Page 63 of Faking It For Real

I shrugged, unsure how to respond. "Just trying to be a better captain."

"It's working," he nodded. "You're not gripping your stick like it's the only thing keeping you from drowning anymore. The guys respond better to that version of you—the one who doesn't look like he's carrying the weight of the world."

He clapped me on the shoulder, a rare gesture of approval from our stoic coach. "Whatever—or whoever—is helping you find that balance, it's good for your game. For what it's worth, I like Mia. She sees beyond the hockey player, which is what you need."

I blinked, surprised by his insight. "Thanks, Coach."

Walking back to my apartment later, I found myself scrolling through photos on my phone—not game footage or plays I wanted to review, but pictures of Mia. There was one from Christmas dinner where she was laughing at something Emma had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled at the corners. Another from a coffee study date where she was concentrating on her laptop, a smudge of charcoal on her cheek from her drawing class earlier that day.

When had I started taking these? When had she become the thing I wanted to capture and remember?

I stopped in the middle of the quad, hit by a realization that should have terrified me: I hadn't thought about NHL scouts or my father's expectations once during practice today. Instead, I'd been thinking about whether Mia would like the gift I'd gotten for her family's Three Kings Day celebration, whether she'd be impressed if I used the Spanish phrases I'd been practicing in secret.

For the first time in my hockey career—hell, in my life—something else had taken precedence in my mind.

And strangely, I was okay with that.

I woke before my alarm on January 6th, nerves jangling in my stomach like I was facing a championship game. In a way, this felt more important. Three Kings Day—El Día de los Reyes—was a big deal in Mia's family, she'd explained. The day when the three wise men finally reached baby Jesus, bearing gifts. In her family's tradition, it was as significant as Christmas, with special foods, decorations, and gift-giving.

I'd been invited to participate. Me. The guy who'd once yelled at her for stepping onto the ice during practice.

"You don't have to come," she'd said when she invited me, trying to sound casual. "It's not part of our arrangement or anything. But my family's asking, and—"

"I want to," I'd interrupted. "If that's okay. I want to see what it's like."

The smile that had bloomed across her face made me want to agree to anything she ever asked of me.

I stood in front of my closet, second-guessing every choice. What did one wear to a Three Kings Day celebration? My exhaustive online search had yielded plenty about the customs but nothing on attire. After trying on—and rejecting—three different outfits, I finally slipped into dark jeans and a forest-green button-down—the very shirt Mia once said made my blue eyes stand out.

I checked the gift bag one more time—presents for Mia's parents, siblings, and Mia herself. I'd agonized over each one, wanting to make a good impression, to show that I'd been paying attention when she talked about her family.

Dylan emerged from his bedroom as I was heading out, looking rumpled and half-asleep. He stopped when he saw me, taking in my outfit and the gift bag.

"You're really going all out for this, huh?" he asked, a knowing smile playing at his lips.

"It's important to her," I shrugged.

Dylan's smile softened. "You know, for a fake relationship, you two are putting in an awful lot of effort."

I didn't have a response for that, so I just grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

"Ethan," Dylan called after me, his voice uncharacteristically serious. I turned back. "For what it's worth, I've never seen you like this with anyone before. Not even close."

I nodded, acknowledging what neither of us was quite ready to name, and left to pick up Mia.

She was waiting outside her apartment building, wrapped in a bright red wool coat that made her skin glow in the winter sunlight. Her dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and she'd put on red lipstick that matched her coat. She looked beautiful—more dressed up than I'd ever seen her, even for our "dates" around campus.

"Hey," she smiled, a touch of nervousness in her expression as she approached the car. "You look nice."

"So do you," I replied, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. "Really nice."

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she got into the passenger seat. "Thanks for doing this. I know it's not part of our arrangement, but—"

"Will you stop saying that?" I interrupted gently. "I want to be here."

She looked at me then—really looked—as if seeking the truth behind my words. Whatever she discovered must have eased her doubts, because she broke into a genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat.

"In that case," she said, reaching over to squeeze my hand, "let's go celebrate."

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