This is it. This is the faking it part. As much as I don’t want to do this, I made a deal, and it’s on me to play the part as much as it’s on Miller.
I give Rory my typical cool smile and wink back. He grins wider and skates off. When Connor does a double take at me sitting here, satisfaction pulses behind my sternum.
Fuck you, Connor.
Pippa sends me confused glances throughout the national anthems, and when we sit, I lower my voice as the players line up for a face-off.
“We’re not actually dating.” I clasp my hands together. This is going to sound so stupid out loud. My stomach lurches at the sight of Connor on the bench, and it all comes spilling out. I tell Pippa about Connor’s email the other morning, how I thought he’d apologize, and then what he actually said.
“What a fucking asshole,” she breathes, watching my face, and panic rises in me.
I don’t want Pippa to know the effect Connor had on me. She’s my little sister, and I’ve always been the strong one for her. When our parents wanted her to let music be just a hobby, I pushed her to follow her dreams. I’m the one she comes to with questions about life; it’s always been like that between us. I take care of her, not the other way around.
I don’t want her to know how badly I’ve been hurt. I don’t want her to worry about me.
“Miller and I came to an arrangement.” I explain how he wants to look like a better captain to Ward this year and he’s more than happy to help me stick it to Connor.
She studies me with narrowed eyes. “You hate Rory. Why do you care if he wants to be captain?”
I open my mouth to protest. After what he did to my friend in high school, I know he’s just like every other jock who can have whatever he wants without consequences.
I don’t hate him, though.
We watch the players scramble for the puck at the other end of the ice. “I care because I made a deal with him. It’s only until January, anyway. You can tell Jamie, but please ask him not to say anything.”
Pippa’s eyes narrow like she doesn’t believe me before a teasing smile pulls up on her mouth and she tilts her chin to my jersey. “You wear it well.” She wiggles her brows. “Very cute.”
“Shut up.”
“He got the size right and everything.”
“I told you everything so you can be my support person.” I give her a pointed look. “Not so you can tease me.”
“I am your support person.” She pulls out her phone and opens her camera app. “But I like to tease you, too. Smile like you would if you were sleeping with Rory Miller.”
I laugh at the insanity of it, and she snaps a flurry of pictures. “Oh my god. I would never.”
As he skates past, our eyes meet. He grins and mouths hey before skating off.
“Oh my god,” a woman says behind us. “Was that at me?”
“No,” her friend answers. “It was to her.”
The back of my neck prickles.
“That’s Jamie Streicher’s fiancée beside her,” the woman whispers, and Pippa grins at me. They have no clue we can hear every word.
“Dad will be thrilled,” Pippa adds, peering over to Jamie at the other end of the ice. Next period, he’ll be in the net in front of us. “He likes Rory.”
I groan. Our dad’s a hockey nut. I didn’t even think about this element of our arrangement. “If Mom and Dad bring it up, tell them it’s not serious.”
“You haven’t had a boyfriend since Connor.” She cuts me a glance. “They’re going to get excited.”
There’s a flurry of activity on the ice in front of us. Rory sinks the puck, and noise erupts in the arena. The fans jump to their feet, cheering as lights flash and the Vancouver players surround Rory. Pippa’s hand comes to my elbow and she widens her eyes, pulling me up to standing.
“Clap,” she hisses. “Act like you’re happy that he scored.”
I start clapping awkwardly and Pippa laughs, which makes me laugh.
“I don’t want Mom and Dad getting attached to him,” I tell her when we sit down. “He has his own parents.”
Pippa’s frown makes me pause.
“What?” I press.
“Rory needs more good people in his life.”
I scoff. “With his ego? He probably grew up eating his after-school snacks off a gold platter.” I find him through the glass, speeding up the length of the ice with the puck. “The guy doesn’t know the word ‘no.’ I’m sure he was spoiled rotten as a kid.”
Her mouth twists. “He doesn’t talk to his mom much, and I don’t think his dad’s like ours. Have you ever watched Rick Miller on TV?”
I don’t watch sports commentary. Rick Miller is a Canadian hockey legend, though. Everyone knows his name.
“Honestly?” She winces. “He’s kind of a dick. He’s Rory’s agent first and his dad second.”
An ache pangs through me.
“When I went home last month,” she continues, “Dad had framed the ticket from my first concert in Vancouver.”
Pippa and I grew up in North Vancouver, and when we moved out of the house, our parents retired and moved to Silver Falls, a tiny ski town in the interior of British Columbia.
My heart squeezes with love. “Ken Hartley is the freaking best.”
She nods, wearing a wistful smile. “Yeah. He is.”
My eyes find Rory on the ice, and my chest feels tight. Pippa and I have the best dad, and maybe I don’t like Rory, but I don’t wish a bad dad on him.
“They mentioned a trip out here next month. Let’s invite Mom to one of your classes.” Pippa wiggles her eyebrows. Outside of physio for the team, I teach yoga, both on Zoom and in-studio. “I think it would be fun.”
My stomach sinks as I watch the game. Hayden bodychecks a guy from the other team against the boards in front of us. “That’s probably not going to happen.”
“What if we eased her into it? We don’t have to start with a hot class.”
The whistle blows as the ref calls a penalty, and people around us shout their disagreement. I exhale a long breath out of my nose, putting my response together for my sister as my stomach tightens in frustration.
“She doesn’t feel comfortable in yoga clothes,” I explain. “Being in a yoga studio reminds her of how much her body has changed since she used to dance.” Our mother was a ballerina in her teens and early twenties. “She won’t do it.”
I rub my sternum, dragging my palm over the front of my jersey as I think about her.
“How many times did she insult herself when you went home?” I ask. “How many times did she make a negative comment about her body or say she was on a diet?”
Pippa’s throat works. “A lot.”
“Exactly.” We stare at the ice, and I know Pippa’s thinking the same thing I am.