Faking Forever: My Ex’s Hockey Star

The message ends everything.

I stare at my phone.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.

Ten years.

My fingers shake. I read it again. Then again. As if the meaning will soften. As if the words will apologize. They don’t.

“This isn’t funny,” I whisper, though I know no one is joking.

My chest tightens. My throat burns. I try to breathe slowly, the way he once taught me during exams, during panic, during nights when life felt heavy.

“Ryan?” I type. Then delete it.

I pressed the call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Then stops.

He doesn’t answer.

I sit still. Very still. Like if I don’t move, this moment might reverse itself. Like time might feel sorry for me.

Today is our anniversary.

Ten years today.

He promised dinner. He promised a ring. He promised forever.

I laughed once. It sounds wrong. Sharp. Almost ugly.

“Of course,” I whisper. “Of course you’d do it like this.”

Another message comes in. My heart jumps, stupid and hopeful.

Please don’t make this harder.

Harder.

I press my phone to my chest. My heart beats fast. Too fast. It feels like it’s trying to escape.

I gave up things for him.

I sink onto the couch. My legs feel weak, like they no longer belong to me.

I don’t cry yet.

I think of all the nights I stayed awake waiting for him. All the times I forgave things I shouldn’t have forgiven. All the times I chose silence instead of honesty because I didn’t want to lose him.

And now he leaves me with a message.

My phone buzzes again.

This time it’s Maddie.

“Open the door,” she says before I can speak. “I’m outside.”

“I’m not dressed,” I say. My voice sounds small.

“I don’t care.”

I stand slowly. My body feels heavy. I open the door.

Maddie looks at me once and her face changes. She doesn’t ask what happened. She already knows.

“Oh, Iz,” she says softly.

I break.

I fell into her arms. My knees shake. The tears come fast. Loud. Ugly. I don’t try to stop them.

“He left me,” I say between sobs. “He left me today. Today.”

Maddie curses under her breath. She holds me tighter.

“That coward,” she says. “That absolute coward.”

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “I did everything right.”

“I know.”

“I stayed. I waited. I believed him.”

“I know.”

She pulls back slightly and looks at my face. Her eyes are sharp now. Angry. Protective.

“You’re not staying here,” she says.

“I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Too bad. You’re coming with me.”

“I don’t want to see people.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone. Just breathe somewhere else.”

I shake my head. “I can’t pretend I’m fine.”

“Good,” she says. “Then don’t.”

She grabs my jacket. My keys. She does not ask permission.

The drive is quiet at first. My phone sits face down in my lap. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to hope again.

“He didn’t even call,” I said suddenly.

Maddie’s grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” she says.

“I loved him.”

“I know.”

“I still do.”

She glances at me. “That doesn’t make you weak.”

It feels like it does.

We stop at a red light. I stare ahead, unfocused.

“What if I wasn’t enough?” I ask quietly.

Maddie laughs, sharp and humorless. “Izzy, listen to me. He didn’t leave because you weren’t enough. He left because he couldn’t be.”

I want to believe her. I really do.

The car stops again. This time she turns off the engine.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“An event,” she says. “Work thing.”

“I can’t do an event.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she says. “Just stand next to me. Drink something. Let the world remind you that it didn’t end tonight.”

The words settle somewhere deep.

Inside, my chest still aches. But I follow her.

People talk. Laugh. Smile too easily. I feel like I’m underwater. Like everyone else knows a secret I missed.

Maddie stays close. She talks when I can’t. She introduces me when I forget my own name.

I nod. Smile. Lie.

“I need air,” I say after a while.

“I’m right here,” she says.

“I just need a minute.”

She hesitates, then nods. “Don’t disappear.”

I won’t.

I step aside. My phone vibrates again.

A picture this time.

Ryan.

They’re smiling.

Something inside me snaps.

I feel foolish. Small. Replaceable.

I close my eyes.

“Rough night?”

The voice is calm. Low. Not familiar.

I open my eyes.

He’s tall. Broad shoulders. Confident in a way that feels natural, not forced. His eyes are sharp, observant. Like he sees more than he should.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly.

He smiles slightly. Not amused. Curious.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Fair.”

He doesn’t leave. That annoys me. And somehow… doesn’t.

“I’m Alex,” he says.

“I didn’t ask for your name either.”

His smile grows. “You’re angry.”

“I’m heartbroken,” I correct.

“That’s worse.”

I study him now. There’s something familiar about his face. Something I’ve seen before. On screens. On posters. On headlines.

Oh.

“You’re him,” I say.

He tilts his head. “I am.”

I laugh softly. “Of course you are.”

“Bad timing?”

“You have no idea.”

There’s a pause. A strange one. Heavy. Charged.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

I look at him. Really look at him.

“For what?”

“For whatever made you look at your phone like that.”

The kindness surprises me. It feels dangerous.

“I just got dumped,” I say.

“Tonight?”

"Ten year anniversary.”

He exhales slowly. “That’s brutal.”

“I thought he was going to propose.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t.”

“No,” I say. “He proposed to someone else’s life instead.”

Alex watches me closely. Not pitying. Not amused. Just attentive.

“He doesn’t deserve another second of your night,” he says.

“Easy for you to say.”

“True,” he admits. “But it's still true.”

Maddie appears beside me suddenly.

“There you are,” she says. Then it freezes. “Oh.”

Alex smiles at her. “Hi.”

She recovers quickly. “Hi.”

Her eyes flick to me. Curious. Questioning.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod. “Just talking.”

Alex looks between us. Something thoughtful passes through his eyes.

“Well,” he says, “I should let you two”

He pauses. Look at me again.

“Unless you want company.”

I don’t know why I say it.

“Stay.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Alex smiles again. This time slower. More knowing.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

As the conversation continues, something shifts inside me. Not happiness. Not hope.

Distraction.

Relief.

And somewhere deep, a spark I don’t trust.

Alex leans in slightly. His voice drops.

“Can I ask you something honest?”

I hesitate. Then nod.

“Does he know what he lost?”

I swallow.

“I don’t think he ever really saw me.”

Alex’s smile fades. His eyes sharpen.

“That’s his mistake,” he says.

Our eyes meet.

For a moment, the noise fades. The ache dulls. The world narrows.

Then Alex smiles again.

Not kind this time.

Not casual.

Too knowing.

And suddenly, I feel it.

This is not a coincidence.

This is the beginning of something dangerous.

Why does it feel like he already knows me and why does his smile say this is far from over?