again, shorter this time, lingering over the sweet press of his lips before pulling away with a flush warming my cheeks. "You’re distracting me."

"That’s my job." He grinned, kissing the sensitive corner of my mouth before stepping back just enough to let me breathe. "Besides, we have exams to finish."

"Who are you and what have you done with Justin?" I teased, adjusting my top. "Suddenly you’re the responsible one?"

He laughed, leaning his back against the counter beside me. "I have my moments. But actually, I’ve been thinking about something."

I tilted my head. "About what?"

"After exams, I want to talk to Coach. I want to organize a charity game with the team, maybe pull in another university too." He looked at me, his expression turning extraordinarily gentle. "For your mom."

My breath hitched in my throat. "For... Mom?"

"Yeah," he said softly, taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. "Charge for tickets, get local sponsors, raise money for her treatment and research. Something real we can do together once school is done."

I stared at him, completely struck speechless. The quiet kitchen suddenly felt overwhelming, memories of the hospital, the terrifying diagnosis, and the crushing weight of medical bills flashing through my mind all at once.

"Harper?" Justin searched my face, holding my hand tightly.

I stood completely frozen, my heart pounding violently against my ribs as his words sank in.

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