Page 93 of Skating and Fake Dating
“If we win.”
“I know you will,” she says, but the enthusiasm is shot.
I spend the next days moping, staring at the ceiling, skating in jittery circles, trying to untangle the mess of emotions that spread from my chest and in every direction in my body, but with no place to land. Maybe I should bury them like the time capsule.
As Bailey wraps up her tenure as my PAL, I create distance—answering texts with shorter replies, making excuses to spend time alone, and deflecting conversations about the future.
When she asks what’s going on, I give what amounts to an out-of-office reply, letting her know that I have to focus on practice and playing, using hockey as a buffer.
She shows up to a game against the Knights wearing my jersey and I only steal glances at her when I know she’s not looking.
Doing my best to remain focused, when her searching gazedistracts me, I remind myself that we had an agreement for a fake relationship. Not a real one.
When her blonde hair catches the light, reminding me of sweet maple syrup, I tell myself the kisses were just practice.
After I score a goal and she cheers, shouting my name, I look everywhere but at her graceful curves filling in my jersey. After all, she maintains that this is pretend, even after I told her it’s not just for show. Sort of. I suppose I could’ve been clearer.
But while our lives crossed and overlapped for a time, in truth, they run parallel. She’s got her job, family, and maple butter, and I just have, well, myself and hockey.
That night, after the win, I leave without so much as saying hello, which may as well amount to a goodbye.
Alone in my rental while everyone is out celebrating, my phone buzzes repeatedly with texts from Bailey, but I can’t bring myself to answer. What would I say? That I’ve fallen in love with her? That I’m terrified of what would happen if we ended our fake relationship. That I’m not sure what’s real anymore.
By morning, I’ve made a decision. It’s over. I’ve taken the coward’s way out, but I tell myself it’s for the best. Bailey deserves a life without being tied to a hockey player whose career keeps him on the road half the year. Who’d put her in the spotlight more than she’d like. Who is little more than a reject.
Later in the week, after the hubbub of Halloween, when I get into position for the away game against the Mustangs, the center calls my deke, returns to the defensive zone, and slots a goal.
I miss a crucial pass, leaving Weston vulnerable to a hit from the team’s goon. It’s an ugly game and they crush us in overtime.
Riding the roller coaster of wins and losses, I’m in the visiting team’s locker room when Ted “The Bear” Powell sits down beside me. The guys from the original Ice Breakers charity team prove to be our biggest supporters.
“You want to tell me what’s going on with you? Because that wasn’t hockey out there. You were in zombie mode.”
I stare at my skates. “Off night?” The words come out with the wrong punctuation as if I’m asking him a question rather than answering.
“This is about Bailey, isn’t it?”
“Our, uh, arrangement didn’t quite work out.”
Ted raises an eyebrow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? An arrangement? It’s called a relationship and last I checked, they take a bit of work.”
“I mean, she agreed to pretend to date me to help my image after the trade. To show I’m stable and settled. It was never real,” I confess.
“That’s the biggest load of hot trash I’ve ever heard, Crane.”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw you two at the Ice Breakers bash and then talked with her at Maple Fest.”
“And you told her that I used to be cool.”
“In a manner of speaking. But you can’t deny it. Anyway, she brought you back to life, or at least I thought she did.”
I shrug because I don’t have the energy to argue and he’s not exactly wrong.
“The point is that woman adores you. The way you looked at her tells me you feel the same way. If that’s pretending, you both deserve trophies, er, gold stars. Something shiny because I’ve never seen acting like that.”
With my elbows resting on my thighs, I shake my head and run my hand down my face.
