OFF THE ICE: FAKE DATING MY HOCKEY ENEMY

THOSE DAMN DETAILS

ZANE’S POV

I couldn’t sleep. Not that I had been sleeping well for the past three days anyway. By 4am I gave up and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.

The screen lit up, highlighting my tired features before I saw three unread messages.

**HENRY (10:30pm): Are you there?

**HENRY (11:40pm): Seriously man, are you okay? The team hasn’t heard from you in days.”

I stared at the messages, thumb hovering over the keypad. What would I say?

*Yeah. I’m great. just moved in with the girl who tanked my season, right after i told her to keep her problems to herself and found out her sister can’t afford shoes*

A soft exhale escaped my nostrils. I locked the phone and placed it on my chest. My gaze held the ceiling like all the answers I needed were there.

Henry had been checking since the scandal broke out. It wasn’t a surprise he would. I mean he was always that friend who didn’t take silence seriously but he also wouldn’t let you disappear quietly.

There hadn’t been time to tell the guys about the cameras, how intense it was and how twisted it felt pretending to love Reeve Callahan.

I pushed the duvet off my body, grabbing my phone off my chest as I swung my legs out of bed. Sitting at the edge, eyes catching the clock that had turned 5am.

My hands ran through my hair, tangling in it as I pulled slightly at my scalp. I tilted back, falling on the bed again. Why was she in my head?

The way her voice cracked. That desperation underneath when she promised her sister no one would take her away. The tears on her face when I backed her against that counter.

I’d done that to her.

But one detail still made no sense. *She couldn’t afford shoes?*

Actually, it kind of made sense now. The thrifted sweater with the loose thread, the first time I saw her. How her jeans were thin at the knees, that bag she gripped like it might fall and why she ran back in after I threatened her with the lawsuit.

Little Miss Callahan was broke as hell.

Ah s**t! I rolled over to the side. This strange feeling was creeping inside my chest. What was it called again-guilt maybe? That thing you feel when maybe you’re wrong.

I wouldn’t know. “Guilt only makes you a weaker man.” Those words, I’d heard repeatedly all my life. Even when I’d accidentally injured a fellow player—and I’d stand by it.

The camera crew would arrive soon. Priya had sent three reminder texts about the ‘morning routine segment’. And she added a little comment, talking about.

‘I need you guys to act natural. Show us what a morning routine looks like with you two’

What would a morning routine look like to someone as poor as Callahan?

Within a few minutes I got out of bed and headed straight to the shower. After trying to scrub off the thoughts about her, I came out and dressed in the expensive s**t, Priya’s wardrobe team had left.

I opened my room door, pausing as my eyes rested on hers. There wasn’t light seeping underneath. She was probably still asleep. I stepped forward, raising my hand to knock.

This damn guilt might probably make me apologize. Yet what’s the assurance that as soon as she opened that door, I wouldn’t say hurtful things again.

My hands drooped back to my sides.

******

The crew arrived six minutes earlier. Priya walked in first, her clipboard welded to her hand and a pen tapping against it in a three-beat pattern.

“Zane.” She walked towards me. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep?”

”Like a baby.” I gave a tight lipped smile.

She shifted her gaze off me briefly. “That was a shitty lie.” Turning back to me. “But it doesn’t matter. It makes you vulnerable. I can work with that.”

This b***h.

She checked her watch. I could tell it was expensive. “Where’s Reeve?”

I glanced over at the hallway. “She’s still in her room.”

”Please, go get her. We’re on a tight schedule here.”

I froze, staring at her. If I wanted to talk to her, I would have knocked earlier.

Priya noticed I was still standing, raising her head from her phone. “Well? Go get her, Zane.” She turned to the crew. “Camera one needs to be in the kitchen in four minutes.”

With a deep exhale I walked down the hallway, stopping in front of her door. My hand hovered over the wood for a few seconds before they came down on it, knocking twice.

“What is it?” Her voice came through the wood, softly.

“Erm—“ I gazed at the door briefly like I could see her through it. “The crew’s here. We’re filming in five.”

The silence that followed after was deafening. Then her voice came again,

”i’ll be out in few minutes.”

I gave a curt nod, stepping away from the door, waiting. It only made sense to wait. She was my co-star or colleague—whatever it’s called.

Just like she said, a few minutes passed and the door opened.

Reeve stood there in an oversized sweatshirt and grey joggers. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, strands falling loosely at the sides. Her eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, and I could see her attempt to wash it off.

But I knew she had been crying.

That feeling pulled my chest tightly again.

Her gaze flickered up to mine for half a second before dropping to the floor. She couldn’t even look at me. Her shoulders hunched forward,like she was trying to take up less space.

”We're using the kitchen.” I said, voice coming out rougher than I meant.

”I figured.” She muttered, brushing past me.

I caught the scent of her shampoo as she walked by. It was cheap and floral, nothing like the expensive products the wardrobe gave her. She kept her head down, arms wrapped around herself as she moved.

This wasn’t my problem. Her sister, her poverty or even her tears. None of it was my problem.

So why do I feel sorry for her? The girl who tanked my season.