Page 82 of Skating and Fake Dating
He asks, “Does that mean you’ll be paired with another player?”
I don’t like that notion. Not a bit. “They’ll send me where I’m needed.”
I want so badly for him to say that he needs me, but the familiar whistling of a firework sailing into the dark sky sounds before it explodes into dazzling light.
As we watch the display, I realize something crucial.
For so long, I’ve carried the entire cacophonous chorus of my family’s voices in my head—the disappointed sighs, the way conversations would shift when I entered a room, the careful tone they’d use when explaining why I wasn’t quite cut out for corporate. I became their hot mess, their cautionary tale, the daughter they loved but couldn’t quite figure out what to do with. I spent years trying to sand down my rough edges, dim my shine, to squeeze myself into their neat little view of acceptability, always falling short of their polished expectations while also trying to claw my way out of the “Failure box.”
But standing here now with Carson, I’m starting to see them differently—they’re operating from a place of fear. Not for my sake, but for theirs, if I don’t reflect what they want to project for the family.
For so long, I’ve shouldered that burden. But I’ve become someone entirely different. I see a woman who found her place not by shrinking herself down, but by taking up space. Someone who leads with her heart, who fights for what matters, who isn’t afraid to be loud and messy and real.
The family failure they labeled me? I’m transforming into someone I’m genuinely proud to be—flaws, scattered flower petals, and all.
The best part is I think Carson likes that about me—all of me. Except I’m afraid that too soon, it’s going to be over.
Liquid pierces the corners of my eyes at the beauty … and the sadness that comes along with the fear that I’m setting myself up for heartbreak with our expiration date approaching.
CHAPTER 34
CARSON
The other night, as Bailey and I watched the fireworks in the cool autumn air, she was the only warmth and light I needed. I’d wrapped my arm around her, not because anyone was watching, but because it felt right. I cannot deny the connection we have, but this means we’ve broken a rule from our list of hypothetical fake dating guidelines. No feelings allowed.
As she said, she’ll be leaving soon. Then what?
My future races toward me at a home game against the San Diego Barracudas as I slot the puck to Jamie. The arena roars as I circle behind our net, gathering speed. It’s the third period, tied two-two. The pressure is familiar—a welcome weight that pushes me to be my best. The opposition steals the puck and takes the shot, but Clément blocks it with ease.
Jamie gains possession, sending the puck to Lucian. I cut hard toward the boards, creating space as the Barracudas’ defenseman commits himself to our center. Lucian sees the opening, feeds me a perfect pass, and suddenly I’m streaking up the ice.
Cade joins the rush on my right, calling for the puck, but I spot Asher at the blue line—the defense isn’t tracking him. Ideke pass to Cade before sliding the puck to Asher, who sweeps it in—top shelf, but the opposition blocks it.
With mere minutes remaining, we’re all in the zone. Amidst the swishing of skates, the hum of the crowd, and my breath in my ears, I hear a distinct slamming sound and whirl around.
One of the Barracudas shoved Lucian into the boards. Nate Simpson left him vulnerable and doesn’t seem sorry about it. The whistle blows. We rush over. There’s blood, but Lucian is back on his feet.
I cut a glare at the penalty box and I’m not alone. Now, we’re playing with bad intentions, well, for the opposition.
But despite our best efforts, the red light flashes for the goal and the buzzer sounds, indicating the end of the game. We lose by one point.
The crowd erupts as my teammates mob together. Through the chaos, something catches my eye in the stands—a flash of blue—my number, forty-nine, on a jersey worn by someone with a familiar smile. Bailey is here cheering with the rest of the Maple Falls fans … and I’m afraid I’ve let her down.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and it’s not just from the exertion. Her presence feels like finding north when I’ve been spinning blindfolded.
The next minutes are a rush, a flash, a flurry as we return to the locker room, get the expected talk from our captain and shoulder the loss. Lucian seems okay, but we guys are good at hiding injuries, at least initially. And what’s okay for a hockey player could be catastrophic for a regular dude. He has a cut on his face that will probably need stitches, the purplish start of a black eye, and very likely bruised ribs. He’ll be sore for sure—and not just his body. Nate now has a target on his back.
“Earth to Crane,” Jamie says, tapping the bench. “Good work out there.”
“Thanks,” I manage, but my thoughts drift back to Bailey.
Coach Hauser slaps my shoulder. “That’s the chemistry weneed, gentlemen. Next time you win. That’s all there is to it.” He gives us a fatherly nod and sweeps from the room.
Later, amid media interviews and dour locker room conversations, I shower quickly and change. Despite the outcome of the game, I can’t wait to see Bailey.
No sooner do I pack up my gear, does my phone buzz with a text.
Bailey: Good game. I’m outside the east entrance.
