Page 39 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)

CARSON

B ailey’s expression falters. But neither of us walk away despite our difficult conversation. At least, not yet.

She asks, “Will I see you Saturday night for the victory bonfire?”

“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 gaze distracts 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.

Ted asks, “What happened? You got scared?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not. You’re in love with her, but you’ve got this idea that hockey and love can’t mix because of what happened with your ex.”

Surprised at that keen level of insight, I jerk my head in his direction.

He shrugs like it’s no big thing. “People talk. I know your ex rejected your proposal and it messed you up. But Bailey isn’t your high school sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, I say, “You’re right. She’s not.”

“I’m right. Let your coach hear those words next time he reminds you about how to receive a stretch pass.”

I don’t have the energy to laugh, but the corner of my lip quivers with a grin. Exhaling, I say, “But it’s not just that. She has opportunities, dreams. Her business could really take off. I can’t ask her to give that up for my nomadic lifestyle.”

“Did she ask you to give up hockey?”

“No, but?—”

“Then why do you think she’d have to give up her dreams? Last I checked, they sell maple syrup, butter, or whatever in every city with an NHL team.”

Fair point.

Ted gets to his feet. “You know what your problem is, Crane? You’re so afraid of getting hurt again that you’re doing the hurting first.”

His words hit too close to home. I sit alone in the locker room long after everyone else has left, replaying every moment with Bailey in my mind—her laughter, her creativity, the way she fits perfectly against me when we dance. The sparkle in her eyes, the softness of her lips …

As I pack up my gear bag, I find something wrapped in cellophane and tied with twine and orange ribbons.

The label says, Sweet Memories Maple Company: Classic Maple Butter you’ll never forget .

I unfold the little slip of paper inside the cellophane bag and read Bailey’s handwriting, For when you miss the taste of home .

Home has become everything Bailey is. Wherever she is.

I pull out my phone and find a new text from her. She tells me the time capsule documents have been verified by the historical society. The whole town is celebrating and she wishes I were there.

No anger. No accusations about my abrupt departure. Just Bailey being Bailey—finding joy in every moment and wanting to share it with me, even after I clammed up and then ran away.

Nanna’s words about dreams, goals, and courage echo in my mind, following me down a dusty road in my thoughts. I’m not sleeping and this isn’t a vision, but in my mind’s eye, I’m wearing a cowboy hat and Bailey is in a white gown, waiting for me. Patiently, confidently, beautifully.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I make a call.

“Gabe, there is no fake relationship.”

Not missing a beat, he says, “Seriously, man? I just finalized the contract for the endorsement, negotiating an extra five percent.”

“Seriously. It was never fake. It’s real.”

“Oh. Wait. What?”

I’m not sure why I’m pouring my heart out to Gabe, but because he planted the idea of finding a fake girlfriend in my mind and leaked my relationship with Bailey to key figures in the press, I need him to know how I really feel.

“This sounds to me like a season comeback. Okay, we are in business,” he says with a greedy edge to his voice.

“No, games. This isn’t business. This is real life,” I say, knowing that whatever comes next won’t be for show … not that it ever truly was.

Now, it’s time to prove that to Bailey.