Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 89: Chapter 89

EMILIA
The blood drains from my face so fast I feel dizzy.
A staff member rushes over, drawn by my scream, panic already flickering in his eyes. I’m still stumbling backwards, chest heaving, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“There’s a man,” I gasp, pointing toward the restroom, “in the women’s bathroom— he has a knife. A pocket knife— he— he was dressed like—”
I can’t even finish the sentence.
The staff member doesn’t wait. He bolts toward the bathroom, yelling something into his walkie-talkie. Everything else becomes a blur. A group of teenagers nearby are staring, wide-eyed. Someone grabs their friend’s arm and pulls them away. A siren begins to sound faintly in the distance — or maybe it’s just the ringing in my ears.
And then—
“Emilia!”
Liam.
He barrels through the crowd like a storm, eyes locked on mine — wild, frantic, like nothing else matters.
The second he reaches me, his hands are on my arms, grounding me, steadying me, like he’s worried I’ll vanish if he blinks.
“Emilia,” he breathes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out at first. Then: “He was following me. I thought it was weird at first. He… he was dressed like a woman. But then I saw the knife—”
Liam doesn’t wait. He pulls me into him so fast I gasp, his arms locking tight around my back, one hand cradling the back of my head like he’s afraid I’ll fall apart.
“Shit,” he mutters, voice hoarse, “I’m so sorry, Em. This is my fault. I should’ve—”
I frown against his chest. “What do you mean?”
But then something clicks. The man’s face. That flash of familiarity. That awful, crawling déjà vu.
I pull back slightly. “Liam… I’ve seen him before.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re sure?”
I nod, already fumbling with my phone. My fingers tremble as I unlock the screen — and then I freeze.
Two new messages.
Unknown: If you won’t leave him willingly, maybe all you need is an incentive.
Unknown: How did you like your gift? I hope it was to your liking.
My stomach drops. I turn the phone face-down before Liam can see it.
He notices anyway. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t believe me, not for a second — but before he can push, flashing lights cut through the arcade windows. Sirens wail in the distance. The police are here.
They move fast. Within minutes, they’re dragging the man out of the restroom, hands cuffed behind his back, face twisted in fury. He spots me instantly.
And snaps.
“You! You stupid bitch!” he roars, thrashing against the officers. “This is all your fault! Jessica’s miserable because of you! You took him from her!”
The officers fight to hold him down as he spits venom, his voice cracking. “You think this is over? I’ll kill you! You think I won’t?”
Liam’s arms wrap around me again, tighter this time, his entire body shaking with fury. I can feel the way his muscles tense — how close he is to stepping forward and tearing the guy apart with his bare hands.
I grab his arm, squeezing hard. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Please. Just hold me.”
He doesn’t move right away. He just stares at the man still screaming bloody murder a few feet away. I feel his breath stutter against my temple, his heart pounding through his shirt.
Then, finally, he exhales — and pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair.
But the man doesn’t stop.
Not even as the cops try to wrestle him into the back of the cruiser. He kicks. Spits. Fights. His face is blotchy with rage, red and wild and unhinged.
“I knew it,” I whisper to myself. “He baited me into the bathroom. He was after me.”
My skin prickles. My mind is spinning, grasping at fragments — why the wig? Why the knife? Why now?
He hadn’t been wearing the wig when I first noticed him trailing after us in the arcade. I’d only gone into bathroom, thinking he was just a fan of Liam’s, I never expected…
“You fucking whore!” the man howls. “You ruined everything! Just die! Die! DIE!”
The words hit like glass shattering at my feet. I flinch.
Liam goes still.
Too still.
His grip loosens.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” Liam growls, voice low and trembling with fury.
And then he lets me go.
“Liam— no!” I lunge for his hand, but he’s already moving — shoulders squared, sleeves shoved up, his whole body coiled and deadly.
“Liam!” I shout, breath catching, feet stumbling after him. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t pause. He’s locked in.
A police officer steps in front of him. “Sir, I need you to calm—”
Liam sidesteps him like he’s barely there.
I reach him just in time — fingers latching onto his arm, yanking him back with everything I have. “Liam, stop—please!”
He spins toward me, chest heaving, his face storm-dark. But when he sees me — really sees me — his whole expression fractures. The rage doesn’t disappear, but it shifts. Grounds itself.
His hands go to my face, cradling it like I’m something breakable. His thumbs brush my cheeks. “He could’ve hurt you.”
“I know.” My voice is thin, but steady. “But you losing it won’t fix it.”
He closes his eyes like the very thought of that truth burns. Then he presses his forehead against mine, holding me there, breathing like he’s just run a marathon.
“I saw your face,” I whisper. “When he screamed those things. I know you think this is your fault. But it’s not. None of it is.”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t understand—”
“Then help me. Make me understand.”
He pulls back, just enough to look into my eyes. And for a second, I swear I see something deeper flicker there — shame, maybe. Or guilt. Something heavy that’s been weighing him down for far longer than just this night.
But before either of us can speak again, one of the officers steps forward. “Sir, ma’am — we’re going to need a statement.”
Liam exhales, dragging his eyes from mine to the squad car where the man’s now slamming his head against the glass, still screaming obscenities.
He nods, jaw hard. “You’ll get it. Everything.”
Then he looks back at me.
And his voice is quiet, but certain.
“No more secrets. I promise.”