Faking It With The Hockey Star

Justin’s POV

The arena looked completely different on media day. The ice was still there. The familiar smell of sharpened skates and fresh surface still lingered in the air. But instead of the usual chaos of practice, television cameras, university banners, photographers, reporters, and lighting rigs had taken over the rink entirely. It almost didn’t feel like home.

Players walked around in tailored suits instead of practice jerseys. Some looked relaxed. Others looked like they were about to sit an exam they hadn’t studied for. Mason tugged at his collar for what had to be the tenth time since we’d arrived. "I swear these things are designed to choke people," he muttered.

"You’ve been complaining for twenty minutes," I said.

"Because I’m dying," he replied.

"You look fine."

"I look like an insurance salesman."

"You kind of do," I agreed.

He shot me a look just as Coach Reynolds appeared and walked toward us. The joking stopped immediately. Coach looked at each of us slowly before folding his arms. "Media day isn’t about saying the perfect thing," he said. "It’s about not saying the stupid thing."

A few of the guys chuckled. Coach pointed at me. "Justin. You remember everything we practiced yesterday?"

"Yes, Coach," I said.

"Mason?"

"I’m good," Mason replied.

Coach nodded once. "They’re going to ask about hockey. They’re going to ask about scouts. They’re going to ask about your personal lives. If you don’t want to answer something, don’t. No reporter is entitled to your private life." He looked around at everyone. "Answer honestly. But answer intelligently. And whatever happens," he nodded toward the arena entrance where dozens of reporters were already waiting, "don’t let them control the conversation."

"Yes, Coach," everyone answered.

His expression softened. "Good. Now go represent this program the right way."

As everyone scattered toward their interview stations, my eyes instinctively searched the arena. Students. Camera crews. Faculty. Photographers. No Harper. I frowned. She’d said she was coming early. I pulled out my phone.

Justin: Where are you? I can’t find you.

Barely ten seconds passed.

Harper: 😂 Setting up cameras. Ava and Mia are helping me. I can see you. You’re just looking in the wrong direction.

I smiled and looked toward the upper media platform. Sure enough, three tiny figures waved enthusiastically. I lifted one hand. Harper immediately waved both arms dramatically. Show-off. Another message appeared.

Harper: Good luck, my love ❤️ You’ll do amazing.

I typed back quickly.

Justin: Stay with Ava and Mia. If anyone approaches you, don’t respond. I’ll handle everything.

She answered almost immediately.

Harper: I know. Go be amazing. I’m cheering for you.

I slipped my phone into my pocket. Just like that, the knot in my stomach loosened. Funny. Hundreds of people believed I performed best under pressure. The truth was simpler than that. I performed best when I knew Harper was somewhere nearby.

"Justin Hayes." A staff member motioned me forward. I adjusted my jacket and walked toward the interview area. Bright lights hit my face immediately. Three cameras. Five reporters. Microphones. Not intimidating. Just different.

The first few questions were exactly what I’d expected. "How’s preparation been?" Easy. "What have you improved most this season?" I gave clean, rehearsed answers. Consistency. Decision-making. Leadership. "What are your expectations for scout week?" "I just want to play my game. If I do that, the rest takes care of itself." Pens scribbled. Cameras clicked.

Then one reporter leaned forward. "Justin. Can I ask something outside hockey?"

I noticed Coach Reynolds glance over from across the room. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched. I smiled politely. "You can ask. Whether I answer is another story."

The reporters laughed. The reporter smiled. "Fair enough. There’s been a lot of discussion online. Some people believe your relationship with Harper Brooks is simply a way to repair your public image. They’re saying it’s all for publicity. Is your relationship real, or is it good PR?"

The room fell completely silent. I took a slow breath. Then smiled. A real one. "There isn’t a single fake thing about Harper," I said.

The reporter waited. "So the relationship is genuine?"

"It’s the most genuine thing in my life," I said. The words felt right the moment they left my mouth. I continued. "People know me as a hockey player. They know my family. They know headlines and rumors. But Harper never treated me like any of those things. She treats me like Justin. Just Justin." I couldn’t help smiling again. "She walked into my life when everything else felt like it was falling apart. My relationship with her isn’t a publicity stunt. It isn’t damage control. It isn’t marketing." I paused. "I love her. And I’m incredibly lucky she loves me back."

Silence. One reporter smiled. Another quietly lowered her notebook. I leaned forward slightly. "Now," I grinned, "can we please go back to hockey?"

Laughter broke the tension immediately.

The next questions came much easier. Training routines. The upcoming game. Leadership. Team chemistry. Then someone asked, "Your former teammate Ethan won’t be participating this season. Any thoughts?"

I kept my expression completely neutral. "No comment."

"Do you think—"

"No comment," I said again.

The reporter nodded respectfully and moved on. Exactly like Coach had taught us. Never give a fire oxygen.

Almost an hour later the interviews finally wrapped up. I rubbed the back of my neck as photographers packed away their equipment. My cheeks actually hurt from smiling. Across the rink I spotted Harper. She had one eye pressed against her camera, completely focused, completely in her element. She caught me looking. Without a word she gave me a thumbs-up. I pointed toward the exit. Home? She smiled and nodded. Home.

That sounded perfect. One quiet evening. No reporters. No family drama. No rumors. Just us.

As I reached for my phone to text her, it vibrated first. Unknown Number. Another message appeared before I could even think about deleting it.

Nice interview. Let’s see if the scouts still feel the same after tomorrow.

I stared at it for one long second. Then I locked my screen and slid the phone back into my pocket without reacting. Not today. Tomorrow was the biggest game of my life and I had spent too long working toward it to let an anonymous message from someone hiding behind a screen steal even one minute of my focus. Whoever was behind this wanted me rattled. Distracted. Off balance. They weren’t getting it. Not tonight.

I found Harper near the media platform and reached for her hand. She looked up at me, reading my face the way she always did. "Everything okay?" she asked quietly.

"Everything’s fine," I said. And for tonight, I meant it. "Let’s go home."

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