Faking It With The Hockey Star

Justin’s POV

The team meeting wasn’t held in the locker room.

Coach led us down the hallway and into one of the university’s conference rooms instead. That was my first clue something was different. There wasn’t a whiteboard covered in drills. No game footage cued up and waiting to be dissected. Instead, there was a projector, a long conference table, and a woman I’d never met before sitting at the far end of it. She looked to be in her early thirties, dressed in a navy blazer with a laptop already open in front of her. She looked calm in the particular way people who are very good at their jobs look calm.

Coach closed the door behind us. "Take a seat," he said. The room went quiet immediately. Once everyone had settled, he nodded toward the woman. "This is Melissa Grant. She’s worked with professional athletes, Olympic teams, and NIL partnerships for the last decade."

Melissa smiled politely around the table. "Nice to meet you all."

Coach folded his arms. "The scouts arrive in three days." Nobody breathed. "They’re not just watching how you play." He nodded toward Melissa. She stood.

"They’re watching everything," she said.

She clicked a remote. A slide appeared on the wall behind her.

YOUR DIGITAL FOOTPRINT.

"I know most of you think scouting is about goals, assists, skating speed, and game statistics," she said, looking around the table. "It used to be." Another slide appeared.

TODAY, TEAMS DRAFT PEOPLE. NOT JUST PLAYERS.

"They’re drafting future representatives of their organizations. People who will stand in front of microphones. People who’ll sign endorsement deals, appear in commercials, give interviews at two in the morning after a playoff loss." She paused. "People whose names become headlines whether they want them to or not."

I shifted in my chair. She looked directly at me. "And some of you already know what that feels like."

A picture filled the screen. Me. Harper. The video outside her house. The confrontation with Ethan. Millions of views. The room became uncomfortably quiet. Melissa didn’t smile.

"This," she said, pointing at the screen, "is exactly why I’m here."

Coach stepped forward. "Justin handled this situation well. He stayed calm. He didn’t escalate. He protected another student." Melissa nodded in agreement. She clicked again. Another slide appeared.

GOOD DECISION.

Underneath it, in smaller text: Still became national content.

"That’s the reality of modern sports," she said. "You can do everything right and still wake up trending." Ryan quietly muttered from two seats down, "That’s terrifying." Melissa looked at him. "It is," she admitted. "Which is exactly why media training matters."

For the next hour, she didn’t talk about hockey once.

She talked about microphones. Interviews. Headlines. Social media algorithms. How a five-second clip could follow a person’s career for years. How silence could be misread and how one wrong word in a post-game interview could become a week-long news cycle. She was methodical and precise about all of it, laying everything out without drama, which somehow made it more unsettling than if she’d been dramatic.

Then she looked at me. "Justin." I sat up straighter. "Let’s practice." She held out a microphone across the table.

I couldn’t help laughing. "Seriously?"

"Very," she said.

The room chuckled. Melissa smiled and waited. I took the microphone. She didn’t waste any time. "Justin. The internet says your relationship with Harper Hayes has become a distraction this season. Has it affected your performance?"

Every eye in the room landed on me at once. For a split second I wanted to answer honestly. What I wanted to say was, Harper is the reason I haven’t fallen apart. Instead I remembered what Coach had drilled into us. Take a breath. Think first. Then answer.

"My relationship hasn’t changed my commitment to hockey," I said, keeping my voice even. "If anything, it’s reminded me why I love this game. My focus this weekend is helping my team win."

Melissa nodded slowly. "Good. But too personal. Try again." I blinked. "Remember," she said, "every answer becomes tomorrow’s headline. Less emotion. More message."

I nodded. She repeated the question. This time I answered differently. "My focus is on my teammates, our preparation, and the game ahead. I’m grateful for everyone supporting us and excited for the opportunity."

She smiled. "Better." Another question. "Do you regret confronting Ethan?" I answered without hesitating. "I regret that the situation happened. I’m glad everyone is safe." She nodded. Another question. "What do you think about the online rumors surrounding your girlfriend?" I paused for exactly one second. "I don’t comment on rumors. I know who Harper is. I’d rather spend my energy supporting her than arguing online."

Melissa smiled. "There it is." Coach crossed his arms with a quiet look of satisfaction. "That’s the answer," he said.

By the time the session ended, I was more mentally exhausted than after any two-hour practice I could remember. Melissa packed away her laptop. "One last thing," she said. We looked up. "Never forget. The media doesn’t decide who you are. But it can decide which version of you the world sees." The room stayed quiet for a moment. Then Coach dismissed everyone.

As my teammates filed out, I stayed behind to gather my notes. The conference room door opened again. Harper stepped inside. She’d been waiting outside after finishing her class, and the sight of her immediately made the tension in my shoulders drop about three inches.

She smiled. "So. How was media school?"

I laughed. "I’d rather do two extra practices."

She walked over. "I heard some of it through the door," she said, her voice softening. "I didn’t realize how much you have to think about every single word you say."

I shrugged. "I guess I’ve gotten used to it."

She shook her head slowly. "No. You’ve learned to carry it." She said it quietly, like she’d just noticed something she should have seen earlier. "There’s a difference."

She was right. I hadn’t even put words to it until she said it out loud. She reached for my hand. "I’m really proud of you," she said.

"For what?" I asked.

"You stayed calm. You answered every question without pretending to be someone you’re not." She smiled. "That’s harder than people think."

Before I could answer, Coach appeared in the doorway again. "Hayes." I turned. His expression had shifted completely. The easy satisfaction from the session was gone, replaced by something careful and serious. "I just got a call from the scouting committee."

My stomach tightened. "What happened?"

He took a slow breath. "They’ve moved your interview." I frowned. "What do you mean?" He held my gaze directly. "They don’t want to interview you after the game anymore." A pause that lasted just long enough to make my heart rate climb. "They’re interviewing you tomorrow morning."

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