The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 2)
The Fake Out: a fake dating hockey romance: Chapter 65

LATE THAT EVENING, we lie on the couch in front of the fireplace, drinking hot cider again while snow falls outside and the Christmas tree glows. I’m wearing his hoodie, settled against him, covered with the warm blanket he bought for me, and his fingers toy absently with my hair.

“What did you decide about that studio space?” Rory asks.

Tension knots in my stomach. It’s been two days since Laura texted, and I still haven’t replied. I feel like a jerk for not answering her right away, but I’ve been talking myself in and out of it.

“I haven’t decided anything.”

Rory hums, still playing with my hair, and I know if I told him I didn’t want to do it, he’d respect that and drop it.

I’m scared. There’s so much at stake. If I fail, it’ll be embarrassing and a huge waste of money, but more than anything, if I fail, what does that mean about me?

I can’t stay in the same spot forever because I’m scared, though. And with the mentorship sessions Rory got me for Christmas, I’ll have someone to answer my questions. My lungs expand with a big breath and I steel my spine.

“I want to go look at the space.”

He lights up. “Yeah?”

I nod, smiling.

He tilts his chin to my phone on the coffee table. “Text her now.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” He nudges me. “So you don’t lose your nerve.”

He’s right. I drag in a deep breath, grab my phone, and tap out a quick text to Laura.

“The place is probably gone by now,” I mutter. “Which is fine.”

She responds a moment later. Great! Are you free the morning of New Year’s Eve? You can take a look at the space then.

Rory reads over my shoulder. We’re supposed to be driving up to Whistler that morning for the League Classic game.

“We can make it work,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

I bite my lip.

“Come on, Hartley,” he murmurs, smiling.

Reluctance surges through me because doing something big like this is scary, but Rory went over to his mom’s place even though he was nervous.

Sounds great, I text Laura before letting out a whoosh of air.

“Good job,” Rory says against my temple, and I flush, tossing my phone aside.

His eyes go to the framed photo of us sitting on his bookshelf before he glances down at me and smiles.

“Is this what you expected when you made that bet that we’d get together?” I ask. “Lying on the couch like an old married couple.”

The piercing look he gives me makes my heart skip a beat. “It’s even better.”

I need to say something about how I’m feeling. I never expected any of this to happen, and I sure as hell never expected to feel emotions like possessive and proud and sparkling, pinwheeling happiness around Rory Miller. Anger knots in my stomach at my hesitation.

“Thank you for coming today,” he says.

“Of course.” This guy has no fucking clue what I’d do for him.

I think about Nicole and how happy she was to see him today. How she clearly threw the party together after she invited us because she wanted to see him so badly. When the downstairs washroom was occupied, she sent me upstairs, and I walked past her office.

“Your mom’s office was filled with your hockey stuff,” I tell him, and his brow creases.

“She hates hockey.”

“She had the newspaper clipping from the day you were drafted, all your jerseys, and a bunch of Storm merch in there.” An ache throbs in my chest for him and for her. “She misses you, Rory.”

“I miss her, too,” he says softly in my ear, and my throat tightens.

He’s so honest with me, even when it’s hard, so I push myself to give him more of myself.

“Connor said guys like him don’t end up with girls like me,” I rush out. I can’t tell him the truth about how I feel, but I can give him this. I can take this tiny step forward with him.

His eyes sharpen, going hard at Connor’s name. I cross my arms over my chest, frowning at the floor, and in my head, I’m back there, years ago at the party, feeling the burning shame of not being enough for someone.

“I wasn’t enough for him.” I can barely get the words out. They’re slicing up my throat as I say them.

He shifts under me, moving so we face each other, hands framing my jaw while he wears the most urgent, earnest, furious expression. He tilts me up so he can look into my eyes.

“He’s wrong, Hartley.” Our eyes hold, emotion flickering in his gaze. “He’s so fucking wrong.”

My heart beats hard in my chest. I want to believe him. When we’re sitting here, wrapped up in each other like nothing else exists, I want to believe he’ll never grow sick of me or discard me.

I think I’d just die if that happened.

What have I gotten myself into? Panic spikes as I stare up into Rory’s eyes. There’s no way to extract myself from this without getting hurt.

“He’s wrong.” Rory looks down at me like I have to believe him. “He was never good enough for you, and he knew it. You’re perfect, Hartley.”

Something drums inside me, urgent, insistent, desperate to get out. This is agonizing, keeping the feelings inside like this.

“It’s not fake anymore,” I whisper. “Is it?”

Rory shakes his head. “No, Hartley. It isn’t.” His gaze moves over my face like he’s trying to take in every detail about me, and he swallows like he’s nervous. “It hasn’t been fake for me for a long time.”

There isn’t enough air in the room, and I can’t look away.

Connor said I wasn’t enough, but maybe he’s wrong. Rory sure looks at me like I’m enough. I want this, whatever we’re doing. I want all of this.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.

My pulse trips at his earnest and nervous expression, but I nod, biting my lip.

He searches my eyes, sucking in a breath. “I love you.”

The world stops, fading away, and it’s just me and Rory.

“What?” I suck a shaky breath in, like I’m scared, but I’m not.

“I love you.” The long column of his throat works as he watches me, hand slipping back into my hair.

Two months ago, this would have been the last thing I wanted to hear. Now, I want to hear Rory say those words a thousand times.

“Don’t look so surprised, Hartley.” His smile is gentle and crooked. “How could I not fall for you? It was always only a matter of time.”

My lips part, but I’m speechless. The girl from years ago who had her heart smashed can’t believe how insanely lucky I am to have found Rory. And at the same time, I’m terrified it won’t last.

“You don’t need to say anything.” He laughs quietly at my silence. “I know you’ll say it back eventually.”

He says it like he knows. He says it like he can see right through me, like he believes I’ll catch up.

A glow expands through me. “So cocky,” I murmur.

I’ve been avoiding the emotion, turning away from it, but I can’t ignore it anymore.

I’m head over heels in love with Rory Miller. I’ve never said the words to a guy. With Connor, I always sensed they’d be unwelcome, so I kept them to myself.

That was a watered-down version of love, though, and Rory’s nothing like Connor.

He’s hurt someone before, an ugly voice whispers in my head. He didn’t mean to, but he was careless with Ashley and broke her heart.

He could do the same to me, even if he does love me. Even if I love him back and we’re wildly happy together. People fall out of love all the time.

My mind goes to yesterday, when Rory said that Jamie was like his brother. They’ll be in each other’s lives forever, which means Rory will be in my life forever.

That would break me, if it didn’t work out after I gave him everything and then had to see him all the time.

“It’s okay,” he says again, running a hand over my hair, and I see that he understands. He smiles like he can read my thoughts. It’s just another reason my heart pounds for him—because he’s endlessly patient and gentle. Because he knows I’m broken and trying to put myself back together for him.

“I’ll wait,” he says.

Oh god. Yeah. I really do love him. I think I might have loved him for a while. Longer than I’m ready to admit. I tried so hard not to but I think that might have been the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, trying not to fall for him.

I move to straddle him, our eyes locked the entire time. His hands settle on my waist, and I bring my mouth to his.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t care about my ankle right now.”

Rory nods, eyelids falling halfway, and his throat works. He’s probably going to say something about me resting it anyway, but instead, I kiss him.