By admin Fake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey Player Novel CH 14
128th Ven forts
EMILIA
The summer before college, Zane got his driver’s license and drove us up to Maine to visit his extended family.
My parents had never approved of our relationship. They saw Zane as a country bumpkin–someone beneath our family’s status who was only with me for the connections my last name carried. They would have preferred I married our rival’s son and secured a business merger to expand the family profits.
When I put my foot down and insisted that what we had wasn’t some fleeting childhood infatuation–that I loved him–they weren’t happy
about it.
My sister was too young to understand the weight of my family’s expectations, so she stayed out of it.
But my brother? He was always on my side.
At least, he was–until I snuck out for that road trip to Maine without telling a soul.
Zane and I got into a huge fight somewhere along the way. He pulled over fifteen miles from his grandparents‘ house, dropped me off on the side of the road, sent me the GPS location, and drove off.
That was the first time in my life I felt real terror.
It was 9 PM. I was wearing nothing but a camisole and shorts.
I found a nearby gas station to catch my breath and figure out my options.
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A cab was out of the question–I didn’t have enough money to get there.
And then an old scumbag, reeking of beer and bad intentions, pulled up to the station and tried forcing me into his car.
I ran.
I found a safe spot, broke down, and called my
brother.
After that night, my brother changed. He had only ever tolerated Zane because he knew I loved him–but after what happened, something in him snapped.
He drove up to meet Zane and nearly strangled him, fists colliding with bone, rage simmering in every blow. He only let go when he saw me crying, begging him to stop.
But Zane wasn’t at fault. My brother didn’t understand. If I was going to be Zane’s wife–his forever–I needed to act like it. He was only trying to teach me, to shape me into someone worthy of his love, someone who could keep his affection for the rest of our lives.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Ever since then, I rationalised every terrifying thing he did. And sometimes, even now, I still do.
He threw the ceramic plate at me because there was too much salt in his pasta? That was my fault. I needed to do better.
He tossed my things down the stairs and kicked me out because I was too sick to attend his hockey game? A good wife should take care of her health, but always put her husband first. I was failing in my duties.
But this time, there’s nothing to rationalise. No excuse to cling to.
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Right now, I’m more terrified than I was that night at the gas station.
My grip tightens around the knife, my pulse hammering so hard it makes me feel sick. My fingers tremble as I press 911–
CLICK.
The key turns.
The door swings open.
And someone steps inside.
I realise quickly that calling the police is useless. Whoever this person is, they’d reach me long before help could arrive.
So I drop my phone.
I gather every ounce of anger, frustration, and exhaustion that has been building inside me these past few weeks and step out of the kitchen, gripping the knife tighter.
“Who the fuck are you, and why do you have a key to my bakery?”
The intruder is tall, dressed in all black, with a cap pulled low over his face. Dark glasses and a mask hide all his defining features, so I can’t make out what he looks like. He hesitates for a second–probably taken
aback–but doesn’t answer.
Something about him is familiar, but I refuse to let my guard down. I can’t even see his eyes behind those glasses, and the silence stretches too long. My pulse pounds in my ears.
I raise the knife higher. “Are you deaf? So help me God, I will fucking stab you-”
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“Emilia.”
The voice is soft, but it slams into me like a bullet.
My whole body locks up.
A
I know this voice. At one point, I heard it every single day for ten years. It belongs to the only man I have ever wanted. The one I had just begun to teach myself to stop wanting.
To stop wanting his touch. His attention. His love.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not like this. We were supposed to meet again on the cruise when I had Li-
Zane pulls off his cap and glasses. His light brown hair is tousled from the hat, and his golden eyes–fuck, those eyes–pierce through me. When he lowers his mask, his lips are curled in a frown, and something deep in my chest recoils at the look of disapproval.
I hate that look.
“Why didn’t you open the door when I knocked?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the fog in my mind. “What the actual fuck, Emilia? The reason these walls aren’t soundproof is so you can use your fucking ears. And why are you holding a knife? Huh? Who the fuck else has a key to this place? Put it down.
Now.”
I flinch.
The knife slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor.
And instinct kicks in and my first reaction is to apologise.
He’s right. I’m so stupid. No one else has a key. I should have known. I
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should have-
No.
I grit my teeth, hands curling into fists.
Not this time.
“No.”
I shake my head, a slow, simmering rage rising in my chest. Not just at him, but at his audacity. At the way he still speaks to me like I’m some clueless idiot who would drop everything–who would still do anything— just for the chance to wear his ring again.
And maybe I would, maybe if he asked, I would be his perfect Mrs. and forget the way he humiliated me at that restaurant and continue the ten year relationship he left behind.
But God, it feels so embarrassing. Having him realise that weakness and use it against me. Even if it is the truth, why did he always have to throw it in my face?
“You don’t get to play that game.” My voice is steady, but my blood is boiling. “You don’t get to talk to me like that in my own fucking bakery.‘
I take a step forward.
”
“Why do you still have a key, Zane?” My hands tremble, but I press on. “Have you forgotten what you told me? That I could keep the engagement ring? Have you forgotten that this place is an extension of it? And that makes it mine?”
I laugh shortly, but it’s bitter and humourless even to my own ears.
“So tell me, why the hell would you knock on a door that clearly says
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CLOSED? Why would you keep knocking even after I ignored you?”
I meet his gaze head–on, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
“And what the fuck are you doing here, Zane?”
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