The Hockey Player’s Pretend Girlfriend

CLARA’S POV

The bitter chill of the university ice arena hit my skin the second I slipped through the heavy side doors. 

My muscles were screaming with exhaustion after fourteen hours in transit, flying all the way back from my cousin’s wedding in Europe, but the adrenaline rushing through my veins kept me wide awake. 

I was supposed to be gone for two full weeks. 

Instead, I had packed my bags in the middle of the night, caught the earliest flight out of London, and rushed straight from the airport to the arena without even stopping by my dorm.

I wanted to surprise Ethan.

In the deep pocket of my wool coat, my fingers tightened around a small velvet box. Inside was a silver watch I had spent three months saving for, engraved with his jersey number and our anniversary date. 

I had rehearsed the moment a hundred times in my head during the flight: Ethan walking off the ice, wiping sweat from his forehead, looking up to see me standing by the tunnel, throwing his arms around me and telling me how much he had missed me.

We had been together since our freshman year. 

He was my first real relationship, my first everything, and even when his temper got the better of him or his ego took over after a tough game, I always believed he loved me just as deeply.

The arena was mostly dark, the main floodlights shut down for the night, leaving only the dim amber safety lamps humming along the concrete walls. 

Late-night practice had wrapped up half an hour ago, but I knew Ethan’s routine by heart. 

He always lingered in the gym or Locker Room 4 to stretch and shower long after the rest of Tier-B cleared out.

The rubber flooring muffled my footsteps as I turned down the narrow hallway leading toward the locker rooms. 

The sharp scent of freshly cut ice, damp tape, and leather hung thick in the air. As I drew closer to Locker Room 4, the heavy silence broke.

Faint whispers echoed against the tiled walls, followed by a muffled giggle and the harsh scrape of metal bench legs against concrete.

I paused just outside the door, my heart skipping an uneven beat. The door was cracked open a few inches, a slice of fluorescent yellow light spilling out into the dark corridor.

I smiled to myself, thinking maybe one of his teammates was giving him a hard time about staying late. 

I raised my hand to push the door open, eager to jump in and catch him off guard.

Then a woman’s breathy laugh drifted through the opening.

"Ethan, stop. Someone might come in."

"Nobody is coming in, babe," a familiar voice replied. 

A low, raspy chuckle that sent an immediate ice-cold spike straight through my spine. 

"The whole building is empty. Just shut up and let me look at you."

My hand froze in midair. Every drop of warmth drained from my face.

My breath caught in my throat as I peered through the narrow gap. The locker room was a mess of discarded jerseys, duffel bags, and hockey sticks. 

In the center of the room, shoved up against the row of lockers, stood Ethan. His varsity jacket was half-unzipped, his dark hair messy and damp with sweat. 

His hands were firmly gripping the waist of a girl wearing a tiny blue varsity cheerleading skirt, lifting her onto the wooden bench before pulling her mouth back against his in a bruising, reckless kiss.

The girl moaned into his neck, wrapping her bare legs around his hips.

The world stopped spinning. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out the hum of the overhead lights and the distant rumble of the arena compressors. 

The small velvet box in my coat pocket suddenly felt like a chunk of burning coal in my palm.

My body moved before my brain could process the pain. I kicked the door open.

The heavy wooden slab slammed against the concrete wall with a thunderous bang that echoed across the empty locker room.

The girl gasped, instantly breaking the kiss and shoving Ethan backward. She scrambled off the bench, her skirt twisting around her thighs, her face draining of color the second her eyes locked onto mine.

Ethan stumbled, catching his balance against the metal lockers. A half-empty can of beer slipped from his grip and clattered across the floor, splashing amber liquid over his sneakers. 

He reeked of cheap alcohol and sour sweat.

He blinked heavily, squinting through bloodshot eyes as he tried to focus on my face. 

There was no panic in his expression. 

No fear. No sudden rush of guilt.

Just a sluggish, annoyed smirk.

"Clara?" he slurred, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Europe until next week."

My voice shook so hard the words could barely form. "Who is she, Ethan?"

The blonde cheerleader grabbed her cropped sweater off the floor, avoiding my gaze entirely. 

She gave Ethan a nervous, frantic look, then bolted toward the exit, squeezing past me with her head down. 

I didn't even try to stop her. My eyes were fixed on the boy I had spent two years loving, searching for any sign of remorse, any hint that this was some kind of sick nightmare.

There was nothing.

"Don't start acting crazy, Clara," Ethan muttered, walking over to his bench and picking up a towel to dry his neck. 

"You caught me off guard, that's all. You shouldn't have shown up unannounced."

"I shouldn't have shown up?" A bitter, hysterical laugh tore out of my chest, hot tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. 

"I took a red-eye flight to surprise you for our anniversary, Ethan! I walked in here with a gift, and you're having sex with another girl on your team's locker room bench!"

Ethan scoffed, tossing the towel aside. He crossed his arms and looked at me with cold, condescending amusement.

"Relax," he said, rolling his eyes as if I were a child throwing a tantrum over spilled juice. 

"Long-distance is brutal. We're in college, babe. Did you really expect me to sit around in an empty room like a monk while you were across the ocean? Our relationship is open. We never signed a contract saying we had to be chained down."

"Open?" The word felt like acid on my tongue. 

"We never agreed to an open relationship! And I was gone for seven days! Seven days, Ethan!"

"Seven days, seven months, what does it matter?" He stepped closer, towering over me, his breath thick with beer and arrogance. 

He reached out to pat my shoulder, but I slapped his hand away with all the strength left in my trembling arms.

His jaw tightened, a mean, drunken sneer curling his lips.

"Don't touch me like that," he snapped, his voice dropping into a vicious, low drawl. 

"You want the truth, Clara? You're too uptight. You're boring. You think you're some kind of prize just because you play the dutiful little girlfriend, but out here in the real world, guys have needs."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning down so his face was inches from mine.

"If you're so hurt about it, go find someone else. Go have your fun. Go sleep around and see what's out there. Don't waste your youth crying over a guy having a good time." He let out a harsh, mocking laugh that cut deeper than any physical blow ever could.

 "Go ahead. Try it. And when you realize that nobody else actually wants you, come back to me. I might still let you around."

Every piece of my heart shattered into dust. The humiliation was so heavy it felt like it was crushing my lungs, suffocating me where I stood. 

He thought I was nothing. He thought I was an obedient little shadow who would wait around for his scraps because I had nowhere else to go.

The tears on my cheeks went cold.

Slowly, the suffocating pain began to burn away, replaced by a sudden, terrifying flash of pure, white-hot fury.

I looked down at the velvet box in my hand. Without breaking eye contact with him, I opened my fingers and let it fall. The little box hit the dirty floor with a dull thud.

I raised my boot and brought my heel down hard on the velvet, crushing the delicate silver watch beneath the sole until the glass cracked and the metal frame buckled with a sharp snap.

Ethan’s smirk finally flickered, his eyes widening in brief surprise.

"You're right, Ethan," I said, my voice shockingly calm, void of any tremor. 

"I shouldn't waste my youth on you."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the locker room without looking back.

As I marched down the dark corridor toward the arena exit, the sound of my boots slamming against the floor sounded like a countdown. 

My hands were shaking, not from sorrow, but from a reckless, venomous determination that had taken over every inch of my body.

He thought nobody else wanted me. He thought I would crawl back to him on my knees.

I pushed open the heavy glass doors into the freezing night air, my eyes locking onto the figures lingering outside in the VIP parking lot.

Tonight, I was going to prove him dead wrong.