The Enforcer’s Obsession

Episode 6 :THE FAKE GIRLFRIEND IDEA

Ryker was sitting alone in his apartment, the silence of the room weighing heavier than the gear he wore on the ice. The only light came from the city skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the hardwood. He was staring at his phone—specifically, at a string of missed calls from a number he’d finally found the courage to block—when someone started aggressively banging on the door.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, HAYES!"

Ryker groaned, the sound vibrating in his chest. He didn't need to look at the security camera to know who was disrupting his brooding.

"Landon," he muttered to the empty room.

"OPEN IT BEFORE I KICK IT IN! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE SULKING!"

Ryker stood up, his joints popping, and trudged to the entryway. He unlocked the door and swung it open, barely stepping back in time to avoid a collision. Landon immediately marched inside, looking like a man on a mission, carrying two cardboard trays of coffee. Parker followed behind him, carrying a bag of takeout and absolutely no common sense.

"We need to talk," Landon said, his voice dropping the shouting tone but keeping the intensity.

Ryker didn't argue. He walked back to the living room and dropped onto the leather couch, burying his face in his hands. "Why does everyone keep saying that? My coach, the dean, my PR rep... it’s a broken record."

"Because you're being an i***t," Landon countered, setting the coffees down on the table with a decisive thud.

"Good evening to you too. Feel free to make yourself at home," Ryker drawled sarcastically.

Landon sat on the armchair opposite him, his posture stiff. The joking expression that usually defined their friendship vanished, replaced by the grim focus of a captain looking at a struggling teammate. "Cut the crap, Ryker. What's really going on?"

Ryker already knew what he meant. This wasn't just about the one-game suspension. It wasn't just about the five-minute major for fighting or the way he’d lost his mind on the ice. It was about the fallout. The media was vultures circling a carcass. His father was the shadow behind the curtain. Everything was collapsing at once.

For a moment, Ryker considered brushing it off with a "just a bad game" or "I'm stressed." But the weight was too much. He looked at his two best friends—the only people who actually gave a damn about the person behind the jersey—and he sighed.

He told them.

He told them about seeing Damian in the stands, that smug, haunting face from a past he’d tried to bury. He told them about the memories of his mother that had flooded back in the middle of a power play. He told them about the phone calls from his father—the demands for money, the threats to go to the press, the poison. He explained how he hadn't seen a hockey puck in that final minute of the game; he’d just seen red.

The apartment became unusually quiet. Even Parker, who usually couldn't go thirty seconds without a quip, stopped mid-fry-reach.

When Ryker finished speaking, Landon’s jaw tightened so hard it looked like it might snap. "He’s still calling you? After everything?"

Ryker nodded, looking at his hands. "Blocked him an hour ago. Finally."

"Good," Landon said firmly.

Parker nodded, his expression surprisingly serious for a man wearing a shirt that said I’m Not A Pro, But I’ll Take A Look. "Very good. That man is a parasite with a bad haircut."

Ryker raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "You’re actually agreeing with something mature? Is the world ending?"

"Don't get used to it," Parker shot back, though the humor didn't quite reach his eyes.

The heavy moment passed, but the tension remained. Landon leaned back, crossing his arms. "Okay, so the internal stuff is being handled. But the bigger problem—the one we can't just block—is the media."

Ryker groaned, leaning his head back against the cushion. "Tell me something I don't know."

It was a total eclipse of his reputation. Every sports blog was portraying him as a "violent psycho" and a "liability to the league." Sponsors were sending "concerned" emails that were thinly veiled threats to pull funding. The college administration was breathing down the athletic department's neck. And social media? It was an absolute disaster of hate comments and viral clips of him losing his temper.

Parker suddenly snapped his fingers, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Both men looked at him.

"No," Ryker said immediately.

Parker blinked, looking wounded. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"Whatever you're thinking, the answer is no. It involves a scheme, and your schemes usually involve us ending up in a viral t****k for the wrong reasons."

Parker stood up, stepping onto the mahogany coffee table like it was a podium. He struck a pose, looking down at them like he was about to present a billion-dollar business proposal.

"THAT attitude is why you have problems, Ryker. You lack vision."

"Parker, get off the furniture," Landon sighed, though he didn't move to stop him.

"No. This is a moment for leadership," Parker declared. He cleared his throat and pointed a finger dramatically at Ryker. "The solution to the 'Ryker Hayes is a Thug' narrative... is a girlfriend."

Silence.

A heavy, confused silence filled the room.

Then Ryker laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. Then Landon joined in, shaking his head.

"I’m serious!" Parker shouted over their laughter.

"Get off the table, you lunatic."

"No!"

"Parker."

"No!"

Landon rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly. "Fine. Explain the logic, because right now, I don't see it."

Parker grinned, his eyes lighting up. Finally. An audience. He hopped down from the table and began to pace. "Think about it. When celebrities get bad press, what do they do? They don't give a boring apology. They change the subject."

"I'm not a celebrity, I'm a student-athlete," Ryker muttered.

"In this town? You're a god with a stick," Parker countered. "The media is currently talking about 'Hockey Monster Ryker Hayes.' They’re obsessed with your 'dark side.' But imagine tomorrow's headline."

Parker gasped theatrically, framing an imaginary newspaper in the air. "'WHO IS THE MYSTERY GIRL SOFTENING THE EDGES OF RYKER HAYES?'"

Landon paused, his expression shifting from amusement to genuine thought. Ryker noticed the change and felt a pit form in his stomach.

Parker pointed at Landon immediately. "See? He gets it! The Captain sees the play!"

"No," Ryker said, standing up. "Absolutely not."

"Bro, listen," Parker insisted, stepping into Ryker’s space. "The media LOVES a redemption arc through romance. They’ll stop talking about the suspension. They’ll start asking who she is. Fans will 'ship' you. They’ll create slow-mo edits of you looking at her. They’ll make cute nicknames. You go from 'Public Enemy Number One' to 'Protective Boyfriend of the Year.'"

Ryker looked horrified. The idea of being "shipped" made him want to crawl into a hole and die. "That sounds like a special kind of hell."

Landon looked at Ryker, his voice more level. "It’s not completely stupid, Ry. Think about it. The news cycle changes instantly. The media gets distracted by a shiny new story, and the suspension becomes old news by the time you’re back on the ice."

"THANK YOU!" Parker shouted.

"It’s still mostly stupid," Landon added.

"Rude."

Ryker paced to the window, looking out at the city. He hated that it actually made sense. A little. Only a little. If he could shift the narrative, maybe the scouts would look at his stats again instead of his penalty minutes.

Parker suddenly grinned, a look of pure mischief crossing his face. "Oh my God. It’s perfect."

"What?" Ryker asked, turning around with a look of dread.

"I already know the girl."

Ryker stepped forward, his voice low and warning. "No. Parker, I swear—"

Parker smiled wider, ignoring the threat entirely. "Lila Bennett."

The room fell silent. It was a different kind of silence this time—one thick with unspoken history. Landon slowly turned his head toward Ryker. Parker leaned in, watching for a reaction.

And unfortunately for Ryker... he didn't react fast enough. A tiny hesitation. A half-second pause where his heart skipped a beat at the mention of the girl from the library. The girl who didn't take his crap. The girl with the blue eyes that seemed to see right through his "monster" persona.

That was all they needed.

Parker let out a dramatic, high-pitched gasp. "YOU LIKE HER!"

Ryker wanted to throw him out the window. "I don't. I barely know her."

"You do! You totally do! You just had a 'moment'!"

"I did not have a moment! I had a muscle spasm!"

"You absolutely like her," Landon smirked.

Ryker pointed a finger at both of them, his face flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Neither of you speak another word. This is over. The idea is dead."

Neither listened. Parker was already pacing excitedly, practically vibrating. "Oh, this is better than I imagined. The sweet, studious girl and the scary, misunderstood hockey player. The 'Beauty and the Beast' trope! The media will eat it up! We’ll get you photographed walking her to class. Maybe you carry her books? No, too much. You just look at her like she’s the only person in the room."

Ryker groaned, sinking back into the couch. This was becoming a living nightmare. Meanwhile, Parker looked ready to plan a fake wedding and a fake honeymoon.

And somewhere in the back of Ryker's mind, despite his best efforts to suppress it... a certain girl with blue eyes and a stubborn attitude appeared. He remembered the way she’d stood her ground against him. He remembered how she didn't look at him like a monster, but like a puzzle she intended to solve.

That thought annoyed him far more than Parker ever could. Because for the first time in a long time, the "Fake Girlfriend" idea didn't feel entirely like a lie.