Faking It With The Hockey Star

Harper’s POV

The moment Grandma Eleanor’s car disappeared through the gates, the house fell completely silent. I sat on the couch for another minute. Maybe two. Then my curiosity got the better of me entirely.

I walked back toward the hallway. The door I’d opened earlier was still slightly ajar. I pushed it wider. A faint creak echoed through the room. Dust floated through the beams of sunlight pouring in between the half-closed blinds. Nobody had stepped inside this office in a very long time. But it didn’t feel abandoned. It felt preserved. Like someone had simply stood up one day, walked out, and never returned.

I stepped inside carefully. A large mahogany desk faced the windows. Stacks of neatly arranged folders sat exactly where they’d been left. A leather chair remained pushed halfway under the desk. Even a coffee mug still rested beside a coaster. Empty. Untouched. My fingers brushed lightly across the desktop. A thin layer of dust coated everything.

I frowned. Why would anyone leave an office exactly like this?

My eyes drifted toward the shelves. Awards. Plaques. Photographs everywhere. One framed picture caught my attention and I picked it up carefully. A smiling woman stood between a much younger Grandma Eleanor and Grandpa. She looked elegant. Confident. Something about her smile tugged at my memory. I’d seen that face before. Justin’s room. The photograph beside his bed.

My heart skipped. "This is Justin’s mom," I whispered.

I gently placed the frame back exactly where I’d found it. The shelves were filled with more photographs. Business conferences. Charity galas. Ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Award ceremonies. One showed her standing beside a hospital building. Another showed her accepting what looked like a business award. She looked accomplished. Successful. Alive. No wonder Justin adored her. She looked like the kind of woman people naturally gravitated toward.

My gaze drifted lower. Dozens of framed newspaper clippings. Magazine covers. Articles. Every single one featured her. I didn’t read them. It somehow felt too personal. Instead I walked slowly around the room. Finance books. Leadership titles. Business strategy. Medical philanthropy. Everything perfectly organized. Everything completely untouched. Not in months. In years.

"Why leave all of this here?" I said quietly to the empty room.

It didn’t feel forgotten. It felt protected. As though someone had decided the day she left would remain frozen in place forever.

A familiar engine rumbled outside. Grandma. I quickly placed everything exactly where I’d found it, took one last look around the office, and quietly pulled the door shut behind me. One question lingered as I hurried back into the living room.

Why has no one come back?

The front door opened. "I’m back!" Grandma Eleanor came in carrying two grocery bags, slightly out of breath. "I’m sorry that took longer than expected," she said. "My neighbor caught me halfway down the street." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "You know how people are."

"I think you’re pretty cool," I said, smiling.

She laughed. "I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the implied contrast there."

We carried the bags into the kitchen together. She began unpacking fruit, vegetables, and fresh bread with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d been feeding people her whole life. "How’s your mother doing?" she asked.

The question made me smile. "Better. She’s using the walker more now. She’s even started complaining about us fussing over her."

Grandma laughed. "That’s a very good sign."

"It really is," I agreed. "We have another doctor’s appointment soon. Hopefully more good news."

She nodded thoughtfully before asking more quietly, "And your father?"

My smile disappeared. I looked down at the countertop. "He still messages me," I said.

Grandma stopped unpacking. "Still?"

"I block one number. He finds another. Sometimes I don’t even know who the message is coming from until I read it." I paused. "It always ends up being him."

She walked around the kitchen island and stood beside me. Then gently placed her hand over mine. "Have you told Justin?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"Why not?"

"He’s already carrying enough," I said. "The scouts. Hockey. Everything happening with his dad. I don’t want him worrying about this on top of everything else."

She was quiet for a moment. "Sweetheart," she said finally, her voice soft. "You don’t protect people by carrying everything alone." I swallowed hard. "If he loves you, let him stand beside you." She squeezed my hand. "And if your father becomes more aggressive, I want you to tell Justin. And tell me. Immediately."

I nodded. "I will."

She studied my face for a moment longer before her expression warmed. "Good." Then she walked toward the counter and picked up a pie tin wrapped carefully in foil. "Here," she said, holding it out.

I blinked. "What’s this?"

"Apple pie," she said. "For you."

I laughed. "You really don’t have to."

"I know." She pushed it gently into my hands. "But I want to."

"It’s too much," I said.

She folded her arms. "I’m not Justin. I don’t negotiate."

I burst out laughing. "You’re both impossible."

"Runs in the family," she said. She gave me the exact same look Justin always gave me whenever I tried to refuse his help. I recognized it immediately.

"Take the pie," she said.

I smiled helplessly. "Yes, ma’am."

She looked very pleased with herself. "If you don’t eat it, your mother will. And your brother. And Emma." She smiled. "I can’t finish desserts the way I used to."

I hugged her tightly. She hugged me right back without hesitation. "You’re family," she said simply.

Those two words stayed with me the entire drive home.

Emma smelled the pie before I’d even set it on the counter. "No way. Apple pie?" Noah appeared from somewhere in the hallway with the speed of someone who had been waiting for exactly this moment. "Who made that?"

"Grandma Eleanor," I said.

Their faces lit up simultaneously. Mom smiled from the couch. "That woman spoils all of us."

"She really does," I agreed.

For the next half hour the house was filled with nothing but laughter, pie, and Noah making a passionate case for why he deserved the biggest slice. It was normal. Wonderfully, quietly normal. The kind of evening I’d stopped being able to take for granted.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I carried my new laptop into my room and opened the editing software. Tomorrow would be busy. The documentary. The team. The scouts. I needed to be ready.

But as the screen lit up in front of me, my mind kept drifting back to that dusty office. The untouched desk. The photographs. The awards. The preserved, unbroken silence of a room nobody had entered in years.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d walked into something that still had secrets left to tell. And somehow, without being able to explain why, I had a feeling those secrets were about to find me.

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