Chapter 10

I lean forwardand prop my elbows on my knees, grateful that so far, the team bus is still relatively empty. I'm not usually one of the first players aboard, but today, I was hoping for some extra time to clear my head before the game.

Instead, I got an unexpected conversation with Parker. When she dropped into the seat beside me, I could tell by the look on her face I wasn't going to like what she had to say.

I didn't. I could only stomach a few minutes of scrolling through the videos using the #TameTheBroodingBeast hashtag, but that was more than enough to get the idea. Parker has a full-blown problem on her hands, and for the sake of the team's image, we need to fix it.

Parker's proposed solution makes sense. A decoy girlfriend to help control the narrative—a love story to replace the conquest narrative that's trending right now.

I get it.

I just can't believe Summer agreed to help.

And I shouldn't be so happy that she did.

"Is this seat taken?"

I look up to see Summer standing in the aisle, her expression easy and confident.

"It's all yours," I say.

She sits down and glances down at my suit. "You look nice."

I'm wearing my favorite one, navy blue with a tiny pinstripe. I thought of Summer when I packed it, wondering if she would notice, even if I didn't want to acknowledge that's what I was doing, and the payoff is better than I hoped.

I like impressing Summer.

One more reason why faking with her is probably playing with fire.

"Thanks," I say. "You do too."

We sit through a beat of awkward silence while several players climb onto the bus and move past us to find seats. Even on the day when I yelled at her over a parking space, it didn't feel this weird. But with Parker's fake dating plan clearly hanging between us, everything feels stilted and awkward. Which isn't going to make faking it easy.

"So, this is weird, right?" Summer finally says once we're alone again, and I let out a little chuckle.

Even just having her admit it eases some of the tension in my shoulders. "It's a little weird. I guess I should say thank you?"

She gives her head a quick shake. "It's not a big deal. It's not like I"m dating anyone for real. I'm happy to help."

It didn't even occur to me until right now that agreeing to date me publicly means Summer won't be dating anyone in her real life for as long as this charade goes on. "It feels like a pretty big deal," I say. "Are you trying to make a habit of coming to my rescue?"

Her lips curve into a smile. "I could ask you the same thing."

I almost scoff in response. Protecting Summer from Dominik's immaturity doesn't come close to her calling Franklin or volunteering to be my fake girlfriend, but before I can protest, my phone vibrates in my pocket at the same time Summer's vibrates in her hand.

It looks like we both just got the same message from Parker.

Parker

Okay, so there are a lot of new posts and comments from fans who are currently waiting outside the arena. Just giving you a heads-up. It would probably be good if you look like a couple when you get off the bus.

Usually, a few fans are waiting outside arenas whenever we arrive for games, but this season, it's turned into something bigger than any of us have ever seen before. Sometimes hundreds of people are lined up to watch our arrival, even hours before puck drop. It's hard enough just to walk past them and feel any sense of normalcy.

Now I'm supposed to do it while pretending to have a girlfriend?

"Look like a couple," I read from my phone. "How are we supposed to do that?"

Summer lifts her eyebrows, her expression playful. "How? You want me to explain how to look like you have a girlfriend?"

"I just mean, how should we do it?"

"I mean, you did a pretty good job in your bed this morning," she says with a coy smile. "Maybe try something like that?"

My shoulders drop. "Very funny."

"I'm serious," she says, nudging my arm. "This isn't a big deal. Just hold my hand, put your arm around me. It'll be fine."

I'm glad she's confident because I feel like crawling out of my own skin. Usually, I'm only nervous before a game because of the game. Now, I'm worried about fan expectations and out-of-control hashtags and, more than all of that, Summer's comfort. Her feelings.

She drops a hand onto my arm. "Hey, do you think we should maybe let the team know? Or, I guess not all the team, but…the ones who will realize something is up if we get off the bus holding hands."

"The dream team," I say without thinking, and Summer freezes.

"The what?"

Oh, man. Oops.

"Nothing. Nevermind. I'll text everyone and let them know."

"No, no, no," Summer says. "Back up. Did you just call your friends the dream team?"

I breathe out a sigh. "We never say it publicly. A reporter once used the term, referring to the Appies' starters, then Alec renamed our group chat as a joke. But we don't really think of ourselves that way."

Summer's expression softens and she lifts a hand to her chest, pressing it to her sternum. "You have a group chat?"

"Is that weird?"

"Not at all. I'm just wondering if you did it on purpose. Made all the best guys on the team your best friends."

"Maybe they're the best on the team because they're my best friends."

"Okay, maybe we ought to start calling you Ego. You're giving Alec a run for his money with a comment like that."

I give Summer a playful smirk, then pull out my phone, navigating to the group text thread that we started right after Eli got married. It was Felix's idea—an effort to stay connected now that three of the six of us are in relationships.

Nathan

Heads up. The hashtag thing has gotten out of hand, so Parker suggested I pretend to have a girlfriend for a little while to make things easier.

Summer's helping out.

Don't give her crap about it.

Or me.

Alec

I was wondering why you were sitting up there with her instead of back here with us.

Van

I assumed it was because Alec is wearing enough cologne for the whole team.

Eli

Cologne? For a game? Who are you trying to impress?

Alec

Smelling my best is part of looking my best.

Logan

I'm fine with the cologne. Your purple suit on the other hand…

Alec

You're just jealous cause you couldn't pull this off.

Logan

Whatever you need to tell yourself, man.

Nathan

Can we focus for two seconds, please?

Felix

Sorry about the online drama. If Parker thinks this will work, we support you. Glad Summer is willing to help out.

Logan

I've been there. It's true. Girlfriends create a nice buffer when it comes to the more enthusiastic fans.

Nathan

If anyone else on the team asks, we're dating for real, but it's still new. Parker knows the truth. You guys know. That's it.

Eli

Got it. We've got you, man.

I hold my phone so Summer can read the screen, watching as she smiles, then lets out a tiny huff of laughter. "Alec's cologne was a little strong. I noticed when he walked by. I don't mind the purple suit though."

I slide my phone into the interior pocket of my suit coat while Summer takes a deep breath. "I guess I should text my sisters, too. They follow the Appies online. They'll be furious if they think we're dating for real, and I didn't tell them about it."

I think about the conversation she had with Lucy last night, the way Lucy referred to me as the Nathan. It's satisfying to think that Summer's sister already knew my name, but I try not to dwell on the feeling because it shouldn't be satisfying. I shouldn't care.

As for my family, there's no way I'm telling them about this in the few minutes we have before we arrive at the arena. I'll call Cassie at some point, and she'll do a good job of filling in Mom, but I don't have the bandwidth to do it now.

Summer spends a few minutes texting with her sisters, while I try to put myself in the right headspace to play hockey, but my efforts are mostly in vain. When we pull into the parking lot next to the arena and Coach Davis moves to the front of the bus, I'm no less tense, no less anxious about how everything is going to go.

Through the windows, rows and rows of screaming fans are lined up behind a security barrier on the sidewalk.

Summer reaches over and slips her fingers into mine, giving my hand a quick squeeze. "It's going to be okay," she says, her voice confident enough that I almost believe her.

"All right, men," Coach says. "As you can already see, there's a solid crowd outside the arena. We have time, so take a few minutes to say hello and sign some autographs, but don't linger. There's a pre-game press conference in forty-five minutes for Nathan, Logan, Alec, Eli, and Wyatt."

"And don't forget, Felix, if you can get dressed a little early, I need you on the ice for a promo thing with the Wolves goalie," Parker says from her seat a few rows back, and Coach Davis nods.

"Remember who you represent," Coach says. "You're Appies at all times, on and off the ice."

Parker is the first one off the bus so she can position herself to get some video. She stops at our row and gives us a hopeful thumbs up, then she's gone, the rest of the team filing off after her. Summer and I stay in our seats until we're the only ones left, then she stands and holds out her hand.

"Ready?"

I'm not ready, but this at least feels easier with her beside me.

Summer stays beside me until we reach the edge of the crowd. I like the feel of her hand in mine, the way it seems to fit so perfectly, and I'd rather she stay right where she is, but I'll need both hands to sign, and I don't want her to deal with any more chaos than absolutely necessary.

I slip my arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you head over and stand with Malik?" I suggest.

She nods, then pushes up onto her toes and kisses me on the cheek. I can still feel the heat of her kiss as I approach the crowd, their cheers growing louder and louder the closer I get. I quickly get swept into the mayhem, signing team posters, rosters, hats, giant foam fingers, and whatever else people have brought.

There are definitely more people here than usual, and I'm hearing my name twice as frequently, which is both disconcerting and overwhelming.

All this because of a few random photos.

Speaking of photos, in my periphery, I see several women holding giant posters. One is a blown-up copy of the penalty box picture Parker posted early last week. Another reads, "Look out world. I'm ready to #TameTheBroodingBeast."

It's almost enough to make me turn on my heel and head straight inside, but then I spot a couple of kids in Appies jerseys, holding a poster with my name and number on it. They're right beside the women, and they've already spotted me, so it feels rude not to acknowledge them in some way.

"Hey, guys. You hockey players?" I ask as I stop to sign their poster.

They both nod. "Defenders like you," the taller kid says. They ask for a picture, and I agree. By the time we're finished, the two women with the posters have stepped closer, leaning across the security barrier as they nudge the kids out of the way.

They're young, probably in their twenties, and the matching looks on their faces immediately make me uncomfortable. "Can you sign my shirt for me?" one of them asks.

My eyes drop to her shirt only to see my face printed on the front. I thought Van was kidding when he said this was happening to him. I guess not.

"How about I sign the back?" I say, and the woman licks her lips.

"Honey, you can sign wherever you want."

I ignore her comment and motion for her to turn around. I pick a spot high on her shoulder, touching as little of her as possible as I scribble my name. I'm close to the barrier now, and the two women have turned into a dozen, closing in on me on all sides. I sign shirts, hats, posters, and so many pictures of me, my stress level creeping higher and higher the whole time.

"I bet I could make you smile," one woman says as I sign an Appies team roster for her. As I hand it back, she lunges over the barrier and grabs my arm, tugging me down and kissing me on the cheek.

I immediately shrug away, but as soon as she lets go, someone else grabs me from the other side. "Let me try to tame the beast," she says, her tone suggestive.

My blood runs cold, then hot. My first impulse is to punch someone, to fight my way out, but in a crowd full of women, I can't exactly take the same liberties I do on the ice.

"Can we have some respect, please?" A familiar and very commanding voice says from behind me. "Hands off."

Summer appears beside me, looping her arm through mine and tugging me backward, away from the crowd. A security guard moves in, urging the women to take a step away from the barrier, and I finally take a deep breath.

"You okay?" Summer says, tucking herself against my side. She slips an arm around my waist, under my suit jacket, and I'm immediately struck by how good it feels to have her touching me, a sharp contrast to how uncomfortable I was moments before. "Just focus on me for a sec," she says, holding my gaze. "Breathe."

I nod and do as she asks, grateful for the anchor she's providing.

"Oh my gosh. Is that his girlfriend?" someone in the crowd asks.

"She's so pretty!" another woman says.

Summer's lips lift into a small smile. "Hey, look. We're doing it. We're looking like a couple."

I huff out a little laugh. "That crowd was vicious. I'm not sure this is enough."

She shrugs. "Then kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me," she repeats. "If you want them to know you're spoken for, then show them you belong to me."

Her words spark an almost visceral reaction inside me, and I pull her a little closer. I like the sound of belonging to her as much as I like the feel of her body pressed against mine. But right now, that's not what matters. Right now, this is about doing whatever it takes to make this kind of fan attention stop.

"Fine," I say as I lift a hand to her face, cupping her cheek. "But just remember, you asked me to do this."

Then I drop my head and press my lips to hers.

I don't expect to forget the crowd of people watching me kiss Summer for the first time, but the second her lips touch mine, everything else falls away.

In a flash, the kiss goes from something measured and practical to something so much bigger. My heart is pounding in my chest, my skin is alive with heat and energy, and something inside me is shifting in ways I can't fully quantify.

I will never not know what it feels like to hold her like this, to have her mouth against mine.

A blessing and a curse.

Summer finally pulls away, and I open my eyes to see her staring up at me, eyes wide. She blinks, and I blink, and then, finally, the roar of the crowd breaks through the haze of whatever just happened.

What did just happen?

Summer takes a stuttering breath, her eyes still holding mine. "Well, that's one way to do it," she says through her smile.

"Nathan," Malik says from the door into the arena. "Let's go."

I give him a quick nod, then lift a hand to wave at my fans. They cheer again as I weave Summer's fingers through mine, then lead her into the arena.

Parker is standing beside the door, eyes wide, phone raised like she's filming. As soon as we're inside, she follows behind us, pulling the heavy metal door shut with a comforting click.

The noise of the crowd is almost entirely gone now, but I hold onto Summer's hand anyway. There are entirely too many emotions pinging around my chest right now, and her hand is the only anchor I've got.

"You okay?" Malik asks, his eyes dropping down to where Summer's fingers are entwined with mine.

I take a long, slow breath and tilt my head toward the door. "I don't know what any of that has to do with playing hockey."

Malik lifts his hands in a placating gesture that almost irritates me. "Not much," he says. "But it has everything to do with paying your salary. And yours is a lot higher than it would be if you played for another team in the league."

I frown. I can't argue with him, but a line has to be drawn somewhere, and fans bodily throwing themselves against me, kissing me—that's my line.

"Fans got a little out of hand," Malik says, "but we can increase security next time. Take a few more precautions."

"Increased security would be great," I say as my gaze shifts to Summer. She's in this mess now, too. The last thing I want is for her to feel like her safety or privacy has been compromised.

Malik motions toward the two of us. "I assume you've filed everything you need to file with HR?"

I didn't even know there was something we were supposed to file with HR, but Summer must because she answers for us. "I've got the form," she says. "We'll turn it in when we're back in Harvest Hollow."

My eyes shift to Parker, and she shrugs. So, I guess we're not telling Malik this is just a publicity stunt.

A publicity stunt with exceptional kissing, but a publicity stunt just the same.

Malik nods and glances at his watch. "Good. Then we've got a press conference to get to, and you need to start thinking about the game."

Summer finally drops my hand, and I turn to face her.

"Are you coming?" I ask.

She nods. "You go ahead. I'll catch up in a minute."

Just then, Eli and Logan, who were the only guys still outside with the fans when I came in, finally push through the door, turning to wave one last time.

"Man, that's some crowd," Logan says. I fall into step beside him, and he looks over at me. "You okay? I've never seen your face on so many t-shirts."

"It was a lot," I say. "Too many."

"At least you got a first kiss out of it," Eli says. "A very convincing one, I might add."

"Still feels weird," I say. "Dishonest, somehow."

We pause outside the press room door, and Logan gives me a serious look. "Don't think of it that way. Some fans are always going to feel more entitled to information than they actually are. You kissed Summer, and kisses can mean a lot of different things. You don't have to explain yourself. You aren't obligated to tell the fans anything about your private life."

I think about Logan's words as we file into the press room and take our seats at the front table, the familiar click of camera shutters sounding over and over as we do. Alec, who is already seated next to Wyatt, lifts his head in acknowledgment.

I understand what he's saying, and as a guy with experience in the NHL, he would know. But I still don't like the idea of faking. Mostly because that kiss felt anything but fake.

The questions are still bouncing around in my head when the press conference starts, and it takes all my effort to focus on the questions, to shift my brain into hockey mode.

The first question for me is one I expect. Last time we played the Wolves, one of their wings, a guy named Maddox, got in Felix's face, and I let Maddox know how I felt about that, bruising his shoulder and landing myself in the penalty box.

"Are you concerned about Maddox and whether he'll try to antagonize you after what happened last time?" the reporter asks. "And what efforts are you making to control your temper?"

I lean forward and speak into the microphone. "With all due respect, it wasn't my temper that led to Maddox's injury. My actions were intentional and a direct result of Maddox's illegal hit on our goalie. I knew what the consequence would be, but it was more important to me that he understand he can't play dirty with the Appies."

"Were you not concerned about permanently injuring another player?"

"Not at all. I've been doing this a while. I know how to fight fair, and I don't take players out of the game."

As I finish my answer, Summer and Parker slip into the back of the room with Malik. Summer meets my gaze and gives me a small smile. It isn't much, but my body reacts like it is, and I feel a sudden craving to be close to her.

The next few questions go to Logan, stuff about his NHL prospects and whether he has any thought about when he'll return. He's used to this one, and he answers it easily, deflecting, mentioning how much he's enjoying his time with the Appies.

A guy in the back asks a question for Wyatt, and another for Alec, then the attention is right back on me.

"A personal question for Nathan, if I may," a female reporter in the front row says. "You've been quite the topic of conversation on social media the past few weeks, particularly among the Appies' female fans. But I've just gotten word that you might be officially off the market. Are you willing to confirm for the record?"

I make eye contact with Summer. She smiles and shrugs, like she has no idea how to help me. Almost like she thinks it's funny I'm having to answer this question at all.

I clear my throat and lean toward the microphone. "I'd rather not talk about my personal life directly, but if you happen to observe something that makes you think I'm in a relationship, I'm happy to let my actions speak for themselves."

Summer gives me two thumbs up, then pulls out her phone, sending me a text that shows up on my smartwatch.

Summer

Nice deflection. You didn't say no, but you didn't say yes either. I'm impressed.

The words send a bolt of heat to my heart, and I just barely keep myself from smiling.

Eli spends the next few minutes answering a question about his marriage, his smile wide to the point of almost looking goofy, then addressing the growing fame of the Appies and how we're handling our travel now that we're getting so much more fan and media attention.

After that, a guy who barely looks old enough to be out of high school, much less working as a full-time reporter, stands up.

"This one is for Nathan," he says, and I give him my full attention. "I think we can all imagine what it must feel like to be the son of one of hockey's greatest stars. Can you talk about the legacy your father left behind? And do you feel a lot of pressure to find the same kind of success?"

The question doesn't surprise me. When I first signed to play pro, people constantly compared me to my father, so I answer now the same way I did back then. "My father was an incredible hockey player, and I have a lot of respect for what he accomplished on the ice. But I'm focused on doing my own thing. Building my own career on my own terms."

The reporter seems momentarily disappointed, but then he presses on. "Do you think your brother feels pressure to measure up? Or was he more influenced by the rougher years of your father's life? Those closer to his death?"

My eyebrows go up. This question does surprise me. "I'm sorry. My brother?"

"Blake Sanders is considered one of the nation's hottest potential recruits," the reporter says, "but I have a source who tells me there's been a recent arrest, and Blake has been notably absent from the past three games in his league. I'm just curious if you think the pressure of your father's legacy may be getting to him." He pushes his glasses up his nose. "Causing him to get into trouble."

My jaw tightens, and my hands clench into fists under the table. I don't know who this journalist is, but my brother is just a kid, and this guy is dragging Blake's name through the mud like it's no big deal. And based on his smug tone, he's proud of himself for doing it.

I meet Summer's eye, who looks as furious as I feel, and the realization gives me the surge of courage I need to answer.

I clear my throat. "My brother is only sixteen years old. He's a minor," I say, emphasizing the word, "who is still growing up. And he deserves his privacy while that's happening. He's also one hell of a hockey player who will likely have a very promising career."

My tone is firm enough that I expect it to shut down any further questions, but the dude persists. "Can you confirm or deny whether Blake?—"

"I think we're done," Malik says from the side of the room, cutting the guy off. "Thanks, everyone."

I stand up, watching as Summer moves up next to the man who asked about Blake. She whispers something in his ear, and the man's lips press into a tight line before he follows Summer out the door.

I have no idea what's happening. I have no idea what this guy knows or what he thinks he knows. But if Summer is handling it, I'm a lot less worried than I was thirty seconds ago.

Still, I follow after them anyway. Whoever this guy is, he better not say anything about Blake in the press.

Everyone is pouring out of the room and into the hallway, and at first, I don't think I'll find her. But then Parker tips me off, motioning toward a small meeting space a few feet up from the press room. The crowd is thinner here, so as I get closer, I can hear Summer's words. From this angle, I can see only her—the person she's talking to is blocked by the door—but context clues make it obvious.

"I don't care if you say you have a reliable source," Summer says, her tone dripping with venom. "The law indicates that juvenile arrest records are confidential, protected by federal statutes, and you will respect that law. You will not print Blake's name. You will not print record of his arrest. If I find out that you do, so help me, I will have your press credentials revoked and a lawsuit filed so fast, your head will spin. Have I made myself clear?"

For the second time in less than an hour, Summer has come to my rescue. With her kiss still fresh in my mind, seeing her like this, defending me, protecting me, is doing strange things to my heart.

I've never really known what that feels like—to have a partner.

I've always resisted the idea of relationships because I wouldn't be reliable. I'm fine enough on my own, so it's better, easier, to just avoid the risk of hurting someone else altogether. But I'm suddenly starting to wonder if I'm missing out on more than I thought.

It's not lost on me that Summer isn't really my partner. Though I have a feeling she'd be ripping into this guy even if we weren't pretending to date. And I don't know how to feel about that.

"Geez," a whiny voice says. "What kind of a crazy girlfriend are you?"

Summer's eyes widen, then she leans forward, looking even more menacing than before. "A girlfriend who happens to be chief legal counsel for the Appies and who clearly knows the law better than you do. Do I need to remind you a second time?"

"Dude," Alec says from beside me. "That was hot."

I shoot him a look. He's right, but that doesn't mean I want him to notice. I give him a good-natured shove, and he laughs, playfully fighting back. But then he catches my arm, his expression sobering. "For real though, man. You want to tell me what's going on with your brother?"

I run a hand down my beard. So far, I haven't told anyone but Summer what's going on. It's not my first impulse to tell people things, but at Felix's patient urging, I'm trying to do better at letting my teammates in. I really should tell them about Blake—and not just because he was mentioned during the press conference.

"I'll explain in the locker room," I say. "That way, the other guys can hear too. Just let me talk to Summer first."

I clap Alec on the back, then head Summer's direction. It really was hot watching her tear into that reporter, and she deserves a very sincere thank you.