The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 59

I’M in love with her.

Hazel’s eyes are bright as she takes in the living room again, smiling, and a warm pulse of happiness radiates through my chest.

I’m in love with her, and I’d do anything to make her happy. And this look of elation on her face as she smiles up at me—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

“Thank you,” she says, resting her palms on my chest. “This is amazing, Rory.” She presses her lips together, gaze lingering on the tree. “You just—”

Our eyes meet, and her full mouth tips up into a pretty smile. I think maybe I’ve always loved her, because this feeling in my chest isn’t new. I just have a name for it now.

“You make everything better,” she whispers.

My throat knots with emotion, and I wonder if anyone ever told Rick Miller he makes everything better. If my mom ever felt that way about him.

My fingers thread into her hair, and I brush a soft kiss to her mouth. “So do you, Hartley.”

When she pulls back, I search her eyes for any sign she feels the same way. Behind the warm affection there, worry flickers.

Good. She’s worried because it feels real to her, and she’s never been here before with a guy. Another pulse of something sharp and sweet pangs through me, and I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

She knows how I feel. She has to by now, and when she’s ready to hear it, I’ll tell her.

“You want to decorate the tree with me?” I ask, and she nods, smile stretching ear to ear.

“I’m not too heavy?” Hazel asks that evening as I give her a piggyback ride along the seawall.

Snow falls around us, coating the sidewalks, and traffic is almost nonexistent. It’s just us and a few other people out walking, enjoying the sight of the water and forest in the snow.

All afternoon, Hazel flipped between begging to go outside and threatening to wear only lingerie for the next two days to test the limits of my control, so now I’m carrying her, because there was no fucking way I’d let her use crutches on snow. Most of the sidewalks aren’t shoveled, and it’s slippery.

I snort, giving her a flat look over my shoulder. “Don’t insult me, Hartley. You weigh nothing.”

She chuckles. My boots crunch in the snow, and I inhale a deep breath of cold, crisp air coming off the water.

“My dad called today,” I tell her for some reason.

Her arms tighten around my neck. “How’d that go?”

“Uh. Not great.” I make a face over my shoulder at her. “He says I’m different this season.”

“You are.”

“Yeah.” I sneak a glance at her. “I’m okay with it, though. I feel better, playing the way I do.” My thoughts flip to the moments after I assist a goal, the sheer elation on my teammates’ faces. “Those guys on the team are like my brothers, you know? They matter.”

We’re quiet as I walk, and I keep thinking about my team and this deep urge in my chest to be the best captain I can for them.

Hazel gives me a squeeze. “Put me down for a second.”

I lower, easing her down to her feet, keeping a hand on her at all times to support her, and she turns me to face her. Her nose is pink from the cold as she smiles up at me, snowflakes catching on her toque, hair, and eyelashes.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, and I memorize this moment to keep with me forever, this quiet stillness with someone I never thought I’d have.

“It’s like we’re in a snow globe,” I whisper, and she smiles as I lean down to kiss her.

“Hayden’s going to come by to get my keys in an hour,” Hazel says about a block from home.

Home. She doesn’t live there, but maybe one day. My heart lifts as I picture it—our crystal dragons sitting beside each other, her hair products in the bathroom, her clothes hanging in the closet. Her scent in the bed.

My thoughts snag on what she said and I wrench around to look at her over my shoulder. “Why?” My brows knit together and there’s that possessive urge again. “If you need something from your apartment, I’ll get it. Anything you need, Hartley, I’m your guy.” I try to keep my tone light so she doesn’t think I’m being a territorial asshole.

Her arms squeeze my neck. “You can’t do it because I need him to pick up your Christmas presents.”

“Christmas presents?” I straighten, starting to smile. “For me?”

She laughs. “Yeah, baby. For you.”

Baby. She called me baby. My grin broadens, and a light, buzzy feeling pings around my chest.

“What did you get me?”

She laughs again. “I’m not telling. You have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” My eyes narrow as I walk, brimming with curiosity.

My lips part, and I’m about to start guessing out loud when an older woman with long blond hair steps out of a store and nearly bumps into us.

“Oh, excuse me—” she starts, but then our eyes meet.

My stomach drops through my feet, and my whole body tenses.

“Mom.”