Faking It With The Hockey Star

Justin’s POV

The text sat on my screen long after I’d stopped reading it.

Coach Reynolds: Come to my house. Now. We need to talk.

No explanation. No context. Just those eight words. Across the table, Harper frowned. "You’ve gone quiet," she said.

I looked up too quickly. "It’s Coach."

"Is everything okay?"

I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. "Probably." She wasn’t convinced. "I need to go see him."

"Right now?"

I nodded. "I’m sorry." I glanced at the half-eaten fries between us. "I know we were supposed to spend the afternoon together."

Her expression softened immediately. "It’s okay."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It isn’t. I promised I’d spend today with you and now I’m leaving halfway through lunch."

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "You don’t have to apologize every time life happens," she said.

How did she always know exactly what to say? "I’ll make it up to you," I said.

"You don’t have to."

"I want to."

A small smile appeared on her face. "Okay."

The drive to her house was quieter than usual. Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. Every red light felt longer than the last. When I pulled into the driveway, neither of us reached for the door immediately.

"I’m sorry," I said again before I could stop myself.

Harper laughed softly. "Justin."

"What?"

"You’ve apologized three times in twenty minutes."

"I know," I admitted.

"You really don’t have to," she said.

I rested my forehead against the steering wheel for a second. "I just hate disappointing you."

"You didn’t," she said. "You came. You stayed. You made me laugh. That’s enough."

I looked at her. Sometimes I genuinely wondered how I’d gotten this lucky.

"I’ll call you later," I said.

"You’d better," she replied. She leaned across the center console and kissed me. Slow. Gentle. Just enough to quiet the noise in my head. When she pulled away, she searched my face. "Text me?"

"I will," I said.

"I’m serious," she said.

"I know," I replied.

"I’m worried," she admitted.

I brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I’ll be okay." She nodded, though I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced. She climbed out of the car. Before closing the door, she looked back and smiled. "I love you."

The words hit me with the same force every single time. "I love you too," I said.

She shut the door and disappeared inside. The moment I knew she was safely home, I drove.

Ten minutes later, I was pounding on Coach Reynolds’ front door. It opened almost immediately. Mrs. Reynolds blinked in surprise. "Justin?"

"I’m sorry," I said, already out of breath. "Is Coach home?"

She studied my face for a second before stepping aside. "He’s in his study."

"Thank you," I said, crossing the house without slowing down.

The study door was half open. I pushed it wider. "Coach."

He looked up from his desk. "You came."

"You wanted to see me," I said.

He motioned toward the chair. "Sit."

"I’d rather stand," I replied.

He sighed. "Suit yourself." For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Finally, Coach folded his hands. "The scouts are coming."

"I know," I said.

"The entire league is watching."

"I know."

"And right now," he slid his tablet across the desk, "this is what they’re seeing."

It was the video. Me telling Ethan to let go of Harper. Millions of views. Thousands of comments. I looked back at him. "So?"

"I need you focused," he said, leaning forward.

"I am," I replied.

"I need hockey to be the biggest story attached to your name right now."

"It is."

"Justin." His voice hardened. "No. It isn’t." He tapped the screen. "This is."

I clenched my jaw. "I didn’t start that."

"I know," he said.

"I didn’t touch him."

"I know."

"I told him to let go of my girlfriend."

"I know."

"Then what exactly did I do wrong?"

Coach rubbed a hand over his face. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because perception matters." The words landed harder than I expected. "The NHL isn’t just drafting a player. They’re drafting a brand. A reputation. A future investment." He met my eyes. "And right now, your name is attached to constant drama."

I laughed once, without humor. "So what? You want me to stop defending Harper?"

"I want you to stop becoming the headline," he said.

I stared at him. Then came the words I never expected to hear from him. "You need to think very carefully about whether this relationship is helping you right now."

The room fell completely silent. "What?" I said.

"I’m saying—"

"I heard what you said." My voice cracked. "No." I shook my head slowly. "No. You can’t ask me that."

"I’m asking you to think," he said.

"You’re asking me to choose," I replied.

Coach didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Something inside me broke quietly open. "Do you know what my life looked like before Harper?" My throat tightened. "I barely slept. I was angry all the time. I couldn’t stand being around my own family." I swallowed hard. "I wanted to quit."

Coach’s expression shifted slightly. "I was done," I continued. "With hockey. With everything. I kept showing up because I didn’t know what else to do." My voice grew quieter. "Then she walked into the rink." I laughed weakly through the ache in my chest. "She didn’t ask me to save her. She didn’t care who my dad was. She didn’t care that people thought I was some spoiled rich kid. She just saw me."

I looked straight at him. "You keep calling her a distraction. She’s not. She’s the only reason I’ve stayed sane. The only reason I still love this game. The only reason I wake up excited instead of exhausted." A tear slipped free before I could stop it. "I should’ve walked away from hockey months ago. I didn’t. Because every time I wanted to quit, she reminded me who I was."

My voice finally broke. "And now you’re asking me to let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to me." I looked at him with everything I had left. "I can’t. I won’t." I paused. "Please. Don’t do this to me."

The room went silent.

Behind me, soft footsteps. Mrs. Reynolds had been standing quietly in the doorway. She looked from me to her husband, then walked over without a word and placed a glass of water in my hands. "Drink," she said gently.

I hadn’t realized how hard I was breathing until that moment. My hands were shaking. She waited until I took a sip before resting a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Honey," she said, looking at Coach with the quiet authority of someone thirty years into a marriage. "Can I speak with you for a minute?"

Coach hesitated. She gave him a look that left no room for argument. He stood. The two of them stepped into the hallway together. The study door remained slightly open. I could hear only muffled voices.

I stared at the glass in my hands. My chest still ached. I wasn’t afraid of losing the scouts. I wasn’t afraid of losing hockey. I was afraid that someone I respected might actually believe my life would be better without her.

I lowered my head. The words barely made it out above a whisper. "Please. Don’t make me lose her."

The muffled conversation outside stopped. The study door began to open.

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