Faking It With The Hockey Star

Chapter 6: One More Chance

JUSTIN’S POV

The moment I stepped onto the ice that morning, I knew everybody had seen the video.

The atmosphere was different. Too quiet. Too careful. Players who normally wouldn’t hesitate to talk trash during practice were suddenly minding their business. Conversations stopped whenever I skated past. A few guys threw curious looks my way before quickly looking elsewhere.

I ignored all of it. I had more important things to worry about.

The whistle blew. Practice began.

For the next two hours, I buried myself in hockey. That was the thing about the ice. Nothing else mattered out there. Not family problems. Not draft pressure. Not board meetings. Not reporters. Not fathers who wanted to control every aspect of your life. Just the puck. The game. The next play. The next goal.

For a little while, it was enough.

Then practice ended. Reality returned.

"Hayes."

I looked up. Coach Reynolds was standing by the entrance. His expression told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.

"My office."

Several teammates immediately winced. I rolled my eyes. "I’m not getting benched."

"Yet," one of them muttered.

The locker room erupted into laughter. I flipped him off before heading toward the coach’s office.

Coach Reynolds closed the door behind me and gestured toward a chair. I sat. He remained standing. Never a good sign.

For several moments he simply studied me. Finally, he sighed. "Draft season is coming."

There it was. The lecture.

I leaned back in my chair. "I’m aware."

"I don’t think you are."

My jaw tightened. Coach Reynolds folded his arms. "You know what separates the players who get drafted early from the players who don’t?"

I remained silent.

"It isn’t talent."

That got my attention. The coach pointed toward me. "You’re one of the most talented players I’ve coached in twenty years."

I looked away. Compliments always felt dangerous, especially when they came before criticism.

"But talent isn’t enough."

There it was. I knew it.

"The scouts are watching everything." I resisted the urge to groan. "The media is watching." Another point. "Sponsors are watching." Another point. "The teams are watching." And there it was. The final nail.

Coach Reynolds shook his head. "Your reputation matters just as much as your stats."

I laughed humorlessly. "My reputation seems to matter more these days."

"It does." The blunt answer surprised me. The coach didn’t even hesitate. "Justin, teams invest millions into players." He sat across from me. "They don’t just want skill."

I already knew where this was going.

"They want reliability. They want marketability. They want maturity."

Every word felt heavier than the last.

Coach Reynolds slid his tablet across the desk. The screen displayed dozens of headlines.

HOCKEY BAD BOY STRIKES AGAIN.

JUSTIN HAYES SPOTTED WITH ANOTHER GIRL.

FUTURE STAR OR FUTURE PROBLEM?

I looked away. My stomach twisted. Not because the headlines hurt. Because they were annoying. Because nobody cared about the truth. They only cared about the story.

"You need to clean this up."

I sighed. "I know."

"No. I don’t think you do." Coach Reynolds leaned forward. "One more scandal." My jaw tightened. "One more story about you breaking hearts." Another. "One more incident." Another. "And suddenly your skill won’t be the thing scouts remember."

Silence settled between us. Eventually he looked at me carefully. "What exactly is going on with Harper?"

I stared at him. The answer came instantly. "I love her."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. The silence that followed was deafening.

Coach Reynolds blinked. Then blinked again. "You what?"

I rubbed my face. Great. Now it was out there.

"Forget I said that."

"Not a chance."

The old man looked way too pleased with himself. I regretted everything.

"You love her?"

"No."

"You literally just said you did."

"I was speaking hypothetically."

"You were lying."

I groaned. Coach Reynolds laughed. Actually laughed. The traitor.

Eventually his expression became serious again. "If that’s true, then stop screwing around."

I frowned. "What?"

"If she’s important to you, then act like it." His voice hardened. "Because another scandal involving you and some girl is the last thing you need right now."

The room fell silent again. Then the coach sighed. "There’s something else."

My stomach sank immediately. There was always something else. "What?"

The coach looked uncomfortable. That alone worried me. "Your father called."

The good mood vanished instantly. Every trace of it. My jaw clenched. "What did he want?"

"What he always wants." Control. The answer didn’t need to be spoken.

Coach Reynolds leaned back in his chair. "He thinks hockey is distracting you."

I laughed. The sound wasn’t remotely pleasant. "Of course he did. Hockey is the only thing keeping me sane."

"I know."

"He knows that too."

The coach sighed. "He’s worried you’re focusing on the wrong future."

I looked away. Translation: my father wanted me back in the family business. Back under his thumb. Back following his plans, his rules, his life. The same life I’d spent years trying to escape.

"What exactly did he ask for?"

The coach hesitated. That was enough. I already knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.

"He wanted me to take you off the team."

The room went silent. For several seconds, I genuinely thought I had heard him wrong. Then anger exploded through me. Hot. Sharp. Violent. I rose from my chair so quickly it nearly toppled over.

"He what?"

Coach Reynolds remained calm. "He asked me to suspend you."

I laughed again. That ugly, humorless laugh. "He doesn’t get to do that."

"Justin..."

"He doesn’t own this team."

"I know Justin."

"He doesn’t own me."

The words came out harder than intended. The coach nodded. "I know."

I forced myself to sit back down. Barely. Every muscle in my body felt tight, ready to snap.

Coach Reynolds waited until I calmed slightly before speaking. "I told him the same thing."

I looked up. The coach shrugged. "I told him the decision belongs to you."

The tension in my chest eased slightly. Not much. But enough. "Thanks, Coach."

The older man nodded, then pointed toward the door. "Now go fix your life."

I laughed. "If only it were that easy."

"Son, if it was easy, everybody would do it."

Fair point.

I left the office a few minutes later feeling more exhausted than I had after practice. The locker room was mostly empty by then. Exactly how I liked it.

I sat on one of the benches and stared down at my phone. My father. The draft. The board. The company. Harper. Everything felt like a mess.

For a brief moment, I wondered if she had thought about my offer.

Then my phone rang. My heart immediately betrayed me. Harper. A stupid smile appeared before I could stop it.

I answered on the second ring. "Miss me already?"

There was a pause. Then her voice. Soft. Tired. Defeated.

"Can we talk?"

Every trace of amusement vanished. "When?"

"Now."

I sat up straighter. "Tell me where you are."

Ten minutes later, I was waiting for her in the hockey facilities. I didn’t know whether she was coming to reject me or accept my offer. I only knew I wanted to see her. The realization should have scared me. Instead it felt right.

I was scrolling through my phone when shouting erupted outside the locker room. At first I ignored it. Then I heard a familiar voice.

"Get your hands off me!"

My head snapped up. Harper.

I was moving before I even realized it. The locker room door slammed against the wall as I shoved it open. The scene outside instantly sent a wave of anger through me.

Ethan was gripping Harper’s wrist. Hard. Way Too hard. She was trying to pull away. His face was desperate, frustrated, pathetic.

"Get your hands off her."

The words came out cold enough to freeze the hallway. Both of them looked up. Ethan’s grip tightened.

Big mistake.

I took a step forward. Then another. The guy immediately released her.

Smart decision.

Harper looked relieved. The sight alone made my blood pressure drop slightly.

I walked straight past Ethan and stopped in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded.

I reached for her hand. Gently. Completely unlike the way Ethan had been holding her. Then I guided her toward the exit. Neither of us looked back. I certainly didn’t, because if I did, there was a very real chance Ethan would end up unconscious.

We didn’t speak until we reached my car. The moment the doors closed behind us, silence filled the vehicle. For a second, neither of us moved.

Then Harper turned toward me. There was fear in her eyes. Desperation too. And something else. Resignation.

The sight made my chest tighten.

"Is the deal still available?"