Page 32 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“So,” Allison says, her voice upbeat and too chipper for the situation. “What’s going on, Eric? You sounded a bit serious on the phone. Trouble in paradise?”

I clench my jaw, taking a moment before answering. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about this for days. The whole fake relationship with Jessica, pretending for the cameras, playing this role that neither of us signed up for—it’s all become toomuch. The worst part? I’m not even sure how much of it is fake anymore, not on my end at least. I decide the best way to handle this is to be honest.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I say flatly, leaning back in my chair. “The fake dating thing—it’s not working for me.”

Allison arches an eyebrow, her lips curling into a bemused smile. “Eric, you’re kidding, right? This has been amazing for your image. People love you two together! It’s a great story—the bad boy hockey player who’s turning over a new leaf with a successful, professional woman by his side. Why stop now when it’s working?”

“It’s not working,” I shoot back, a little sharper than I intended. “It’s not real. Maybe it helped clean up my image, but I’m not interested in playing this part anymore. I’m honestly just done with it. I think Jess is too.”

Her smile falters just a fraction, her eyes shrewd. “But think about the positives. Your reputation has improved, you’re not getting bad press anymore. This could be a win-win for both of you.” She looks like she wants to say more about how this is a win for Jessica, but she stops herself. “Just don’t be hasty, okay?”

“I’ve thought about it,” I say, leaning forward now, my tone insistent. She needs to take me seriously. My voice drops to avoid being overheard. “But I don’t want to lie about this fake relationship with Jessica anymore. My life feels like a mess right now.”

I stop myself, not trusting Allison with the information about my mother. She tries to look empathetic nonetheless, but I know better. She’s just acting, doing what she has to, to get me to acquiesce to her plans.

“Look, pretending to be in a relationship isn’t okay with me anymore. You know how fast things change and you know that people aren’t focused on me getting traded to Denver anymore. Mission accomplished. Time to move on.”

Allison leans in, her hand on mine in an attempt to manipulate me to stay in the fake relationship, no doubt. She opens her mouth to argue, but we’re interrupted by the distinct click of a camera shutter. I freeze. That sound is unmistakable. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, a guy with a camera is standing by the door, snapping photos. There’s a flash, and suddenly, it feels like the whole cafe is buzzing.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

Before I can even think, more journalists swarm in, their questions firing off like bullets. “Eric, what’s going on with Jessica?” “Is there trouble in the relationship?” “Is Allison the new woman?”

Allison’s expression changes from her fake PR smile to something more serious as we both realize we’ve been overheard. “We need to get out of here,” she says, her voice low but urgent.

I nod, my heart racing. Together, we duck out through the back exit, making a break for the parking lot. I hear the reporters behind us shouting more questions, their cameras clicking as they try to follow. We reach our cars, and I toss a quick wave to Allison before I peel out of the lot, leaving the chaos behind. But I know it’s not over. Not even close.

***

Later that day, I’m in the locker room at the Avalanche arena, pulling on my gear for practice. I try to focus, but the noise of the locker room is deafening, and the incident from the cafe still has my nerves rattled. My teammates, though, have picked up on the headlines already. They always do.

“Hey, Gator, I saw the news!” one of the guys calls from across the room. “Trouble in paradise, huh? What’s going on with you and Jessica?”

“Yeah, and what’s up with Allison?” another one chimes in, smirking as he holds up his phone. “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do!”

I groan inwardly. Of course, the photos are already out there. It’s all over the media now—pictures of me with Allison, the headlines screaming “Is There Another Woman?” I shake my head, knowing there’s nothing I can say to stop the rumors now. My teammates are relentless.

“You sure Jessica’s not about to dump you?” one of them jokes, chuckling as he ties his skates. “I saw she took down all the pictures of you two from her social media. You might want to get ahead of that.”

My stomach drops. She took down all our staged PR photos? I try to brush it off, acting like it’s no big deal. But inside, I’m torn. Jessica’s pulling away, and I don’t blame her. This whole fake relationship was never supposed to be anything more than a front. But it’s gotten complicated. And now, with this mess of headlines and the fact that she’s deleting posts about us, I wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do next.

I ignore the calls from Jason, Kip, and even Allison. I just can’t deal with their PR damage control right now. Instead, I grab my stick and head out to the ice for practice, hoping the rhythm of the practice will clear my head.

The cold air bites as I step onto the ice, but the familiar sound of skates cutting across the rink grounds me. This is where I feel most at home. Not in front of cameras, not at fancy charity events—here, leading my line, playing hockey. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense in my life, especially with everything else spinning out of control.

Practice is intense today. Coach Bill has us running drills, and I’m at the front, pushing the guys to play harder, faster. I need this. I need to feel the burn in my legs, the sting of cold air in my lungs, to focus on the game, the plays, the daily grind of getting better, and block out everything else.

I lead my line through a series of offensive plays, encouraging my teammates, pushing them to keep up the pressure.

“Come on, guys, let’s make this count! Play like it’s game night!” I shout, setting the pace for the others. My body moves on autopilot, but my mind keeps drifting back to Jessica.

The way she laughed when we were joking around in the kitchen. The way she looked at me that night under the mistletoe. The way she kissed me back like she meant it. I know I’m not supposed to care, not really. It was all fake. Or was it?

As I lead a final drill, weaving through the defense with the puck, it hits me. I’ve fallen for her. Somewhere along the line, I crossed that line between pretend and real. And now, I’m screwed. Because I don’t know how to win her back—not when I’m the one who dragged her into this mess in the first place. And definitely not when she’s pulling away, deleting all our photos, trying to distance herself from the whole thing.

My skate slices into the ice as I take a hard turn, sending the puck into the net with a clean shot. The goal feels good, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.

After practice, I linger in the locker room, not really wanting to go back home. There’s too much hanging in the air. Too much I don’t know how to fix.

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