Page 53 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
At the last second, I pivot, intercepting his path and steal the puck cleanly.
Russo groans loudly, skating past me with exaggerated annoyance as I flick the puck across the ice to Johnson, the rookie winger open on the other side.
"Nice move, Hart!" Coach calls from the boards. "Exactly the kind of hustle we need. Keep it precise, boys!"
I nod once, breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping as we cycle back into position. Russo glides up beside me, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove.
"Come on, man," Russo mutters, nudging me good-naturedly with an elbow. "Take it easy. Save some energy for the playoffs."
I smirk, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension there. "Maybe if you hustled a little harder, I wouldn't have to embarrass you out here."
Russo chuckles dryly, shaking his head.
I pivot fast, my skates scraping ice as I cut hard around the cones set up for agility drills.
My thoughts drift back to Ava. This fake dating plan is supposed to keep her safe. That's it.
Just me stepping into my old role as her protector.
But every time I close my eyes, I see the way she looks at me. It’s not the grateful smile of the shy girl I shielded from school bullies anymore. It feels like something deeper.
The whistle cuts through the air, pulling me back to reality. Coach Barrett waves us toward the bench, signaling the end of practice.
"Good hustle today," Coach says firmly, looking around at each of us. "Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, we get back to work. We've got a long road ahead."
There’s a murmur of agreement through the team. I glance down the line of tired, determined faces. Russo, Johnson, Stevens, O’Connor, and the others. Each guy nods solemnly, already mentally preparing for the grind ahead.
As we skate off toward the locker room, Stevens catches up to me, knocking his shoulder lightly into mine.
"So, you're bringing your girlfriend tonight, huh?" he says, lifting an eyebrow. "Elena met her at the last game and said she felt like someone she’d want to hang out with.”
I smile, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "Yeah. Ava's coming."
Russo’s smirk deepens. “Lauren met her at the game too. Said she’s way too classy for you.”
Stevens chuckles, elbowing Russo. “Not like that’s a high bar.”
I shake my head, flipping them the bird over my shoulder, but I'm smiling. It's easy to joke like this, to fall into familiar locker-room banter, even as my heart races at the thought of Ava meeting everyone tonight.
When I get back to my locker, Russo is already there, stripping off his gear. He glances up, studying me for a beat too long. "First team dinner with the girlfriend. Big step."
"Relax," I say dryly, fighting the urge to deflect. "It’s just dinner."
I turn away, busying myself with packing my gear, but Russo’s words linger in my mind.
Because he’s right. This is a big step.
One I haven’t taken since Claire passed.
Two years of sitting alone at dinners, avoiding sympathetic looks and awkward silences.
Fake or not, tonight is about more than dinner. Tonight means letting someone into a space I've kept carefully closed off for a long time.
I grab my phone, and a text
from my mom catches my eye.
Congrats on playoffs! I know your dad would have been over the moon. Love you.
