Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 75: Chapter 75

LACEY
The call ends, and I force myself into a sports bra and joggers from one of the brands I endorse. I throw on a cap, hoping it screams stay away.
Spoiler: it doesn’t.
By the time I grab a can beer and head toward the gym, I’ve already heard too many “Hi Lacey!” and way too many “Where’s Céline?”
I pretend not to hear any of it.
Then— bam. I round the corner too fast and crash right into someone.
“What the fu— oh. Hi, Lacey.”
Tonia.
She’s holding her nose — right where it slammed into my shoulder — and giving me a strained smile.
She’s wearing less jewellery than usual. Just the nose piercing. And even though she dyed her hair last week, her roots are already peeking through. That’s not like her.
I’m clear-headed enough to pull myself out of my self misery and take a look at her. I’ve never seen her roots show before, if that isn’t a call of help I don’t know what is. “Hey, Tonia. Are you okay?”
She doesn’t look okay. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes puffy. Her lips tremble a little. When she drops her hand from her nose, she sniffs hard.
“I was actually looking for you,” she says softly. “Can we talk?”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes and down the beer in my hand.
I know I’m not in a good place. I know the way I ache to crack this can open and drink until everything feels distant isn’t healthy.
But I also don’t care.
I force a small smile, already half-turned toward anywhere else. “I’m a bit—”
“Please,” Tonia cuts in.
Her eyes are glassy. Not angry, not cold. Just... sad. And damn it, something inside me tugs. “I won’t take too long.”
We end up leaning against a quiet railing somewhere on the upper deck. I give up and pop the can open, drinking without looking at her. Tonia’s trying not to cry. She’s not great at hiding it.
“Can you talk to Céline?”
Great. I see where this is going already.
I take another swig, waiting.
“I know I’m not perfect,” she starts, voice tight. “But I love Deji. So when he brought up adding someone new to the relationship, I said okay. I wanted to be okay with it.”
She lets out a bitter laugh.
“But if it had to be Céline... it made sense. She already has the kind of reputation people whisper about. So if people talked, who cares? Right?”
I look over, jaw tight. She’s watching me like she’s trying to measure my reaction.
“You act like you don’t see it,” she says. “But you do, don’t you? You know how she is.”
I press my lips together.
I’ve heard this kind of thing before. And I’m tired of it.
“I don’t like how you’re talking about my best friend,” I say, sharp and clear. “If you’ve got a problem with Céline, talk to her. Don’t come to me just to tear her down.”
I turn and start walking away.
But Tonia isn’t done.
“No wonder you defend her,” she says behind me. “You’re like every guy she’s ever sunk her claws into. So taken by the pretty face and sweet voice you can’t see what’s really there.”
That does it.
I throw my empty can in her direction. Hard. I don’t even care where it lands.
Céline’s been put through hell for years. People calling her names. Making her the villain in stories she never wrote. I thought that would stop now that we were friends. That I could shield her, maybe.
But I guess I haven’t done a good job of protecting her at all.
She’s soft in ways most people don’t get. And some people see softness as weakness. As something to take advantage of.
Not on my watch. Not anymore.
“You don’t deserve it, but I’ll give you a piece of advice anyway,” I look back and see my can landed at her feet, throwing her the most venomous glare I can muster, I continue. “Instead of always blaming her. Why don’t you break up with the bastard instead?”
— — —
I’m too irritated — and honestly, a little tipsy — for the gym. But I drag myself there anyway. Seeing hot, shirtless men has never failed to lift my spirits, and right now, I need that.
Eric was soft in the belly, no abs, and had this weird thing against deodorant. That’s what I remind myself every time I start to miss him. That I didn’t actually lose the love of my life. That I dodged a dad bod.
I swipe into the gym, adjust my cap, and hope no one notices the slight wobble in my step.
And then — I see it.
Abs. Shoulders. Sweat. Glory.
Sweet mother of endorphins.
I almost drop my nonexistent water bottle. If heaven were real, it would smell like eucalyptus and protein bars and be filled with shirtless men lifting heavy things with perfect form. I’m about to do a very embarrassing little happy dance when I hear my name.
“Lacey?”
Of course it’s Liam.
I whip around, too fast, and nearly knock over a hand sanitiser station. He’s standing by the cable machine in a tank top, looking like he belongs on the cover of a fitness magazine for emotionally unavailable men who secretly read poetry.
“I literally told you I’d be here less than fifteen hours ago, dumbass,” Liam says, grinning.
His tank top clings in all the right places, and his arms look like they’ve been personally sculpted by divine intervention. I resist the urge to comment — not because I don’t want to, but because Emilia already got there first. God, that woman hit the jackpot.
“I was distracted,” I say, waving it off. “Julie called to check in on you.”
He blinks. “Jules? Since when does she call you to check in on me?”
“Yeah, valid. She actually called to check on me,” I admit, grabbing a towel off the rack beside us. “But I figured I’d kill two birds with one gym trip. Bribe you into convincing her to cool it with the maternal death grip.”
Liam chuckles and wipes his hands on his shorts. “You’re talking to the wrong person, I’m afraid. Julie only listens to God and her horoscope.”
“Not even her horoscope,” I mutter. “She just cherry-picks whatever suits her mood.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So what’s the bribe?”
I shrug. “Emotional support. Company. Possibly snacks. And a deeply embarrassing confession if you say yes.”
“That last one’s tempting,” he says. “But you do realise she’s probably called me to ask if you’re spiralling, right?”
“She’s dramatic. I’m not spiralling. I’m... wobbling slightly. On a completely manageable emotional axis.”
Liam studies me for a beat longer than I’d like, and I already know he sees more than I want him to. “You smell like a beer.”
“It’s called a pre-workout.”
“Uh-huh. And it’s not even afternoon yet.” He tilts his head. “Lace… are you okay?”
I hate that question. Mostly because it’s coming from someone who actually cares.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just blowing off steam. Hydrating. With electrolytes. And beer.”
Liam walks over and bumps his shoulder against mine. “Instead of drinking more, come with me? I was going to look for Emilia anyway.”
I gulp, trying to swallow the emotions building in my chest from the kindness in his eyes. The softness in his voice. How fucking similar he is to Julie. I’m not sure what Mr and Mrs. Calloway put in that half-done porridge to raise eight kids this kind and thoughtful, but whatever it is, they got it right.
Then I remember I’ll never get the chance to do the same.
My chest tightens. I look down, blinking hard and blaming the blur in my vision on the leftover alcohol in my system, not what’s twisting itself through my ribcage.
“Okay,” I manage.
I should’ve said no. Should’ve gone back to my room and cried in private, where nobody could see how broken I actually feel. Should’ve kept my distance and reminded myself that people like me don’t get the kind of life I wanted. Not love. Not a family. Not any of it.
But I followed him instead.
And ended up crying about how the person I loved the most had stuck a knife through my heart.