Faking It With The Hockey Star

Justin’s POV

By the time we got back to my apartment, both of us were exhausted. Not physically. Mentally. Media day had drained every ounce of energy I had left in a way that two-hour practices never quite managed.

The moment I unlocked the front door, Harper walked straight past me like she owned the place. I smiled. She didn’t even pause to ask permission. She headed directly for the kitchen. "I know you’re hungry," she said. "So am I."

I laughed as I dropped my keys onto the counter. "I was trying not to admit it."

She opened the refrigerator and immediately frowned. "Justin." She held up a container of leftover fried chicken and looked at me like I’d committed a crime. "No."

I blinked innocently. "What do you mean, no?"

"You have a game tomorrow," she said, pointing the container at me like it was evidence in a courtroom. "You are not eating this."

"It still looks good," I said.

"It looked good yesterday too."

"It tastes better today."

She narrowed her eyes. "Justin."

I sighed dramatically. "Fine."

She smiled. "Good." I reached for another shelf. "What about—" "No," she said, before I’d even touched anything. "I haven’t even shown you what I’m reaching for." "I already know," she said. I stared at her. "How?" She turned back to the refrigerator. "Because I’ve been dating you long enough."

I laughed despite myself. "You’ve become genuinely terrifying."

"I prefer responsible," she replied, pulling out a carton of eggs. "We’re making something quick."

"I thought girlfriends were supposed to spoil their boyfriends," I said.

"We do," she replied, pointing the spatula at me. "After they win."

I raised both hands. "Yes, ma’am."

"Much better," she said.

Twenty minutes later we were sitting on the couch eating scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t need to be. Harper stole one of the strawberries from my plate without looking up.

"I saw that," I said.

"You saw nothing," she replied.

"You’re lucky you’re cute."

"I know," she said, smiling.

For a while neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill every second with words. I hadn’t felt that kind of quiet in a long time before Harper.

Then she looked at me. "What happened today?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"When you checked your phone. You disappeared for a second." She tilted her head. "I know your face now. You get this little wrinkle right here," she said, gently touching the space between my eyebrows, "when you’re pretending something doesn’t bother you."

I smiled. She knew me too well. "It’s nothing," I said.

She gave me a look that clearly communicated she didn’t believe a single word of that. I reached across the couch and took her hand. "It can wait," I said. Because it had to. Whatever that message meant, whatever was coming tomorrow, it wasn’t more important than this. Tonight was mine. I wasn’t giving whoever was behind those messages the satisfaction of stealing another night’s sleep.

I squeezed her hand. "Come here."

She smiled softly. "I’m editing," she said, nodding toward her laptop sitting open on the coffee table. "I promised Professor Silas I’d finish organizing today’s footage."

"You can do it tomorrow," I said.

"But—"

"Harper." She looked at me. I hesitated. "Can we just cuddle?"

She blinked. "That’s all?"

"That’s all," I said. For the first time all day I sounded tired. Really tired.

She looked at me for another second. Then she closed the laptop. "Okay," she said simply.

She stood, pulled off her oversized sweater, and climbed onto the couch beside me. I wrapped an arm around her the moment she settled against my chest. She fit there perfectly. Like she’d always belonged. For several minutes neither of us said anything. I listened to her breathe. She traced lazy circles over the back of my hand. The apartment was completely quiet. No reporters. No cameras. No family drama. No anonymous messages. Just us.

Eventually I broke the silence. "Do you know how much I love you?" I said.

She laughed quietly. "That sounds suspicious."

"It isn’t," I said.

She tipped her head back to look at me. "Then what’s this about?"

I smiled. "The first time I saw you, I thought you were beautiful." She groaned playfully. "I’m serious," I said. "I noticed you before you ever noticed me. You always walked into class carrying too much. Your camera bag, your books, your coffee. And somehow you still looked like you were carrying the weight of the world." Her smile slowly faded. "I wanted to talk to you," I continued. "So why didn’t you?" she asked. "I was a coward." She laughed. "You?" I nudged her gently. "Every time I worked up the courage, you were with Ethan. So I left it alone. I figured if you were happy, that should be enough."

I looked down at our intertwined fingers. "But then I started looking for you. Every lecture. Every hallway. Every practice. If you weren’t there, I noticed." I swallowed. "And one day it hit me that I wasn’t just noticing you anymore. I was waiting to see you. That’s when I knew I was in trouble."

Her eyes glistened. "You never told me that," she whispered.

"I know," I said. "I should have." I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "So hear it now. I love you. Not because you’re making a documentary. Not because you believe in me. Not because you’ve stood beside me through all of this." I rested my forehead against hers. "I love you because you’re you. And I need you to never doubt that."

She smiled through watery eyes. "I won’t," she said. She kissed me softly. "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked.

"For choosing me," she said.

I laughed quietly. "There was never anyone else."

She buried her face against my chest again. "Come on," she said, yawning. "Let’s get some sleep."

I kissed the top of her head. Tomorrow would be chaos. Tomorrow the scouts would arrive. Tomorrow everything would change. But tonight, holding her like this, the rest of the world could wait.

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