Falling: A Fake Dating College Hockey Romance (North University Book 1)

My mom once told me that boys are like the wind: some will push you forward, like a strong gust that helps you skate faster and better, but most are just breezes that distract you from your path. After my breakup, she reminded me how my ex helped me focus on my figure skating, and she warned me not to let other boys blow me off course. “Stay true to your goals,” she said, “and the right wind will support you when you need it most.”

I kind of thought that every boy would be either of those things, but I can’t seem to fit Miles into those categories because he does both. He pushes me and encourages me in all the best ways, yet he distracts me. But a huge part of me thinks I need to be distracted sometimes. A little bit of fun wouldn’t kill me, and he reminds me of that way more often than I’d like.

After a long day practicing and trying to get Miles out of my head, I’m sitting with the girls in the living room while they ask me more and more ridiculous questions. I’ve been dodging most of them as I lie down with ice packs on my sore knees.

“Sooo, what was it like?” Kennedy asks with a huge smile.

“What was what like?” I sit up further on the couch so I can see them both properly. Kennedy is sitting in the beanbag, and Scarlett is on the floor, lying on her back.

“The kiss. You can’t just be like ‘yeah me and Miles made out for real’ and ignore it,” Kennedy explains. I made the stupid mistake of telling them that we made out but left out the fact that he finger fucked me until I forgot my name.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. If I think about it too much, I’ll do it again, and this whole thing will be over. I can’t do that. Not so close to the show and during hockey season,” I say, turning over my ice packs before resting my head back on the headrest.

“Fine, don’t tell us. But, judging by the look on your face, it was better than the kisses you write about in Stolen Kingdom,” Kennedy says, looking at me innocently. I don’t have the energy to argue with that. It’s true. It was probably the best kiss of my life, hickeys and all.

“It was an above-average kiss,” I admit.

“Above average how?” Scarlett asks. “Like a little touchy?”

“Or like close to fucking?” Kennedy suggests.

I sigh, closing my eyes for a second before opening them. “The second one.”

They both burst into hysterical screams, clapping their hands as if this is the best news they’ve heard in their lives.

“You fooled around with him, didn’t you?” Scarlett asks, but it doesn’t sound much like a question. Sometimes, I think she should be a detective instead of a fashion major.

“Maybe,” I murmur, and they both gasp. “But it wasn’t like that. He was sweet and kind, and we fell sleep afterward.”

They both blink at me, not saying anything. I know how they work. I know they’re thinking of every way they can make fun of me until they’re satisfied.

“Oh my god,” Kennedy mutters.

“What?”

“You like him,” Scarlett answers for her.

I scoff, but my heart betrays me by skipping a beat. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do! You have the hots for him,” Ken says, jumping to her feet in excitement. “You like like him.”

“We’re not in middle school, Ken,” I murmur.

She shrugs. “We’re all in middle school when it comes to things like this. And you”—she points at me—“have a crush on a popular hockey player.”

My cheeks rush with heat. “I do not.”

“You so do.”

Do I?

Crushes are gross and nasty and make me feel out of control. I never really had a crush on Augustus. He just started getting more flirtatious with me and kissed me, and the next steps to that felt like a relationship. I didn’t question it because I was sixteen and stupid, so we had this weird on-and-off thing for years until we started college. But with Miles, liking him doesn’t feel weird or out of place. Everything about it feels fresh and nice and more like a hug I can wrap myself in, not something that will choke me.

I’m about to say something to the girls, but my phone chimes and vibrates next to me. I reach into the pocket of my shorts and retrieve it. I smile wide when I see a message from Gigi.

I laugh at Gigi’s last message and throw my phone next to me. The second it hits the cushion, it starts to ring again. Just my luck. When I reach for it, I see the unknown caller ID, my pulse instinctively quickening. I swipe the answer button and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Wren? It’s Austin. Are you alone?”

My chest tightens at the sound of her voice. It’s been so long that I almost forgot what she sounds like. We’ve had a few calls over the last few years but nothing to remember. She’s always busy so it’s always a quick “Hi, how are you?” on her way into the studio, and I’m okay with that. I’ve always wanted a better relationship with my sister like we used to have as kids, but it’s changed a crazy amount over the last few years. She does her thing, and I do mine. And I’m fine with that.

“Is it your loverboy calling for phone sex?” Kennedy coos.

“No. It’s Austin,” I say, the words sounding foreign on my tongue.

They both turn to me in horror as I pick up my ice packs and limp into my bedroom, closing the door. My hands shake as I sit down on the edge of the bed. “No one has heard from you in months. Are you okay?”

“My life is over. My career is over. I won’t be able to dance anymore,” Austin says, groaning. It sounds like she’s crying, but I can’t tell. I don’t remember the last time my sister cried in front of me.

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Worse,” she replies.

“Austin, what could be worse than that?” A huge part of me doesn’t even want to know the answer. Austin is a lot less dramatic than my mom. She’s always been the rational one, but with the complete terror in her voice, I don’t think I want to know.

“I’m pregnant.”

The line goes silent.

Austin has never wanted kids. It’s not that she doesn’t like them. But Austin’s life plans were very simple. Ballet. Get married. Ballet. Even as kids, when asked what she wanted to do, it was always “ballet” with certainty and “marriage” with a question mark.

She has done everything in her power to make sure that one plan stays consistent and that it actually follows through. In a way, I have a very similar plan to hers. Skating has always been my entire life and will continue to be. I wouldn’t be having a meltdown if I got pregnant, but I wouldn’t be thrilled either. I have goals and an end in sight, and I’m not willing to let anything come in my way of that.

She’s been dating Zion for as long as I can remember, and they’ve made it work between her schedule and his job as an editor. I knew they were serious when he moved away with her to Russia a few years ago, but this was clearly not in their five-year plan.

“How far along are you?” I ask when I get my voice back. As much as I would want to congratulate her, I’m sure that’s the last thing she wants to hear from me.

“Maybe four months?” I don’t say anything. What am I supposed to say to this? “Emmy, I can’t do this right now. This was supposed to be my last month here and then I was meant to move to France in the new year with just Zion—not him and a baby.”

“Wait, you got into the company?”

“Why are you so surprised? I worked hard and I got in,” she says bluntly. Right. I forgot how uptight she was. “They won’t want me anymore if they find out that I can’t dance for at least a year.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to figure that part of it out. I was calling for a favor,” Austin says, and my skin prickles.

“We haven’t spoken in months and you’re calling me for a favor?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Well, at least she’s honest. I don’t bother giving her the whole spiel about how we’ve not checked in on each other. The truth is, not talking every day is the norm. If something was wrong, we’d know. The fact that we don’t talk as much sort of gives each of us peace. I know that she’s fine, and she knows that I’m fine too. It’s weird and probably fucked up in a lot of ways, but it works for us.

“Can you tell Mom for me? You don’t have to make it into a big thing, just bring it up like she already knows. I won’t be able to stomach the disappointment if I tell her myself. I’ve told Dad already, but you know what he’s like. He was just happy that there’s a possibility he could get a grandson.” She laughs quietly.

“Austin, I don’t know if I can do that,” I stutter. “I don’t want all that pressure on me right now. I’ve got a show coming up and⁠—”

“Great. That’s perfect. Just tell her right after the show, when you’ve done your best performance, and she’ll be so proud she probably won’t even care.”

I wait a minute, not saying anything. My future in figure skating at NU is riding on the back of this showcase. Not only do I need people to turn up, but my mom needs to enjoy it. She needs to see that I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into my training. And now, she needs to be prouder than ever so Austin’s pregnancy can fly right over her head.

“Thank you, Wren. I owe you for this one,” she says quickly without waiting for my reply before ending the call. I sit on my bed for what feels like hours, dumbfounded, and my body suddenly feels heavy.

This is the last thing I need. The show is only a few weeks away, and I need to stay sane enough so Miles doesn’t think I’m going off the rails. I’ve already changed my routine for him, skipping classes and staying in bed with him when I could have used that time to be more productive. If this stupid, pathetic schoolgirl crush doesn’t go away soon, I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep up this shtick.

When the anxieties creep up into me, I rush into my bathroom to throw up. When the retching doesn’t stop, both of the girls run into my bathroom. Kennedy holds my hair back while Scarlett rubs my back, knowing exactly what to do. I seriously don’t know what I’ve done to deserve them. After I feel like it’s all out of me, I go to my sink and brush my teeth, but they both hover around me in the bathroom.

“I’m going to the rink,” I say when I turn around to them, clearing my throat.

Scarlett inches toward me.

“Wren, it’s past nine o’clock. I don’t think the one on campus is open,” she says.

I brush past her and go into my bedroom. They follow behind me.

“And not to mention you’ve been there all day. Take a break,” Kennedy suggests as I pack my duffel bag with my leotard and essentials.

“I’ll find one that’s open, or I’ll go to the gym,” I bite out before walking out of my room and into the kitchen. They follow behind me again as I grab a couple bottles of water, and I shove them into my bag, avoiding their eyes.

“Wren,” Scarlett says, carefully, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You need to take a breather. You just threw your stomach up. You were like this before regionals.”

“Yeah, and look where that fucking got me. I didn’t take it seriously enough. I put being with Augustus over skating, and I didn’t practice enough. I could have prevented that. If I fuck this one up, it’s over. I’m done!”

They both take a step back. Kennedy’s eyes soften as she looks at me. Scarlett looks irritated and a little disappointed. She’s had to put up with this side of me for the longest, and I’m sure she’s sick of it. She’s seen me after losing a comp as a kid, she’s seen me after winning and still needing to do better. Constantly trying to do my absolute best. To be absolutely flawless.

“Look.” I sigh, my voice quieter. “I’m sorry for shouting, but I’m in a really difficult situation right now, and I need to clear my head.”

“If this is about Miles—” Scarlett starts.

“It’s not.”

“Then talk to us. That’s what we’re here for,” Kennedy whispers, her voice weighty with emotion. “You don’t run away when things get hard. We don’t do that.”

I want to grab them both into a hug. I want to tell them everything. I want to tell them how it feels like I’m constantly being held down by a giant, cutting off my blood circulation. How I’m constantly hearing the words, You’re not good enough over and over. I want to tell them that I hate the person I’m becoming and that I feel like I can’t breathe if I think about it too much.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t,” I stammer as I slip out of the door.