Pretending To Love The Hockey Captain

Chapter Three

Carter’s Pov

The camera flash is so bright it feels like lightning striking right inside my brain. I stand there in my stiff, expensive tuxedo, forcing myself to smile for the reporters shouting our names. But my eyes keep sliding sideways to Lena.

She wears a simple dark blue dress that cost more than my first second-hand car, yet she looks like she is just wearing jeans to walk in the park. She does not smile wide like she is trying to sell toothpaste. She does not lean all over my arm like a model trying to steal the spotlight. She just stands there, calm and quiet, as if standing next to a professional hockey player on a red carpet is the most normal thing in the world.

"Lena! Carter!" a loud voice shouts from the front row of reporters. A man with a sharp, greasy smile pushes his microphone forward. "Is it true you're only with him for his money, Lena? How much is the contract?"

My jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache. Before I can open my mouth to tell this jerk where to go, Lena speaks. Her voice is low, steady, and ice-cold.

"If I wanted money, I would have stayed in my accounting office and earned it myself," Lena says, looking right into the camera lens without blinking. "Next question."

The reporter actually stumbles backward, looking shocked. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. For months, every woman my agent put in front of me cared only about my bank account, my fame, and what kind of car I drove. Lena does not care about any of it. Being next to her makes me feel like I can finally take a deep breath after holding it underwater for a year.

Inside the grand ballroom, the noise is deafening. Glasses clink, classical music plays softly from hidden speakers, and rich people laugh at jokes that aren't funny.

"You okay?" I ask, leaning down so my lips are close to her ear.

"I am fine," she whispers back, though her fingers are tightly clutching her small silver purse. "Just trying not to step on any expensive shoes."

"You are doing great," I say, and for a second, my voice drops its fake public tone. "Better than me."

She looks up at me, her big brown eyes catching the light of the crystal chandeliers. Suddenly, I am back in our college dorm kitchen, eating cheap cold pizza out of a cardboard box while Lena tells me not to quit the university hockey team just because my knee hurt. She remembers that night all wrong. She thinks I looked down on her, that I laughed at her and walked away because she wasn't rich enough for my friends. She has spent five years hating me for something I never even did.

"Carter?"

A sharp voice cuts through the music like a knife.

I turn around. Sophia is standing right behind us. Her face is hard, and her eyes look like broken glass as she stares at Lena. Sophia is the daughter of one of my father's business partners. My family always expected me to marry her, even though we have nothing in common except sharing the same social circle.

"What are you doing here, Sophia?" I ask, my voice dropping an octave.

"We need to talk," Sophia says, ignoring Lena completely. She steps closer to me, lowering her voice. "Who is this? What is this little game you are playing? Your father is going to lose his mind when he sees the photos tomorrow. He will never tolerate this."

"I don't care what my father tolerates," I say coldly. "My life is not his business."

Sophia gives a cold, bitter little laugh. "You think you can hide from him? He already knows. He started investigating her family this morning."

My heart drops straight down into my stomach. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Sophia whispers, her eyes darting to Lena before looking back at me. "He knows her mother works at a grocery store and her brother fixes trucks. People like that don't belong in our world, Carter. He is going to ruin her just to teach you a lesson."

She turns on her high heels and walks away before I can say another word.

I stand there, my hands shaking inside my jacket pockets. Why is my father looking into Lena's family? He never cared about any other girl I brought around. He didn't care when I dated models or actresses. But Lena... why her? Is it because she is normal? Or is it because she is the only person who doesn't bow down to him?

By the time we get back to my apartment, the silence in the room feels heavy and dangerous. The city lights glow outside the tall glass windows, painting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

"Okay," I say, trying to clear the rough gravel from my throat. "We need to practice our public poses. The media is going to follow us everywhere this week. If we look awkward, they will ask questions."

Lena stands by the kitchen island, looking nervous. "We already practiced that at the venue."

"Not enough," I say, stepping closer to her. "Come here."

She hesitates, then takes two steps toward me.

"Closer," I murmur.

She steps up until she is right in front of me. I can smell the clean, sweet scent of her shampoo. It's the same scent she wore in college, and it hits me like a physical blow. I reach out and place my hand gently on the small of her back, pulling her flush against my chest.

Lena gasps softly. Her hands fly up to rest against my lapels, her fingers curling into the expensive fabric of my suit.

"Like this," I whisper, my voice suddenly thick. My eyes drop to her lips. "They want to see us close. They want to see that we actually like each other."

"Carter..." she breathes out. Her chest rises and falls rapidly against mine. She isn't acting. I can feel the fast, hard beat of her heart right through her dress. She is shaking just a little bit.

I look down into her eyes, and the world outside this room just vanishes. There are no reporters, no hockey games, no angry father, and no fake girlfriend contracts. There is only Lena. The girl who saved my hockey career five years ago. The girl I was too stupid to hold onto.

My hand slides up her back, tangling gently in her soft hair. I tilt my head, my face moving closer to hers. I can feel her warm breath on my skin. I am going to kiss her. I know I shouldn't, because this is all a lie, but I cannot stop myself.

Then, her eyelids flutter shut, and her lips part just a fraction.

I am a millimeter away from touching her lips with mine when the sharp, loud buzzing of my cell phone shatters the quiet.

We both jump like we've been shocked by electricity. Lena steps back quickly, her face turning bright red as she smoothed down the front of her dress. I stand there frozen, my hand still raised in the air, feeling completely empty.

I pull the phone out of my pocket. The screen glows with the name of Dr. Evans, the head team doctor for the-hockey club.

"Hello?" I answer, my voice rough.

"Carter," Dr. Evans says, and he doesn't sound like his usual calm self. He sounds tired and worried. "I just got the final lab results back from the MRI on your knee. We need to talk."

"Talk about what?" I ask, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. "I played through the pain last night. It's just a sprain. I'll be fine by Thursday's practice."

"It's not a sprain, son," the doctor says heavily. "The damage to your ligaments is much worse than we thought on the ice. If you play another game on this knee, you might never walk without a limp again."