"Created a problem?"
"Created an opportunity!" He's practically vibrating through the phone. "That video is trending. Your name is everywhere. People who've never heard of semi-pro hockey are googling you. This is exactly what we need."
I close my eyes. "Preston?—"
"The scouts are going to love this. Shows you're personable, relatable, capable of normal human connection. You're not just some hockey robot anymore—you're a guy with a life outside the rink."
"I don't want to be famous for my love life."
"You're not. You're famous for being good at hockey. This just makes you marketable too." He pauses, and I hear papers shuffling. "Look, I know you shot down the fake dating idea before. But this video? This changes everything. You two have chemistry that can't be manufactured. Use it."
"No." The word comes out harder than I mean it to. "I already told you—she's not a marketing tool."
"I'm not saying she is." His tone shifts, gets smoother. More salesman than friend. "I'm saying she's an influencer who understands how this game works. She posts content for a living. You think she doesn't know the value of a viral moment? She's probably already strategizing how to monetize this."
"You don't know her."
"I know her type. Look, you clearly like each other, the internet is obsessed, and if you're going to be hooking up anyway?—"
"We're not—" I stop, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. "This conversation is over."
"Ryder, listen to me. You need to show the scouts you're the complete package. She needs to rebuild her brand after that disaster with her ex. You're already trending together. I'm just saying make it official. A few posts, some public appearances, give people what they want to see. It's smart business."
"It's using someone." My hand tightens on the phone. "And I'm not doing it."
"Then you're throwing away an opportunity that could change your career." His voice goes cold, clipped. "The scoutswant to see you can handle pressure on and off the ice. Right now, you're a small-town player with decent stats and zero marketability. This girl could change that. But fine. Stay noble. See where that gets you when they pass you over for someone with half your skill and twice your Instagram following."
"Preston—"
"I've been doing this for fifteen years, Ryder. Trust me or don't. But don't come crying to me when you're still fighting fires in Ashwood Falls at thirty-five because you were too proud to play the game."
He hangs up, leaving me staring at my phone, rage simmering under my skin.
Using Piper. Like she's some kind of prop to boost my image. Like what happened between us in that driveway was content instead of real.
The thought makes me sick.
I don't sleep well. Every time I close my eyes, I see that moment before Morris interrupted—the way Piper's lips parted slightly, how her eyes started to drift closed. How badly I wanted to close that last inch of space between us and forget about everything except how she feels in my arms.
Morning comes too early and too cold. I drag myself to practice, every muscle protesting from yesterday's extra conditioning drills and last night's terrible sleep. The team's already on the ice when I arrive, and the moment I step into the rink, Jax skates over with a grin that promises nothing good.
"Captain! My man! You're trending!" He's holding up his phone, showing me the video I've now seen approximately forty-seven times.
"I'm aware."
"Dude, the moose interrupt is comedy gold. Have you read the comments? People are losing it."
"Can we focus on hockey?"
"We are focused on hockey," Tommy says, gliding up. "Hockey and your love life. Multitasking."
"There is no?—"
"Lockwood!" Coach's voice cuts through the rink like a blade. "My office. Now."
The team makes various "ooooh" sounds that would be more appropriate in a middle school cafeteria. I skate off the ice, pop my skates, and trudge to Coach's office like I'm being called to the principal's office.
Coach is watching the viral video when I enter. On his computer. At full volume.
