Page 43 of With the Assist

For half a second, everything goes quiet. Then the room explodes.

Questions overlap, cameras shift, and someone whistles under their breath. I catch fragments as they come at me from every direction.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Is this serious?”

“Does this affect your focus?”

I hold my ground the way I do on the ice when chaos hits, creating too much noise with no space to breathe.

“We’re private,” I say simply. “And no, it doesn’t affect my focus. If anything, having the right support makes it easier to do my job.”

It’s true. Knowing that she’s fully in my corner, hoping I get my contract renewed is a breath of fresh air. Having support outside of my teammates isn’t something I’m used to. My sister tries, but considering my parents vehemently disagree with me playing hockey at all, her hands are tied.

As the questions keep coming, the shift settles in, the moment where something private becomes public, whether you’re ready or not. Somewhere across town, Wesley is probably taping her ankles or lacing her cleats, completely unaware I’ve changed the narrative.

I hope she understands why.

My fingers curl around my phone as I head for the locker room. Do I warn her, or does that risk throwing her off before her game?

I decide to hold off. I’ll see her in a couple of hours and can explain then.

As I’m about to slide my phone into my pocket, it lights up.

Mom.

I decline it. I’m sure she saw the interview and wants more details. That’s not the problem. The problem is that the conversation will inevitably shift to what she’d rather I be doing with my life. I don’t have time for that when I need to be on the ice in an hour.

The locker room doors barely close before the guys descend.

“You absolute bastard,” Liam says, clapping me on the back. “Girlfriend?”

I drop my gear onto the bench harder than necessary. “Don’t start.”

Grayson doesn’t laugh. He studies me with his head tipped slightly to the side like he’s assessing a play unfolding in real time. “You good?”

Wyatt shakes his head.

I strip off my aqua practice jersey, muscles tight, aware of all three of them watching me now. They’ve seen me through slumps, streaks, and things I don’t talk about, but probably should. They know when I’m lying. They definitely know when I’m dodging.

“What’s going on here?” Grayson asks, sitting down on the bench.

I contemplate lying, not wanting to out Wesley’s situation. But it’s not like her coach knows my teammates. “Fake dating,” I explain, turning to see all three guys staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“She said no to working out with me at first.” I left that detail out when I first told them she was going to help.

“I like her more already,” Wyatt grunts, adding tape to his stick.

“Then her coach told her she needs to have more balance outside of soccer. She assumed something was going on between us. Wesley ran with it.”

“She lied?” Liam asks, grin growing. “Wouldn’t have thought she had it in her. Maybe her friend, that girl, is a different breed.”

“Avery?” Grayson asks, head darting up at the mention of her.

Liam’s eyes narrow, and we all exchange a glance at his sudden interest. Before we can dig in, he shifts back to me.

“Do you really need her help training with you?” Grayson asks, sliding on his game-time skates as the locker room fills with the rest of the team.