THE HOCKEY STAR'S FAKE LOVE

Lila's POV

I used to think high school hallways were just places you walked through. Now they felt like enemy territory.

The locker slammed next to mine, and I didn’t even flinch anymore. That was new. Six months ago I would’ve jumped, books slipping from my arms, cheeks burning while laughter rippled down the corridor. Today my hands stayed steady as I shoved my notebook inside. 

Ignore it. Just ignore it.

“Still hiding behind those glasses, nerd?” 

The voice belonged to Marcus — one of Jax’s loyal shadows on the hockey team. He didn’t wait for an answer. A crumpled paper ball bounced off my shoulder and rolled away. 

I bent to pick it up anyway, smoothing it out on instinct. Physics notes. Mine, from yesterday. Someone had drawn a crude stick figure with oversized glasses and labeled it Lila the Loser.

My throat tightened, but I swallowed it down. Crying in the hall was a mistake I’d made exactly once. Never again.

I straightened, adjusted the strap of my bag, and kept walking. The whispers followed like exhaust fumes.

“Did you see her face? Pathetic.”

“Thought she was Jax’s friend once. Guess he finally saw how lame she is.”

Jax. 

His name still landed like a stone in my stomach. We’d been inseparable in middle school — late-night video calls about nothing, trading snacks during lunch, him defending me when anyone looked at me sideways. 

Then freshman year hit. Popularity wrapped around him like new hockey gear, shiny and tight. The quiet girl with her nose in books didn’t fit the star forward image anymore. So he let the distance grow. Then the distance turned sharp.

Now he barely looked at me. When he did, it was with that blank hockey-player stare, like I was just another face in the crowd he skated past.

I turned the corner toward the library — my safe zone during lunch — and nearly collided with a broad chest wrapped in a letterman jacket.

Strong hands caught my elbows to steady me. The scent hit first: clean sweat, mint gum, and something colder, like ice from the rink. 

Jax.

Up close he looked even taller than on the ice. Dark hair still damp from morning practice, jaw tight, eyes the kind of blue that used to make me feel seen. Today they flicked over me quickly — recognition, then something unreadable.

“Lila.” His voice came out low, almost careful. Not the loud bark he used with the team.

I pulled back, heat rushing to my face. “Sorry. I wasn’t watching.”

He didn’t let go right away. His thumbs brushed my sleeves once, like an accident, before he dropped his hands. Behind him, a couple of teammates lingered, watching with matching smirks.

Marcus called out, “Careful, Cap. Don’t want her cooties rubbing off on your stats.”

Jax’s shoulders tensed. For a second I thought he’d snap at them like he used to snap at anyone who messed with me. Instead he just tilted his head toward the empty side hall. 

“Walk with me.” He didn’t wait to see if I’d agree before turning the corner.

It wasn’t a question.

My feet moved before my brain caught up. We turned the corner, away from the eyes. The noise dulled. Just the echo of our shoes and my pulse hammering too loud in my ears.

He stopped near the trophy case, arms crossed, staring at the floor like it owed him something. “They’re getting worse.”

I let out a short laugh that sounded brittle even to me. “You noticed.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit I still remembered from when he was nervous about games. “I hate watching it.”

My chest did something complicated — half hope, half anger. “Then why don’t you stop it? You’re the captain. They listen to you.”

His jaw worked. Silence stretched long enough that I started counting heartbeats. One. Two. Three.

“Because stopping it outright would make it worse right now,” he said finally. “But I’ve got a better idea.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting. The old Jax would’ve just fixed it. This version played games.

“Fake date me.”

The words landed so flat I almost laughed again. “What?”

“You heard me.” He stepped closer, voice dropping so only I could hear. “We pretend we’re together. My status — the team, the school, the games — no one touches what’s mine. They’ll back off. You get peace. I get…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up. “Doesn’t matter. It’s simple. No real feelings. Just performances. Hand-holding in the halls, sitting together at lunch, maybe a kiss at the next home game if we need to sell it.”

My brain short-circuited. Performative kisses. With Jax. The same Jax whose friends made my life hell. The same Jax who used to know every secret I had.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, voice quieter than I wanted.

He shrugged, but his eyes stayed intense. “Can’t stand seeing them break you down. You don’t deserve it.”

Something in my stomach fluttered traitorously. I crushed it. This was Jax — popular, untouchable, the guy who’d let the bullying happen in the first place. Protection with strings. But God, the idea of walking these halls without shrinking… 

I thought about the notes in my locker. The shoved shoulders. The way my quiet corner of the library sometimes wasn’t quiet anymore.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

Fake dating him. Jax Carter. The same boy who used to sit beside me on the bus and trade half his lunch for my cookies. The same boy who now walked past me in the hallway like we’d never shared a thousand tiny memories.

My chest tightened.

“Why now?” I asked quietly. “You’ve been watching this happen for months.”

He flinched. It was small, quick, but I saw it. I used to know all his tells.

“You never said anything before,” I continued, the words coming out sharper than I meant. “You never told them to stop. You never even looked at me.”

Silence stretched between us. His gaze dropped to the floor again, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump.

“I know,” he said.

Just that. No excuses. No easy defense.

And somehow that made it worse.

I hugged my books closer to my chest. “So why should I believe this isn’t just another way for me to get humiliated?”

His head snapped up at that, blue eyes suddenly fierce. “Because I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

The certainty in his voice made my heart stumble — traitorous and confused.

I hated that part of me still wanted to believe him.

I hated that part even more for remembering the boy he used to be.

I looked down at the space between us, at the polished floor reflecting two people who barely knew each other anymore.

This was a terrible idea.

A risky idea.

A possibly heart-breaking idea.

And yet the thought of walking through the halls without shrinking felt like oxygen after months underwater.

I exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “But if this blows up in my face, I’m blaming you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips — small, almost relieved. “Deal.”

He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch lingered a beat too long. Warm fingers against my skin. My breath caught.

“First rule,” he murmured. “Act like you want to be here.”

I swallowed hard. “Noted.”

We stepped back into the main hall together. His hand found mine — big, calloused from sticks and weights — and laced our fingers. Heads turned. Whispers shifted from cruel to confused.

Marcus’s smirk faltered.

Jax squeezed my hand once, gentle. “This is going to work.”

I nodded, but inside my thoughts were spinning.

This was supposed to be fake. Safe.

Why did his palm against mine already feel like the start of something I couldn’t control?