Fake Marrying My Hockey Star Ex

“Carmen, table three wants their glasses refilled!” The voice cuts through the noise in the bar before I see who’s calling. The place is packed because of the state’s game, while voices bounced off the wood walls. I grab two glasses, pour without looking up, as my hands work on their own while my mind drifts far away. “Coming right up,” I call, grabbing the water jug and rushing down to the table. “Thanks, Carmen,” one of the regular customer grins as I fill his cup to the brim. I wipe my hands on a rag and glance at the door. Across the street, the rink lights still glow bright against the night. I hated being stuck here during game nights. We were close enough to hear the cheering from the ice rink but still I couldn’t dare to watch the game for fear of Vivian splitting my paycheck in half. Stacy and I remained stuck until almost midnight, while Vivian and her husband went across the street to watch. “Try to get some rest, dear. You’re working too hard again,” Stacy murmurs as she passes behind me with a tray. Her voice is soft but heavy with worry. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Rush hour will be over soon.” She gives me a worried look but keeps walking. She’s tired too. I heard her cuss out a customer for giving he no tips after serving their table of ten. I pour another drink, slide it down the bar, and tell myself, like I always do, that we’ll make it out of here. Someday. “Carmen, did you her what happened to your boyfriend? He’s on every sports channel again.” “Firstly, I do not have a boyfriend. Second I’ll smack you into space if you give me that 100$ bill for your 15$ drink,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m talking about Xander Phillip,” the customer whispered. The name hits like a slap. But I keep my face neutral. “I don’t know him and I haven't heard the news,” I say, turning away. Of course I’ve heard. It’s impossible not to. Xander Phillip, the golden boy, the one who left me in pieces after high school. He was a national name now. People chant for him in arenas. Reporters call him a heartbreaker. But they have no idea how right they are. I slide another round of drinks to a table and try not to think about him. I try not to think about how we used to be inseparable. How he used to grin at me through the rink glass, tapping his stick like I was his lucky charm. How he left with no warning, no real explanation, just a clean cut out words, “Sorry Carmen, I need space to build my career.” Pathetic. I tell myself I’m over it. I’ve told myself that for years. Suddenly, the door opens, as a rush of cold night air blows in, along with a strange hush. The jukebox keeps playing, but the voices in the bar disappear, like someone just hit a mute button in the room. Heads turn to a direction, and I was forced to look up. And my world stopped right at that moment. Xander Phillip walks in, a black jacket tossed across his shoulder and a small bag in his hand.. For a heartbeat I think I’m imagining him. He looks older now, and taller with broader shoulders. His hair is longer, with sharper jaw, but those eyes… those eyes are the same ones that made me believe in him, the same ones that looked at me like I was his whole world. My grip on the tray trembles and I nearly drop it. Stacy suddenly appears at my side her mouth wide in disbelief, “Is that…?” “Yeah,” I mutter. “It’s him.” He scans the room, with that same quiet confidence radiating off him, like the crowd isn’t even there watching. Then his gaze finds me, and locks me in place. It’s like a punch to the stomach. In an instant, I’m seventeen again, standing at the rink, believing in a boy who was never going to stay. I spin away, set the tray down too hard on the counter. “Unbelievable,” I mutter. He starts walking toward me` and I though to run away but that would be way too awkward. God, I hated that my breath catches because of him. I hate that my palms begins to sweat. Hate that I still feel anything at all. I could hear whispers rippling through the crowd, chanting his name like he was some kind of celebrity. He stops right in front of me at the bar. And for a second, we just stare at each other. The noise in the background fades until it’s just the two of us. “Hi, Carmen,” he says. Gosh! His voice is deeper now, and rougher. I grip the counter, grounding myself. “What the hell are you doing here?” His lips twitch, almost like he’s nervous. Xander Phillip, nervous? The thought alone makes me want to laugh in his face. “I need to talk to you,” he says. I snort. “After all this time? You don’t just get to just show up and say that.” “I know,” he says softly. “But it’s important.” I cross my arms. “Then say it. Spit it out, I'm all ears.” He glances around at the watching crowd of customers, then back at me. “At least not here. Not in front of everyone.” Heat rises in my chest, then anger and confusion, maybe even fear. “Then maybe you should start leaving.” Instead of leaving, he leans closer. His voice dropping low, just enough for me to hear. “Please, Carmen. Just hear me out.” I should tell him to go to hell. I should throw him out like the trash he made me feel like years ago. But the way he looks at me stops me cold. There’s something desperate in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before. The customers are still watching. Stacy is still frozen in shock, watching too. And my chest is tight, with uneven breath. I do the one thing I never thought I would do again. I nod once. His shoulders ease, just slightly. Then he leans and whispers, “Thank you.” And before I can stop myself, and remind myself who he really is and what he did to me years ago, I ask the question that will change everything. “What do you want from me, Xander?”