All Chapters of Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

TESSAThe recital starts with a long-winded welcome speech from a woman in a sparkly shawl who takes her volunteer position very, very seriously. The parents clap like they’ve just been handed an Oscar, and then the lights dim until the stage glows.Tiny ballerinas file out in matching pink tutus, arms bent like crooked teapots. I spot Kenzie immediately because she’s the only one beaming like she owns the stage. Her bun is slightly off-center, and her tights have a smudge at the knee, but she does a perfect curtsy before the music even begins. My heart just about combusts.Beside me, Aaron leans forward a little, elbows on his knees, watching like nothing else in the world exists. The tough hockey player melts into a soft pile of uncle mush, and it’s devastatingly attractive.“She’s so good,” I whisper, my hand clutching the edge of my program like it’s my ticket to heaven.He turns his head, slow, just enough for his profile to catch the faint light from the stage. “She’s the star,”

EMILIAI squint at the screen. “How bad is it?”“Really fucking bad,” Toby says flatly, his face grim on the laptop balanced across Liam’s knees. “They’re already planning to put him in the next game. That’s in two days.”“Two days?” I turn to Tessa, who’s half-buried under a blanket, an eye mask shoved up onto her forehead, remote in hand as she flips through channels. “Isn’t that too fast?”“Not really,” her voice is scratchy. “The public’s on their side. No one’s officially come forward with why the victim dropped the case, so everyone’s running with the same tired narrative—she’s a liar trying to ruin a promising man’s bright future. Blah, blah, blah. You know how it goes. Chicago needs to take a stand, but no matter what, people will be pissed. At least this way, they make money. Tickets sell, the team gets attention, problem solved.”“Except for the girl who had to back down,” Liam mutters next to me.“I haven’t been able to reach her,” I say, checking my phone again. “What if h

EMILIATrue to her word, Tessa actually helped me finish packing and even called a moving company last night. Apparently the owner had a college crush on her and was thrilled to be her knight in shining U-Haul.Now that I’m really moving out, though, I feel… emotional. Sentimental. Pathetic, honestly. The movers have already hauled my stuff out, Liam’s about three minutes away, and I’m still clinging to Tessa like a deranged koala while she actively tries to peel me off.“Get off me, you big oaf.”“Tess, I’ll miss you so much,” I whine. “I feel awful. You’re obsessed with me, you won’t last a night without me.”“You’re literally just a drive away. I’ll survive.”“Who else am I supposed to watch the Confidential Family finale with while we drink wine and make fun of their life choices?”She shoots me a look so sharp it could kill. I cough. “Right. Sorry. Forgot alcohol is now on the very sensitive topic list.”“You know what? Get the hell out. Oh thank God—he’s here.” Tessa finally pri

EMILIAThe doors swing open and I stop dead.At first, I think Liam’s dragged me into a museum. The ceilings are high, light spilling in through a skylight. Everything gleams—glass, stone, polished floors. But it’s not the building that steals the air from my lungs.It’s what’s inside.Sculptures.Everywhere.Some stand tall and smooth, carved from pale marble. Others twist in dark bronze, caught mid-motion like they’re about to move again. A few are glass—fragile and glowing—throwing tiny rainbows across the floor when the light hits them.I stop walking. My breath catches. The room is so quiet it almost hums, like even the air’s afraid to disturb the art. My footsteps echo when I move, and for a second, I feel like I’m walking through someone else’s memory.When I glance back, Liam’s still by the door—jaw tight, shoulders drawn. He’s not looking at the sculptures.He’s looking at me.I walk back to him. “Liam. What are we doing here?”He shifts, shoving his hands into his pockets li

EMILIAChicago is — to absolutely no one’s surprise — not the friendship vacation we both needed.Tessa’s already fanned herself with her hand at least five times before she groans, “Why’s it so fucking hot?”“It’s nineteen degrees, Tess.”“I’m Russian,” she mutters dramatically. “That’s nineteen degrees too high.”“No one told you to wear a turtleneck and an overcoat.”“That guy on the weather forecast better hope we never cross paths,” she grumbles, pulling at her collar. Then she checks her phone and pouts. “Where’s your friend? I’m going to have a heatstroke before she gets here.”“Lacey will be here in a few minutes. You’re going to love her—she’s amazing.”“I’ll pretend I didn’t get jealous when you said that.”We’re standing outside the airport, and we only landed about thirty minutes ago. The city smells like rain and traffic and nostalgia, and all I can think about is getting back home—to our bed, Liam’s arm slung over me, strawberries and chocolate waiting on the nightstand.