Faking It With The Hockey Star

Justin’s POV

I didn’t trust it. Not for a second.

I stared at my phone for almost a full minute before opening the message again.

Dad: Come by the house tomorrow. I’d like to have lunch with you.

Lunch. My father wanted lunch.

I almost laughed. In twenty-three years, the man had never invited me to lunch. Not once. So why now?

I leaned back against the couch before opening my messages. The first person I texted was Harper.

Me: Dad wants me to come over tomorrow.

She replied almost instantly.

Harper: That’s... weird. Are you okay with going? Just be careful.

I smiled. Then I opened another chat. Grandma.

Me: Dad invited me for lunch tomorrow.

Her typing bubble appeared immediately.

Grandma: Interesting.

A second message followed.

Grandma: Whatever he says, don’t let him pressure you into anything.

Then—

Grandma: Trust your instincts.

I stared at the screen. Exactly. My instincts were screaming.

The next afternoon, I pulled into the driveway of my father’s house. Nothing had changed. Perfect lawn. Luxury cars. Everything looked exactly the same. Cold.

A housekeeper opened the front door before I even knocked. "Good afternoon, Mr. Callahan."

I nodded politely. "Thanks."

She led me toward the dining room. Dad was already seated, and Diane sat across from him. Both smiled the moment I walked in. That alone almost made me turn around.

"Justin." Dad stood. "I’m glad you came."

I nodded cautiously. "Me too."

Lie.

He pulled out the chair beside him. "Sit."

I froze for half a second. He had never done that before. Not when I was ten. Not when I graduated high school. Not after winning championships. Never. Yet here he was, holding out a chair like we were a normal father and son having Sunday lunch. Something wasn’t right.

I sat anyway. The housekeeper stepped forward, pouring water into my glass before quietly excusing herself.

Lunch had already been served. Grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread still warm from the oven. Even my favorite lemon tart sat untouched in the middle of the table. I stared at it. Did he remember my favorite dessert? Or had someone else reminded him?

"Dig in," Dad said.

I picked up my fork. The food tasted fine, but I couldn’t swallow any of it. For several long minutes, the only sound in the room was cutlery against porcelain. It was painfully quiet.

"So..." Dad finally broke the silence. "I watched your game."

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. "You did?"

He nodded. "You played well."

Played well. Three words. Twenty-three years. That was the first compliment I had ever received from him about hockey. I should have been happy. Instead, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Thanks."

"I heard the scouts were impressed."

"They were."

"Good."

Another silence fell over us. Diane smiled pleasantly from across the table. "Congratulations, Justin. You should be proud of yourself."

I looked at her. This was the same woman who had called Harper a gold-digging whore. The same woman who had spent years pretending I didn’t exist. Now she was congratulating me. It felt surreal.

Dad poured himself another glass of water. "So... how’s school?"

"Fine."

"And Harper?"

There it was. I looked up. "What about Harper?"

He shrugged, cutting another piece of salmon. "I was just asking. You seem serious about her."

I studied his face, looking for an ulterior motive or a crack in his defense. He looked relaxed. Too relaxed.

"She’s doing well."

"I’m glad." Another smile stretched across his face, one that didn’t belong there. "So... your documentary is helping her?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"I hear she’s quite talented."

Now I was certain. Someone had been feeding him information. My father didn’t even know what course I was studying six months ago, and now he knew Harper was making a documentary? Who had told him? Why?

The room suddenly felt smaller, and my appetite disappeared completely. I laid my fork down. "Dad."

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Can we stop pretending?"

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You didn’t invite me here because you suddenly wanted to spend time together. You’ve never invited me to lunch before. Not once. So what’s really going on?"

Silence settled over the table. Dad sighed, and for the first time since I arrived, his smile disappeared.

"I suppose you’re right."

He reached beside his chair and picked up a slim black folder. "I’ve hired someone."

My stomach tightened. "A PR consultant."

I blinked. "...What?"

"They’re one of the best in the country. They’ve worked with professional athletes, and they’ll help prepare you for the league." He calmly opened the folder. "Media training, sponsorship negotiations, public appearances, crisis management."

He slid a business card across the polished table toward me. "They’ll contact you Tuesday morning."

I didn’t even glance at it. "You hired someone without asking me?"

Dad looked genuinely confused. "I’m your father. I don’t need your permission to help you."

The sentence landed harder than he intended. Help me? Where had this help been when Mom died? When I was sleeping at Grandma’s house because I couldn’t stand living here? When Diane made me feel like a guest in my own home?

I laughed quietly. "You’ve never helped me before."

His jaw tightened for a second before his smile returned, practiced and controlled. "I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I’m trying now."

Before I could answer, Diane leaned forward. "Justin, your father has been worried. We’ve all been worried. You’ve got so much attention on you now, and the family name is attached to everything you do. There are cameras everywhere. People are watching." She smiled softly. "We just want to protect you."

Protect me. Not support me. Not love me. Protect the image.

I finally understood. This wasn’t about me. It never had been. It was about the headlines, the endorsements, the NHL, the cameras, and the family name.

I leaned back slowly. "So that’s what this is."

Dad frowned. "What?"

"You don’t suddenly want a relationship. You suddenly want control."

Neither of them spoke. Neither denied it, and that told me everything.

Quietly, I slipped my phone beneath the table and typed out a message.

Me: Something’s off. Dad hired me a PR consultant without asking. I think there’s more going on.

I sent it to Harper, then to Grandma. Less than ten seconds later, Grandma replied.

Grandma: I thought so. Don’t agree to anything. Leave. Now.

My heartbeat slowed. If Grandma was worried, then I wasn’t just being paranoid. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stood.

Dad looked surprised. "You’re leaving already?"

"I am. I appreciate lunch, but I don’t need a PR manager. I already have people I trust."

Dad stood too. "Justin, I’m only trying to help."

I looked him straight in the eyes. "Then next time, ask me first."

I turned toward the door. Behind me, Dad’s voice stopped me one last time. "Oh."

I paused.

"I’m taking a trip to Cancún next week," he said with a smile. "If you’re free, why don’t you come with us?"

Another strange offer. Another thing he had never suggested before. I looked at him for a long moment. "I’ll think about it."

It was the safest answer I could give. Without another word, I walked out.

The moment I reached my car, my phone buzzed. Harper.

Harper: Are you okay?

I smiled despite everything.

Me: Yeah. Just leaving now.

Another message appeared from Grandma.

Grandma: Come see me tomorrow. I think it’s time I tell you why your father suddenly remembers he has a son.

I stared at the screen as a chill ran down my spine. Whatever game my father was playing, Grandma already knew the rules.

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