Faking It With The Hockey Star

Justin’s POV

I walked out of the exam hall feeling as if I had barely survived a brutal war. My shoulders were locked tight, my head was pounding with a dull, rhythmic ache, and all I wanted in the world was a cold drink, real food, and about twelve hours of unbroken sleep but right now, it was not possible.

I pulled out my phone, letting out a breath when the first notification waiting on the screen wasn’t from my father. Thank God.

It was a text from Harper.

I opened the message and nearly forgot how to breathe.

It was a selfie. She was wearing the customized hockey jersey she had made for me, the one with my name and number stitched across it. Her camera hung casually from one hand, and she was giving the lens that sly, knowing little smile she always wore when she knew exactly what she was doing to me, teasing me and all.

I stared at the picture, running a hand down my face. "Damn."

She looked ridiculously, insanely good. My girlfriend was going to be the literal death of me.

I zoomed in for a second, then immediately zoomed back out. No. I needed to pull myself together. Tonight was definitely not the night to lose my composure.

I shoved my phone into my pocket, but as soon as I took a step, the floor beneath me tilted sharply to the side. I stopped dead in my tracks, gripping the nearby wall.

Okay, that wasn’t good.

I hadn’t eaten. Again. I rubbed my forehead, wincing as a sharp pulse of pain shot behind my eyes. "Shit."

I had completely forgotten to eat. Between cramming for final exams, navigating family drama, planning the event, and dealing with everything else, food had somehow slipped entirely off my list of priorities. It was a dangerous oversight, and I knew I needed to get something into my system before I stepped onto the ice.

I barely took two steps before Mason appeared out of nowhere, slapping my shoulder hard enough to send a jolt through my spine. "Bro!" he shouted, his face lit up. "We’re done!"

A tired laugh escaped my chest. "We’re actually done."

"Graduates, man!"

"Finally."

Within seconds, the rest of the guys poured out of the testing center. Daps, heavy hugs, and celebratory shouts echoed down the hallway. I laughed as someone nearly knocked me off my feet in the chaos.

"Where’s the party tonight?" someone yelled.

"Later! Rink first!"

I shook my head, smiling through the fog in my brain. A couple of girls from the university approached with congratulations, but I politely stepped aside and kept my distance. I had zero interest. I wasn’t about to give anyone a single reason to spin another stupid rumor or print another headline. I had Harper, and she was the only person who mattered.

Mason pulled me into a quick headlock. "Let me buy you a drink. Let’s go."

"Where?"

"The rink, man! Let me drive."

I grinned weakly. "Let’s go."

By the time we pulled into the arena parking lot, a heavy knot formed in my gut. I realized just how massive tonight had actually become. The lot was completely jammed. Cars were backed up down the entire avenue, hazard lights flashing, while streams of people walked toward the gates wearing jerseys and carrying signs.

The stands inside were packed to the absolute brim. There wasn’t a single empty seat in sight.

I stared in utter disbelief. "What the hell?"

Mason let out a breathless laugh. "Bro, you did this."

"I just announced a small charity game," I mumbled, my throat dry.

"You announced a charity game with your name attached to it," Mason corrected, clapping me on the back.

My phone buzzed in my palm, and I answered Harper’s call instantly. "Hey, babe."

"How many people are out there?" she asked, her voice crackling with high-energy excitement.

"How many tickets did we even sell?"

She laughed softly. "You mean how many tickets were available? All of them, Justin. Every single one."

I stopped in my tracks outside the locker room doors. "All of them?"

"We’re already over two hundred thousand dollars just from ticket sales," she replied, her voice trembling with quiet pride.

My mouth dropped open. "What?"

"And people are still donating on the live portal," she added. "Last time I refreshed the page, we were pushing almost five hundred thousand dollars."

I stared into the roaring arena, a sudden wave of pressure crushing down on my chest. "Fuck," I breathed, running a hand over my damp forehead. "I didn’t think it would get this big."

"Justin, you posted it to your personal pages," she reminded me gently. "People care about you."

"I just wanted to raise enough to help with your mom’s treatment," I said softly.

"Justin."

"I love you, Harper."

"I love you too. Where are you?"

"Just heading into the locker room," I said. "Where are you?"

"I’m up in the VIP box with Mom, your grandparents, my family, and others," she said, her tone switching into organized event-planner mode. "I’m making sure everyone is settled and security is tight."

"Okay. Good."

"Go be a star," she cheered softly. "I’ll handle everything up here."

"Yes, ma’am. Got it."

A second after hanging up, my phone vibrated with a text from her.

Harper: Did you eat something? I packed food and left it in your locker.

I stared at the screen, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of my neck. Shit. If I admitted that my stomach was entirely empty and my vision was swimming, she would pull me off the ice herself.

Me: I’m fine. Eating now.

It was a outright lie. My head was pounding so hard now that the thought of heavy food made my stomach churn. Instead, I grabbed a giant bottle of water from the cooler and chugged half of it down. My throat was burning, but I forced myself to walk into the locker room.

I just had to pull through tonight.

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