Page 52 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

Ryan

After the initial shockwore off, Emma eventually saw reason, and three days ago, she moved into the mansion. She’s in a room down the hallway from me. Something I mentioned nearly immediately after telling her she needed to move in, just so she didn’t completely freak out.

Of course, Thomas is being as charming as possible to her while scowling at me when Emma’s not looking. Jekyll and Hyde comes to mind, but at least he’s making her feel welcome. Then again, he doesn’t hate her guts, right?

The rumors have seeped through the town, and though there have been murmurings of disappointment that there was no fairy tale wedding, everyone seems to understand our reasons.

“I’m sure you’re sick of those reporters breathing down your neck,” Jimmy said. “You did the right thing.”

Which was the complete opposite of Phil’s point of view when I called him and told him.

“You did what?” he barked. “But that was the whole point.”

“Phil—”

“This whole fake marriage thing was supposed to be a big distraction,” he yelled, completely cutting me off.

“We’ve caused a distraction already,” I argued. “You said it yourself last week at the dinner.”

“That was not what I meant, and you darn well know it. Everything was building to the wedding, Ryan. Without it, you might have wasted everyone’s time.”

“Well, it’s done now,” I huffed. “The whole town knows about it. We can’t turn the clock back.”

I heard Phil huffing and puffing as I imagined him pacing the floor of his office. I’d messed up, but I didn’t regret it. The truth is, I didn’t want to put Emma through all that. The reporters crawling all over Maple Springs had nearly been too much for her.

“Fine,” Phil had eventually growled. “I’ll let the press know, but they won’t be happy.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I didn’t care, but Phil already sounded like he was going to explode, so I kept it to myself, and we ended the call.

While Emma’s at work, I’ve been getting some hours in on the ice. My therapy is over, and now, I need to strengthen the ligaments and muscles around my knee. But while I’m skating, all I can think about is Emma.

In fact, I think about Emma a lot. I can’t seem to pry one emotion from another. Fear is mixed with hope, regret fuses to desire, and love—well, love seems to stand alone. Because I’ve realized I am in love with her. The exact moment escapes me, and maybe it’s been a gradual thing. That, or I’ve denied it to be true, but I know it now with clarified certainty.

What I don’t know is if she feels the same. I think she feels something, but whether it’s love or not is the mystery. Emma has changed me as a man without even trying. Just being nearher makes me want to be a better person, which sounds cliché, I know. But it’s the truth.

And yet, the fear eats at me. If I tell her how I feel, will I scare her away? She agreed to this contract because she knew it was going to be fake. If I had asked her out, I know the answer would have been no.

Back then, it would have been no. Maybe now, though…

It’s the uncertainty holding me back. Right now, I have her by my side because of a deal. If I tell her the truth and this house of lies comes crumbling down, then what? And so, here I am, holding on to the sliver of time I have with her, fearing that if it ends—when it ends—there’ll be nothing for us after that.

Emma arrives back just after 5:30, the same time she has every evening since she’s been here. I jump up from my chair when I hear her car in the driveway and make my way to the entrance hall to greet her, just like I’ve done every evening since she’s been here.

“You know, you don’t have to meet me at the door every night,” she says with a smirk as I help her take off her coat.

“Is it bothering you?” I ask, wondering if my excitement at her arrival is leaking out of me.

“No,” she says. “I’m just not used to it.”

You should get used to it.

“I thought we could go out for dinner,” I say.

But the heavy sigh that leaves her, coupled with her sinking shoulders, tells me she’s not impressed with the idea.

“Okay.” I lift my hands. “No going out for dinner. What do you want to do this evening? What do you usually do in the evenings?”

She lifts an eyebrow and looks at me like she’s gauging something. “You’ll laugh.”

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