Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 56: Chapter 56

EMILIA
They say ignorance is bliss.
Whoever said that has never buried their brother.
I stand in the rain, dressed in all black, clutching an umbrella like it can hold me together. But nothing can. Not today.
My eyes blur as I stare at the headstone:
Luther Christian Vanderbilt
(1995–2018)
Just seeing it makes it hard to breathe.
In front of me, my mother — always perfect, always cold — is on the ground, sobbing like a child. Her elegant coat is soaked, her hands shaking as she reaches for the gravestone like she can pull him back.
My father stands beside her, trying to hold the umbrella over them both, but he’s crying too hard to see straight.
And then there’s my little sister, Diana, standing beside me, shaking with anger and grief. She looks so much like Luther when she smiles and like me when she cries.
But she’s not smiling now.
She’s sobbing — and every tear feels like a dagger.
“Was it worth it?” she snaps. Her voice is loud enough for people to turn. She doesn’t care. “Tell me, Emily. Was he worth it? That lowlife you love. That trash you brought into our world. Was he worth Luther’s life?!”
Her words slice me open. I want to speak, but nothing comes out.
“Diana…” I manage, barely above a whisper. “Please. This is Luther’s funeral. Show some respect.”
She laughs — a bitter, broken sound. “Respect? You want me to show the same respect you did when you got our brother killed?!” Her voice cracks. “It should’ve been you, Emily! Not him!”
I flinch. I deserve it. Every word. Every hateful glance.
Now I’ll never hear his laugh again. Never see the way his eyes crinkled when he teased me. He’s gone. Because of me.
And Diana isn’t done. Her whole body shakes as she cries harder. “Now I’ll never have a brother again. I’ll never— I’ll never—”
She breaks.
And I do, too.
But I don’t get to cry. Not here. Not yet.
Because this is my fault.
Through my blurred vision, I can make out a figure, drenched in the rain, with nothing but a cap with Luther’s college scribbled on it.
My eyes meet his bloodshot ones and he gives me a sad, heartbroken smile.
I blink, and suddenly I’m not seventeen anymore.
I’m here — sitting in the warm bath Liam made for me, the water up to my chest, bubbles clinging to my arms, my skin still stinging like it remembers what Stone tried to do. I keep scrubbing, like I can erase it. Like I can be clean again.
But I’m just… tired. So tired. The kind of tired that sinks into your bones and won’t leave.
He’s still in the room, sitting with his back to the tub like he promised. Silent.
I swirl a finger through the bubbles and try to sound light, even though my voice is barely steady. “Why are you so quiet? Scared the girl you’re stuck with might be a murderer? Not legally, but—”
“Emilia.” His voice cuts in. Firm, soft, and so full of something I can’t name. It stops me cold.
He says my name like it means something.
Like I mean something.
And just like that, I’m seventeen again. And nineteen. And twenty. Every version of me that ever broke is reaching for the version of him that never once let go.
“Have you ever loved someone so much you’d die for them?” I ask quietly. “Or at least… thought about it?”
Liam doesn’t say anything, but I feel the way his body tenses.
I let out a small laugh, sad and dry. “You probably haven’t. You don’t really do the whole love thing, right? Feelings, relationships… they’re all too messy.”
He still says nothing. Just listens.
“I would’ve died for Zane. Once.” My voice drops. “I just never thought my brother would die for him instead.”
Silence again. Only the soft sound of water moving as I swirl my fingers through the bubbles.
“Remember when I said that article wasn’t real? That it was all made up?” I let out a breath. “Yeah, I lied. I am a Vanderbilt. The Vanderbilt. Billionaire heiress who ran away from her life because she couldn’t face the mess she made.”
I pause, biting down on my bottom lip. My throat feels tight. “My family hated Zane. He was everything they despised — poor, wild, reckless. But I loved him. God, I loved him.”
I glance at Liam, even though he’s still facing the wall, letting me talk. “Luther was the only one who didn’t make me feel stupid for it. He was… perfect. Kind. Smart. Way too good-looking for his own good.” I chuckle, but it comes out shaky. “He was an artist. A sculptor. Ha, he was crazy talented, too. I always said I’d open an art gallery just for him — put his work on display, let the world see him the way I did.”
Liam finally speaks. “What happened?”
My smile fades.
“Zane invited me to a party,” I whisper. “Some stupid frat thing. I told my parents I was staying at a friend’s, and I begged Luther to cover for me. Just for an hour.”
I blink hard. “But Zane never showed. And things at the party went bad — fast. Someone tried to spike my drink. Another guy tried to put his hands on me.” My hands shake. “I panicked. I called Luther. And just like always… he came for me.”
My voice cracks. “On the way, a truck ran a red light. Hit his car. He didn’t make it.”
A tear slips down my cheek. “What was I supposed to do? I was just seventeen. I couldn’t handle losing my brother and my family… all for a guy who treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of his sneakers.” I sniff, shaking my head. “So I ran to New York with Zane. It was easier than facing everything I’d destroyed.”
Liam’s quiet for a long time. Too long.
And when he finally stands and walks out of the bathroom, something in my chest twists.
No. No, no, no.
He said he wouldn’t leave. He promised.
My heart’s racing now. I stand up from the tub without even thinking, water dripping down my skin.
But then — he’s back.
Liam walks in holding two towels, and when he sees me standing there, completely bare, his eyes widen just for a second. Then he quickly looks away and walks over like it’s no big deal.
“I just went to get these,” he says gently. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere, didn’t I?”
He wraps the big towel around me with so much care, like I’m something breakable. Then, once I’m out of the tub, he uses the smaller towel to start drying my hair, slow and soft.
I swallow hard, my voice small. “You don’t want to judge me? Not even a little?”
Liam meets my eyes, and the way he smiles — it actually hurts. Like he understands everything.
“Never, love,” he says gently. “You didn’t kill your brother. You called him because you loved him. And he came because he loved you. That’s not a sin. That’s love.”
His fingers keep moving through my hair, soft and sure, like he wants to ease the ache from my bones.
“Now hush,” he murmurs, brushing a stray curl from my cheek. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”
He leads me to sit at the edge of the bed and peels the towel from my head. My hair’s damp, messy, but he doesn’t flinch. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a brush, then kneels behind me again, gently pulling through each tangle.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, cheeks heating.
“I want to,” he murmurs, so quietly I barely catch it. “Let me.”
So I let him.
Every pull of the brush is patient, every stroke peeling back a layer of panic I didn’t know I was still wearing. I close my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I feel held. Seen.
“I think I always knew Zane didn’t love me,” I whisper. “Not really. Not the way I needed.”
Liam doesn’t speak, but he keeps brushing, steady and quiet. Listening.
“I think I was just… desperate to matter to someone. Anyone.” I let out a shaky breath. “My parents didn’t care unless I was perfect. Zane made me feel wanted. And when he looked at me like I was everything, I clung to it like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Liam says, firm and low.
I shrug, eyes still closed. “I let him isolate me. I stopped talking to friends. I skipped school, skipped meals… and no one noticed. Except Luther.”
My voice cracks.
“He was the only one who ever tried to pull me out. And I didn’t listen.”
Liam puts the brush down and walks to the dresser. He pulls out one of his hoodies and a pair of clean shorts.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable in,” he says gently. “But this’ll be warm.”
I nod, trying to blink back tears. “Thanks.”
He kneels again, helping me slip the hoodie over my head. It smells like him—clean, warm, safe. Then he helps with the shorts too, careful not to touch more skin than necessary.
Once I’m dressed, I whisper, “You’re being too nice,” I murmur, eyes flicking up to his.
Liam grins, a lopsided, boyish thing that makes my heart skip. “I’m always this nice. You’re just noticing now.”
“Why are you like this?” I ask, and it comes out like a plea.
He leans in, brushes a damp strand behind my ear. His thumb grazes my cheek like he’s memorising me.
“Because sometimes,” he says, voice almost a breath, “when someone’s falling apart, all they need is someone who won’t let go.”
And just like that, I shatter.
He takes my hand and leads me to the bed, tucks us both beneath the blankets. The room hums softly — rain tapping the windows, the heater purring in the corner. I press into his side, small and trembling.
He shifts so I’m curled against him, my head on his chest. His heart beats a soft rhythm beneath my ear.
“You okay?” he murmurs, fingers tracing slow circles into my back.
I nod. “Mhm.”
“You’re still shaking.”
“I know.”
He kisses the crown of my head. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”
I want to. I really do. But my mind’s loud. My heart’s loud. So I speak instead, just a whisper against his chest. “Do you think… if I had done something different, he’d still be alive?”
Liam’s fingers still for a second. Then he tilts my chin up gently so I have to look at him.
“I think life is cruel sometimes. I think you loved your brother more than anything. And I think blaming yourself is how you’re trying to hold onto him.”
A tear slips down my cheek. He catches it with his thumb.
“You’re allowed to grieve, Emilia,” he whispers. “But you’re not allowed to hate yourself. Not while I’m around.”
My throat tightens. “Why are you being so good to me?”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. Lingers.
“Because at some point, I started seeing you as…”
I wait, breath caught, but he doesn’t say more.
So I curl in closer. Let myself breathe for real. For the first time in forever.
I bury my face in his chest. He smells so good. The kind of clean scent that body wash can’t give. It’s just him. “Can I stay like this for a while?”
“You can stay like this for as long as you want.”
And just like that, I fall asleep — wrapped in warmth, wrapped in him.,