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The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(4)

Author:Stephanie Archer

That warm, liquid emotion moves up my throat again, stinging my eyes as he gives my shoulder a squeeze.

“Let’s get some photos before dinner,” my mom says, gesturing at Pippa and Jamie.

“One second.” Pippa grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. “I need Hazel to help me with the… something.”

“What something?” I ask as she hauls me through the restaurant. “I’ll take care of it so you can have fun—”

In the quiet foyer area at the front of the restaurant, away from the guests in the main dining area, she whirls on me. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Uh.” I scramble for an excuse for not answering her three texts about the team’s new trade.

“Connor is on the team now, Hazel.”

For the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours, my stomach drops through the floor. “I know.”

It’s all I’ve fucking thought about. My lying, cheating, manipulative, narcissistic ex is now on the hockey team I work for, and I’m assigned to be his physiotherapist.

All night, I tossed and turned.

“What are we doing about it?” she asks.

I can’t quit, because working for the team is an incredible experience, and I actually love my job. The senior physios are knowledgeable and kind, and it’s surprisingly rewarding, working with the players. While I’m saving to open my own inclusive fitness studio one day, working for the Storm is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d be stupid to walk away.

“Nothing,” I tell her, putting on a neutral smile like I don’t care. “We’re doing nothing.”

“He cheated on you.”

My stomach clenches, and I think about that party back in university when everyone watched, whispering. What he said to me and how it’s stuck with me for years.

“I’m well aware.” I keep my voice low and my expression pleasant in case anyone looks over. “Everyone saw that I’m his physio, including him. If we change it now, everyone will know—”

My words hang in the air as I cut myself off. The deeper we get into this, the more erratic my heart beats. Even Pippa doesn’t know the full truth.

I don’t want him to know he got to me and that I’m still upset about what happened. I don’t even like Pippa knowing, even though she’s my sister and best friend.

I’m the one who takes care of her, not the other way around.

“I spent two years in high school working ahead so that—” I’m about to dig deep into my insult arsenal, but I’m supposed to be convincing Pippa I’m fine. “So we could go to university together.” Connor’s a year older than me. I studied my ass off so that we didn’t have to be apart. I took summer classes to get ahead.

Her eyes soften, and I hate it. I hate that she feels bad for me.

“I’m not going to run.” I straighten up, push my shoulders back, and fake all the tough, strong energy I need right now. “I was here first, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Pippa opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

“This is your engagement party. Please, please don’t make it about me, or I’ll plan another one.” I tap my finger on my lip, narrowing my eyes. “I’m picturing images of you on tour plastered all over the walls. Jamie would love it.”

She snorts. “You’re a menace.” Her expression turns reluctant as she studies my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“One hundred percent fine.” I put on a bright smile. From the way she winces, I went too hard, but I give her a gentle push into the restaurant. “Go. Socialize. Flash your big engagement ring around.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, and I stick mine out in return before she heads back into the restaurant. Jamie holds his hand out as she approaches, and for a moment, I watch them. His hand resting on her waist, keeping her close. Her soft, affectionate smile as she gazes up at him.

What’s it like, I wonder, to be everything to someone? To trust someone like that?

There’s a sharp clench around my heart. Girls like Pippa get love like that. Girls like me? We do casual. I sleep with guys once and only once. It’s safer that way. No one gets their hopes up and no one gets hurt.

I walk back into the restaurant but bump right into a broad, hard chest. “Sorry—”

Rory Miller tilts his arrogant, amused grin down at me. All the air gets sucked out of the room, and my stomach does that annoying flip-flop fluttery thing.

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