Page 58 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

Blocking the view of her, I try my best to block the cameras from getting her face on anything, but they know her name.

They are fully aware of who she is and what this means.

"Does the league know about this?" someone yells, and my jaw clenches, frustration boiling over—they're fucking relentless, and they’re not going to stop.

As I shut Rory's door to shield her from the onslaught, I know it's not just the wind that feels like a slap—it's the knowledge that our private lives will be trending on all social media outlets within the hour.

I straighten up, facing the barrage with as much professionalism as possible. "Please give her space," I demand, as I feel every camera lens trained on me, every reporter waiting for a slip-up of information.

As the taxi pulls away, I catch Rory's gaze through the window—the uncertainty, the 'what now?' evident in the depths of her eyes.

I can't answer her, not yet.

This kind of play—you can't train for it or predict it. But much like the ice, you learn to adapt; you find your footing eventually.

For now, though, I stand there a moment longer, the flurry of questions ricocheting off me.

They want my truth.

They want me to tease and spill everything.

But the truth is unavoidable. Our private lives are now in the public domain, with every move and kiss open for analysis. It's not just a game of hockey anymore—it's our lives under the spotlight.

I force my way back into the hotel room, bumping into bodies as I attempt to gain peace.

We'll need to face this—her father, the press—everyone. It's time to lace up, face-off style. We've got a new season ahead, and it's not just about hockey anymore.

I don’t want her to lose the big picture.

That we can do this.

Together.

19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

RORY

There it is, the flush of anger across my father's face, igniting the space between us with an intensity I've dreaded as soon as I walk in.

Words like 'disappointment' and 'reckless' illuminate his features, killing me.

I knew it would be challenging, but his commentary sets it off to another level.

"I can't believe you'd be so irresponsible, Rory!" His voice booms, bouncing off the walls of his office, sharper than any knife piercing through my chest. I’m surprised his whole office doesn’t blow up.

"Dad, I’m sorry. I never meant for it to—"

"To what?" he cuts in, his gaze laser-focused and piercing. "To make me look like a fool? To undermine all my work to get where I am?"

I shrink a little inside, the weight of his words crushing. My dad and I have always been a team. But now, I've left him vulnerable, an unintended victim of a clandestine romance I started because I wanted it.

And I still want it.

“Of course not. This—it’s not about you, Dad. It's about Wells and me and how we feel about each other," I try to explain, but the words feel so small against his towering frustration.

They feel stupid.

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