Page 139 of This is a Kissing Book

My hands shake as I grip the armrests of my seat. Photos of him with Iva? Recent photos? While he was supposedly falling for me, he was still connected to his actress ex?

Everything we shared—the lake house, the quiet mornings, the way he looked at me like I was someone special—was it all just a convenient distraction while his real life was on hold?

When the final buzzer sounds and Chicago wins five to four, Oly turns to me with eyes full of sympathy. “What are you going to do?”

I watch Linc skate off the ice, accepting congratulations from over the glass. He’s in his world, surrounded by his people, living his real life.

And I’m nobody. A temporary assistant with a forged diploma and a burned-down house, sitting in the nosebleed seats while watching the man I thought I knew score hat tricks for a living.

“I’m going home,” I say quietly.

“To Linc’s place?”

The thought of returning to his penthouse, sleeping in his guest room while he’s off playing hockey, and possibly rekindling things with a gorgeous actress makes me want to disappear entirely.

“Actually, can I crash at your place tonight?”

Oly’s expression softens. “Of course. You can stay as long as you like. But Juliana, you need to talk to him. There might be an explanation⁠—”

“There’s no explanation for lying about who he is.” The words come out like daggers. “He let me believe he was a rich kid reluctantly learning the family business. Meanwhile, he’s a professional athlete with his name on jerseys and women discussing his love life in the stands. He probably has a hashtag.”

As we make our way through the crowded concourse, I try to ignore his presence everywhere—on the lips of fans, on merchandise, on my heart.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Linc: Hope your day was good. Miss you. Be home soon.

I glare at the message, remembering how those same hands that typed it belong to a man who is in this building. A man who just played professional hockey in front of twenty thousand people. How can someone be so close and so distant at the same time?

“You’re not going to chase him with a hockey stick?” Oly asks as we wait for Nate to get the car. “Throw pucks through his car windshield? I once super-glued my ex’s apartment door shut after he stood me up for my birthday.”

I almost smile. “Nope.”

“Oh.” Her voice drops. “You’re icing him out.”

The hockey pun isn’t lost on me, but I don’t laugh. Instead, I feel something cold and protective settle around my heart. This is what I do when people let me down—I go quiet, build walls, vanish before they can disappear on me first.

Dad taught me that lesson well, even if he never meant to.

“Can you bring me to Linc’s?” I ask from the backseat of Nate’s Jeep. “I need to get my things.”

Oly turns around, concern etched on her face. “Are you sure you want to do that tonight? You could wait until⁠—”

“I’ll grab a cab to your place.” The words come out sharper than I intend.

The city blurs past the window as we drive toward the penthouse. I’m already thinking about Monday morning—about facing Linc at work, pretending I don’t know his secret while carrying the weight of mine.

Here’s the thing—I never told him I didn’t actually graduate from college. I’ve been deceptive, false. The only difference is that his lie involves fame and fortune, while mine involves desperation and fraud.

Now I have nothing. No home, courtesy of the fire. No job—once HR discovers my educational background. And no Linc, because whatever we had was built on a foundation of half-truths and summer fun that couldn’t survive the harsh light of reality.

I let myself feel the dense impossibility of my situation. I’m twenty-seven years old, professionally adrift, emotionally devastated, and more alone than I’ve been.

But I’m also angry. And sometimes, anger is easier to handle than heartbreak.

48

LINC