Page 13 of Pucked Into Position

I let out a shaky breath, trying to listen for signs that this is more than just a fake relationship for Ryan. Because it is for me—especially after last night.

Tucker is the only person Ryan would say that to honestly.

“I promise, it’s all fake. It’s entirely for PR. I told you about my management issues. We staged it to get the paparazzi off my back. I would never actually do anything to hurt Lana, you know that.” Ryan sounds too calm.

The words feel like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I stagger back as a sharp pain blooms in my chest.

It’s all fake. Of course he doesn’t feel the way I do.

My heart feels shattered. My first sexual encounter and heartbreak, all in less than twenty-four hours. I can’t take it.

Ryan says a quick goodbye and hangs up. I hear him let out a long sigh.

Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I grip the straps of my backpack to ground myself and wait for him to go back to his room.

Once the door shuts, I slip out and quietly snatch my keys from the hook on the wall. The front door swings silently as I make my way out into the hall. When the elevator arrives, I get in and press the button, looking down at my sandals.

I want to look up and see Ryan standing there, ready to hold me and tell me this is just as real for him as it is for me. I try to tell myself I don’t care. But that’s a lie. I care entirely too much, and I know that if I look up and find him there I won’t leave.

***

That night, after overthinking all day, I’m sitting at Ryan’s first home game in the family luxury box beside his PR rep, Brenda. She’s a bit of a pushy woman, pressing me for details about my life, how I met Ryan, what he’s like outside of the arena and media attention.

I give her mostly single sentence answers, not willing to share private information that Ryan hasn’t given me permission to share.

Brenda seems disappointed, but I barely focus on that. The atmosphere inside the arena is far too electric and surreal. I’ve never been to a live game before, let alone one of Ryan’s. I’m used to cheering from afar, watching his games on the living room TV with my parents or on my phone if I was at Anna’s for a sleepover.

I still have screenshots of some close-ups saved in a locked folder.

Anna used to tease me about them until she realized why I saved them.

Ryan is an absolute powerhouse on the ice, and I dance between guilt and anger. I shouldn’t have snuck out, should’ve given him a chance to explain instead of assuming—even if I was running late—but I’m also pissed that he would lie to Tucker or me about what this is for him.

The game is close. I’m on the edge of my seat through the first and second periods, but when Ryan catches me smiling down at him during the third period, he starts playing like a man possessed, eyes laser focused on the puck, ending the third period with a shutout.

I watch, heart soaring, as the team rallies together into an excited mass of giant, muscular men and testosterone fueled shenanigans.

I grin and fall back into my seat. That was one of Ryan’s best games yet.

I’d already planned to let the arena clear out while waiting for Ryan to get changed, figuring no one would bother me here. I caught an Uber after school after he told me we could ride together after the game. I’d ignored his texts most of the day out of pettiness—not that he knew that, and probably assumed I was busy in class—but finally caved knowing it would be more cost-effective to let him drive me when possible.

“Oh, you must really be his good luck charm! I cannot wait to see more of you two this season,” Brenda praises.

My mood immediately plummets. I plaster a smile on my face and nod, pretending I’m just as excited, but the second she leaves I drop the act. My expression relaxes, though not enough to suggest I’m unhappy in my “relationship” with Ryan. I might be upset with him, but I don’t want to sabotage his season.

I play with the cuffs of my hoodie sleeves, contemplating if I should stick to the plan and wait for Ryan or take an Uber back to the penthouse instead.

“Would you like to come down to the press room, Lana?” Brenda reappears around the wall and I jump. “Ryan might be a while still, especially after a game like that.”

Her excitement bleeds over and curiosity gets the better of me.

“Sure, I’d love that.”

The walk down to the press room is thankfully too hectic for Brenda to continue talking my ear off as we weave through the throngs of people heading toward the parking lot.

I overhear fans gushing over the game, and even fans of the opposing team praising Ryan’s skill as a goalie.

When we get to the press room, my senses are completely overwhelmed. The lights are bright and cameras flash erratically. The raucous of twenty questions being shouted at once gives me a headache. I get why Ryan is so emotionally wiped after a game. Not only does he physically push himself, but he gets bombarded by pushy reporters the second they’re off the ice.