FAKING IT WITH THE HOCKEY CAPTAIN

Willow's POV 

“And there goes Maddox again, fast break down center ice! Lucas Cross is right behind him—will he pass? Nope! He's not passing this time. Folks.”

“Maddox  is going solo.”

“Bold move. The kid's hungry today.”

“And ladies and gentlemen. He scores. That's goal number four for number seven. Maddox is dominating the ice tonight. Forget a hat trick… that's a full on humiliation and a slap in the face to Cross.”

The commentator's voice blasted from the overhead speakers like he was commentating on the end of the world and not just a sweaty game of ego on the ice.

Inside, the suit smelled like an old barn full of cow shit and regret. I adjusted the bubble-head-sized eagle head I was cursed to wear and tried not to pass out from the heat. No one tells you when you sign up to be a mascot to cheer for your hot brother. The object of your desire. 

The only reason you get sweet sleep, full of hard-to-pen-down dreams, is that you'll end up suffocating in polyester and crushed dreams that'll never come true.

Lucas was supposed to win. He had to.

My eyes locked on the scoreboard. Six goals total for our team. Four of them are by Kian Maddox: Golden Boy, Team Menace, and the one about to snatch my brother's captain's title from the very bane of my existence. One by my brother. One by someone else who no one will remember five minutes after this game.

I clapped halfheartedly like I was paid to be enthusiastic (which I wasn't). But inside, I was praying hard for a miracle.

For someone—just anyone—to knock Kian on his smug face and give Lucas the shit he deserved.

Kianskated past the opposing goalie like he owned the rink, arms raised in a mocked victory as the crowd erupted. 

Students screamed, hats flew in the air, and girls in tight cheer uniforms actually swooned. Like a full-body swoon. Gross.

He turned to Lucas, winked at him, and made gestures to the students.

I muttered under my breath. “Show off, jerk.”

Just then a rogue puck shot off the ice and slammed into the barrier right in front of me.

I jolted, slipped on the foam feet of the costume, and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. 

The oversized mascot head twisted sideways, and I heard a familiar, tragic sound of plastic crunching.

Worse—my glasses fucking flew off.

I scrambled in the oversized suit, blind and half suffocating, patting the ground in panic.

Great. Freaking great. Just what I needed right now. Die blind and humiliated in an eagle costume while Kian effing Maddox racked up another goal and the world applauded.

Then, suddenly—a hand.

“Looking for this?” 

The voice was smooth. Way too smooth. And familiar in that ‘I… would… rather… chew… glasses… than… hear… it… again kind of way.

KianMaddox. Of course.

He knelt beside me, holding out my bent, scratched-up glasses like he was offering me a choice to choose between life and death. That cold smirk in place. Hair perfect. Not even a single bead of sweat ruining the cocky poster boy's pretty face.

What? Did I just say that? Nope. Hell no. He can never match up to my Lucas.

I snatched my glasses and pushed them on, glaring at him through the now lopsided frame. “I didn't ask for your help.” 

He raised a brow, still crouched beside me, way too close. “Didn't say you did.” 

His eyes flicked over the massive mascot head. “Nice look, by the way. You are pulling off the tragic bird really well.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain. “Don't you have another goal to score or someone else's girlfriend to seduce?” 

He just winked. “Already done both. Unless you don't mind me scoring again against your brother.”

“You wish.” I bit back.

“What can I say? We need to keep you entertained so you can hold up that massive head really well.” He blew me a kiss.

And then he was gone… skating backward like the smug little devil that he is, arms raised to soak in the crowd’s love, leaving on the ground, in a broken suit and glasses, wondering how one guy could ruin a perfectly good Wednesday night just by existing.

Talking about glasses… Guess it's time to make that appointment I have been holding back on.

“Another perfect goal. Ladies and gentlemen. Maddox is our boy for tonight.” The commentator's annoying voice came over the speaker again, jolting me back to reality.

The bell rang just then, signaling the end of the game. To my dismay and everyone's happiness.

That smug devil kept his promise—he scored again. 

Seven goals, and only he has five out of them. 

Oh my God. 

It dawned on me at that moment… Lucas already lost the captain's title… There's no way Coach is letting Kianeffing Maddox go.

“Everyone gather around.” The coach's voice came as he hugged Scott, “That's my boy. I am really proud of you.”

“And to everyone on the team. We have our new MVP and captain of the team. Kian Maddox.” The coach announced.

The rink erupted with cheers and whistles. Lucas threw his helmet on the floor, getting everyone's attention.

“This is not fair, Coach. He's a freshman. How can you have so much trust in this kid?” He said, anger and pain evident in his voice.

My heart squeezed at the sound of it. I wish I could give him a hug and tell him everything is fine… I will always be there for him.

He doesn't need all this to be my star player.

“I told you, Cross. You don't get your shit or whatever is going on in your life together, and then you lose the title. Did you see your performance?” The coach exaggerated, 

“It was a flop. A total flop, Cross. Get your shit together.”

Lucas stormed out of the rink—tears he tried to hide rolled down.

I bolted after him but couldn't see where he went as the costume slowed me down. I ran to the locker room, threw the eagle head down and shrugged out of it, changed my clothes, and ran out.

The hallway is almost empty now. My first stop was the gym, but he wasn't there.

Where could he have gone? I hastened my steps, heading to their locker room.

“Lucas? Lucas?” I called, but no response, only a grunt. The shower was running, but I figured he could hear me.

“I am sorry about what happened out there. It's not your fault. It's Kian fucking Maddox's.” I spit out with so much venom.

“He's a jerk. He just likes to show off, and he would never be anything like you. You'll always be my star player.” 

I turned around as the shower turned off; as much as I wanted to get a glimpse of what he's packing, I couldn't bring myself to look.

Suddenly, there's a clapping.

“Wow. Such touching words. It's sad that Cross isn't here to hear it.” 

Kian Maddox!

I turned, my eyes held nothing but pure hatred for him. “How dare you?” I poke him on the chest.

“This was supposed to be Lucas' year. This is his dream, and you stole it. How dare you?” 

“Ow. Easy there, little tiger. Didn't figure that I hurt his feelings so badly. But don't worry, Lucas is a big boy. He can handle himself.”

I wanted to beat the shit out of him—wipe that smug, devilish smile off his face.

“Wow. You ruined everything you touched, including people's lives and reputations… but I guess that's part of the brand, right?” 

His smile fell off. His iris turned dark. I didn't wait for his reaction and walked out with a triumphant smile, very proud of myself.

I continued my search for Lucas but didn't find him. I had to leave because of how tired I was. 

***

I could have sworn I left it here. I checked the rink bleachers, row by row, back to where I was standing, but I still couldn't find my diary.

I hope someone hasn't taken it. I hope it was thrown in the bin. My heart was filled with panic, racing at the idea of someone finding out about all the things I have written in that book.

I was in the players locker room right now, checking each of their lockers. It's empty, and I hope someone doesn't walk in the middle of my operation.

“Looking for this?” I jumped back in fear, letting out a squeak.

That fucking voice again. That fucking face. My eyes locked on his hand, holding out my diary. 

Oh my God. My diary. Did he read it? I hope not. Where did he find it? 

Why are you so careless, Willow? 

I go to snatch it, but he pulled back.

“Not so fast, tiger. I am not done reading it. Are you going to lend it to me?” He started flipping the pages. “I had orgasms reading some parts yesterday.” 

“Give it back.” I tried to take it again, but he raised his hand, outside my reach.

“He slammed the puck into the net like he owned the ice, like the MVP he is. I wonder if he'd use his stick on me the same way—hard, fast, unrelenting—until I begged him to stop and meant none of it. My…” 

I kicked him hard; he stumbled, didn't fall, but that shut him up.