Page 8 of Faking the Face Off (River City Renegades #1)

CHAPTER 8

OLLIE

M y lucky game day routine when we’re on home turf is simple: I wake up, eat a huge six egg breakfast complete with sausages and Canadian bacon at the Beavertail Diner, then I go home and chill out until it’s time to put my suit on.

“What are you staring at?”

My eyes flick to Dixon, who sits across from me at the diner, which is down the street from the arena. I usually do this alone, but I was feeling generous today and Dixon looked lonely.

My eyes slam back to the phone in my hand, where a picture of me and Anna sits on the screen. We snapped it last night when her eyes were still a little puffy, but the picture that works best is one where she’s giving me a little bit of side-eye while I stare at the camera, grinning like a fool. It’s a good pic, really. Would be a greater one if it was real.

“Nothing.” I close the screen and shove my phone back in my pocket. I know that photo won’t post itself, but I’ll do it when I’m ready. “Just checking my emails.”

“Sure you are.” Dixon purses his lips together and watches me. “I didn’t want to ask last night, but what happened with Danny?”

“Panic attack at work,” I say, picking up a fork and toying with it. “But Anna said he’s going home later today.”

“Panic attack?” Dixon shakes his head as he looks around the café. “That must have been scary for both of them.”

“Anna was pretty freaked out, but she said Danny is brushing it off, which makes her crazy.”

“It’s a good thing she has you.”

“It’s a good thing I have her,” I toss back.

“Touché.” He chuckles as our server arrives, dropping off our giant breakfast plates, piled higher than they should be. She hovers a moment at the table. Long enough that it gets uncomfortable, so Dixon turns her way.

“Yes?” he asks.

“You’re on the Renegades, right?” she questions.

We both nod and she beams, pulling her cell phone out of an apron pocket.

“I thought so.” She looks at both of us, her eyes bouncing from one to the other. “Can I please take a picture? My dad and brother are going to love this.”

Dixon’s smile is easy. “Love to.”

“Amazing!”

I’m busy running my tongue along my teeth to make sure there’s no food stuck in them already—I’ve been done wrong by fan photos before—when she turns her attention to me.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, still clutching her phone.

I wave a hand in the air. This is part of being a hockey player in the spotlight that I like. “It’s no problem.”

“Oh, good,” she says, like she’s breathing a sigh of relief. She thrusts her phone in my direction. “Do you mind taking the picture?”

As she shoves her phone into the palm of my hand, I admit, I’m stunned. When my eyes meet Dixon’s I can tell he’s trying to not crack up, but little does he know that I’m officially having a crisis over here.

I take the photo and hand her phone back, busying myself with my plate so I can avoid conversation, but I should know better. Dixon ain’t having it.

“What the…?” he says, cracking up as she skips away. “How is it that she doesn’t know who you are?”

“I’m sure there’s a positive in it,” I say, making light. I’m not sure if the cone of silence that Anna and I have agreed to should also include Dixon. But I don’t see how I can get through the next few weeks without him.

“I’m sure,” he says before shoveling a giant heaping portion of eggs and hash into his mouth, shutting him up for at least the next few minutes.

Dixon chews away, blissfully unaware of the mental spiral currently unfolding in my head. I push a stray piece of bacon around my plate, pretending I’m cool, but my brain won’t stop replaying Anna’s words from last night.

Jimmy and the suits have their eye on me and I need to step up and deliver or…I can’t even think about what the ‘or’ means. I can only imagine the worst. Maybe it’s a side effect of this imposter syndrome thing?

Honestly, it wasn’t exactly a newsflash. The whispers had been growing louder over the past few months—but when it was about how my numbers of followers weren’t where they needed to be, I didn’t take it seriously. I play ice hockey. A defenseman. Not a social media influencer who is paid for their posts.

But hearing it from Anna made it real. And now this fan, not even recognizing me? A tiny part of my brain screams, You’re irrelevant, Ollie. Just another name waiting to get crossed off.

Dixon swallows and points his fork at me. “Okay, seriously, man. Are you good?”

“Yeah.” I stab a piece of sausage, though I’ve lost any real desire to eat. “Totally fine.”

“You sure? Because you’ve got that look.”

I glance up. “What look?”

“The one where you’re thinking so hard, you might actually combust.” He smirks, but there’s curiosity behind his eyes.

I roll my shoulders, keeping my tone casual. “Got stuff on my mind. No big deal.”

It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth, either. Dixon’s one of the few people I trust, but dropping Hey, by the way, I’m gonna start fake-dating Anna to save her dad while also trying to save my career feels a little...a lot.

For now, I’ll keep it under wraps. At least until I’m sure this ridiculous plan might actually work.

Dixon shrugs and dives back into his breakfast, muttering something about people needing to brush up on their hockey knowledge. I use the moment of distraction to reach for my phone, subtly unlocking it under the table.

The photo Anna and I staged last night stares back at me. Her bright smile, my arm slung around her shoulders, the backdrop of my front porch with its lights shining bright—it's charming. It looks...real. Like we’re the kind of couple who spends Sunday afternoons hanging out together and teasing each other about whose turn it is to pick up takeout for dinner.

I hesitate for a split second before posting, along with a caption that is short and to the point and was prepared by Sutton for me to use: When life surprises you with something—or someone—worth taking a shot on.

My thumb hovers over the screen as the post uploads, and I glance up to make sure Dixon hasn’t noticed. He’s too busy buttering a biscuit to care, but when my phone buzzes a moment later with the first like, I can’t help the flicker of satisfaction that flares in my chest.

This is it. Step one of Operation Save Anna’s Dad—and My Job.

I shove the phone back in my pocket, suddenly hyper-aware of Dixon’s eyes narrowing at me.

“What are you up to?” he asks, his voice suspicious.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, stabbing another piece of sausage.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Dixon’s smirk returns, slow and knowing. “You’ve got that guilty look again, but fine. Keep your secrets for now.”

I grunt in response, focusing on my plate while trying not to let my mind spiral. There’s no going back now. The photo’s out there, and soon, everyone—including the Renegades’ owner—will see it.

Here’s hoping it works.

The sharp clang of a puck hitting the boards echoes in my head like a damn alarm bell. This game is adding to a pile of mistakes and losses, and it needs to stop. Another missed opportunity, another shift where I was a step too slow or my pass was off. By the time I finally slump onto the bench in the locker room, I’m pretty sure my stick is the only thing keeping me upright.

The room’s filled with the low hum of chatter, the scrape of skates on the floor, the hiss of water bottles. It’s background noise, but it feels loud—like I can’t shut it out. My teammates are all around me, but they feel miles away.

“Home games shouldn’t feel this hard,” Dixon grumbles as he slams his locker shut.

I tug my helmet off and lean forward, elbows on my knees, trying to focus on my breathing instead of the fact that tonight’s game feels like it’s spiraling out of control. My legs are heavy, my hands can’t seem to find the puck, and it’s like every mistake is written across the ice in neon lights.

And I’m the only one who knows why.

A shadow falls over me, and I glance up to find Ben standing there, arms crossed. His expression’s neutral, but his eyes...yeah, he sees right through me.

“Come on,” he says, jerking his head toward the hallway.

I hesitate, glancing around the room. No one else looks up, but I can feel the attention anyway. A couple of guys give me side-eye, but they don’t say anything. With a sigh, I push myself up and follow him out of the room.

We stop just outside the locker room doors, and he leans against the wall, looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he crosses his arms again.

“Alright, Ollie. What’s going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” I shrug, avoiding his gaze. “Just...off, I guess.”

“Off?” His voice sharpens, and I feel the heat of his stare. “You’ve been off for a while now. It’s not just tonight.”

I flinch, but he’s not wrong. My play hasn’t exactly been stellar lately, and tonight’s just the cherry on top of the crap sundae.

Coach sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Look, I get it. Everyone has rough patches. But this? This isn’t just a bad game, Ollie. Your head’s not in it. And if your head’s not in it, you’re no good to this team.”

His words hit harder than I want to admit, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep my frustration in check.

“I’m trying,” I mutter, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“I know you are.” His tone softens, just enough to take the sting out. “But trying isn’t enough if you’re not willing to figure out what’s holding you back.”

I glance at him, surprised by the shift. Ben isn’t exactly the hand-holding type, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me now—like he actually wants me to figure this out.

“Whatever’s going on,” he continues, “you need to deal with it. Because if you don’t, it’s going to cost you more than just a game.”

It’s like he knows, but he can’t. Ben’s never been one to mince words, and I know for a fact he has no time for Jimmy. He’s not a fan of anyone in the offices getting in our way or poking around our business, but he does have mad respect for Sutton. But only I know what is really going on, and I feel caught. Caught between wanting to tell my coach but also protecting my friend and her dad.

We stay like this, with Ben letting his words hang in the air for a second before pushing off the wall. “You’ve got ten minutes to pull it together before we head back out there. Use it.”

I nod, but the words don’t come. He pats my shoulder once and heads back into the locker room, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I press my back against the wall and close my eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. He’s right. I know he’s right. But knowing it and fixing it are two very different things.

This isn’t just about the game. It’s about Anna, the Renegades, my entire career. It feels like everything is riding on me figuring this out, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not sure I can.

But I have to try.

I push off the wall and head back into the locker room, shoving the doubts aside. Ten minutes to pull it together. If nothing else, I can give the team that much.

The second we step back onto the ice, the roar of the crowd slams into me. It’s electric, but I’m still fighting to shake off the weight from earlier. Coach’s words are ringing in my head, bouncing around like pucks in a bad drill.

Pull it together, Ollie. Focus.

I skate a few laps to get my legs back under me, but it’s hard not to overthink every shift. My stick feels foreign in my hands, like I’ve never held one before.

The whistle blows, and we line up for the face-off. I force myself to zone in, keep my eyes on the puck, block out the noise. But then, somewhere between a quick line change and the puck getting dumped into our zone, I glance toward the boards—and that’s when I see her.

Anna.

She’s leaning forward, gripping the edge of the glass like her life depends on it, her eyes locked on the game. On me.

For a second, I think I’m imagining things. She doesn’t usually come to games—something about the crowds—but there she is. Then I remember that she said she’d be here, that it’s part of our strategy for her to “appear” by my side. Subtle moments at first, all part of the plan.

But is it part of the plan for her to show up looking as sexy as she does right now, looking amazing in a pair of dark brown pants that hugs every curve? Her hair’s tucked under a knit beanie, cheeks pink from the chill of the rink, and when she spots me looking, she smiles.

And way down in the deepest part of me, something shifts. It’s like flipping a switch. The noise fades, the doubts evaporate, and for the first time all night, I feel steady.

The puck drops again, and suddenly everything clicks. My skates feel lighter, my hands surer. I’m not second-guessing my movements or hesitating. I’m just playing—fast, sharp, in the zone. I’m playing for me, and a little for her, too. Okay, a lot for her. I’m a peacock and I’m showing her my feathers. Presenting, right?

All around me, I feel the energy building. The crowd’s louder, my teammates are feeding off it, and I’m dialed in like I haven’t been in weeks. I win battles in the corners, set up a perfect breakout pass that leads to a goal, and when the puck finds its way to my stick late in the third, I know exactly what to do.

I skate hard, cutting through the neutral zone with defenders closing in. I hear the shouts, the sticks slapping against the ice, but it’s all background noise. My focus is on the net, the opening between the goalie’s pads, and the weight of the puck as I draw back my stick.

The shot is clean, a laser that threads through traffic and buries itself in the back of the net.

The horn blares. The crowd erupts. My teammates crash into me, yelling, shoving, laughing.

We’ve won.

I glance toward the boards again, searching for her, and there she is, clapping and cheering like she’s just as invested as I am.

And maybe she is.

My chest feels tight, but not in the bad way—not like earlier when it felt like the world was closing in. This is different. This is the kind of pressure that makes me want to be better, to play harder, to prove I can be the guy who shows up when it matters.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.