The Pucking Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Fake Dating Hockey Romance

1. Runaway Bride

I’m nervous. All brides are jittery on their wedding day. It shouldn’t be unusual, even for an international pop star with two albums gone platinum.

This isthe first day of the rest of my life. I’ll get married and close the door to a lot of possibilities. And since I’ve been with only one man, I’m closing the door to plentyof could-have-beens.

My anxiety is rising, and I turn around the empty room, seeking something or someone that could comfort me. But there’s no one around. The makeup artists and stylists who have been turning me into a bride for the last three hours just stepped out to “give me a little bit of space.” My dad and stepmother are probably watching over the one-thousand-capacity hall they insisted was indispensable for my wedding. All of my bridesmaids—who are also my backup singers on a normal workday—are stashed in another room, mostly because we don’t know how to interact outside of a professional setting.

I take a deep breath as sweat beads on my forehead. Soon, my anxiety is going to spiral into a full-blown panic attack. I’m desperate to keep calm, if only not to ruin the thousands of dollars spent on my appearance.

I need to find someone who’s going to reassure me that I am, in fact, making the right choice. I should knowby now. I have written dozens of songs about Ben and our love story, songs that made me a millionaire at age twenty and convinced other young women that there is love out there waiting for them.

And I barely had to fib when I composed the songs. Sure, I added and omitted a few details, but our love story was stilla great one. At the beginning, at least. No one else knows that it had dwindled over seven years. But it was perking up recently. His proposal was flawless. On a private yacht amid the vast Hawaiian sea, we were encircled only by the sky above and dolphins below. It was a dreamy, romantic moment.

Dwelling on our dwindling intimacy isn’t necessary, nor on the numbness I feel in his presence, replaced only by a lingering ache for the man I envision him to be—the one immortalized in my songs.

I turn around the empty room again. Even the memory of his proposal is not enough to push the slowly rising panic aside. The truth is that most of the time, I’m not even sure Ben wants to be with me.

This time, someone comes to mind: Diana, my chief bridesmaid and stepsister, courtesy of my dad’s marriage to her mother. She’s not exactly a friend—not that I have many of those—but if nothing else, she couldmanage to calm me down.

I gather my pearl-studded wedding dress that feels as if it weighs a hundred pounds—thanks to Alexander McQueen and my stepmom, who pushed for an intricate design that ended up costing upward of two hundred grand.

“The worldhas been hearing you sing about your love story with Ben for seven years! We have to give them something worth looking at. This is the wedding of the century, Faye darling. Act like it.”

I need to remember her advice now more than ever.

Plastering a smile on my face, I push open the door and saunter out of the room. There’s no one in the hallway, which means I drop my smile a second later as I stride along the doors. I pass the rooms of my backup singers turned bridesmaids, my dad and stepmother, and the groomsmen. Ben is as awkward at making friends as I am. Not that he has an excuse, since he doesn’t work anymore and has all the time in the world. But most of his groomsmen are random guys my dad enlisted.

Finally, I’m in front of Diana’s suite. It’s the last one on the left, adjacent to the elevator. I look over at the lift before I take a deep breath and knock. No response. I try the handle. The door is propped open, the Do Not Disturb sign having gotten in the way. She’s probably in the shower. Even if she’s technically my sister, I don’t know her all that well. My dad got married when I was eighteen, shortly before I became a nationwide singing sensation, which did not give me much time for family bonding.

I open the door and step in, expecting to see an empty, perfectly made-up space. Maybe even the sound of running water from the shower, and Diana belting one of my songs at the top of her lungs.

But I don’t see or hear either of those.

Instead, I spot Diana, dressed in the dowdy peach gown her mother approved for the bridesmaids, pressed to the wall with her arms slung around a man who, even if his back is turned to me, is instantly recognizable as a groomsman since he’s dressed in a sparkling white suit. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and his pants seem to be hanging loose on his hips. There is no mistaking what they are doing, and I gasp, surprised and embarrassed.

This announces my presence, and in the next second, they are springing apart. Diana lets out a panicked yell and drops her legs to the ground, adjusting her dress around her hips. And then, the man turns around, and what feels like a bucket of ice drops to the center of my stomach.

Because it’s not a groomsman that was balls deep in my stepsister.

It’s Ben, my soon-to-be husband.

I stare. I’m literally unable to think, move, or react.

Diana’s eyes fill with tears almost instantaneously, and Ben hastily pulls up and buttons his pants. She moves toward me, the very image of the remorseful woman.

“Faye, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I want you to know I didn’t plan this and . . .”

But I’m not paying her any attention. I’m looking at Ben, the man I’m supposed to marry. In a few minutes. The person everyone is convinced is the love of my life.

He’s staring right back at me. I would have expected some emotion on his face. Perhaps contrition. I would even settle for guilt.

But he maintains a hard, unflinching glare. Kind of how I imagine hewould be looking if he was the one to find out that his fiancé was cheating on him.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I numbly turn to see my father and stepmother enter the room.

“There you are!” my stepmother exclaims, her voice filled with relief. “We just went to your room, and you weren’t there. You won’t believe how crazy the reporters are being. It’s like allthe celebrities in the world decided to show up. I know they all RSVP’d, but! Gosh, the number of pictures I’m going to be taking today.” She pauses and takes in a small, sharp breath. “But it’s all about you, Faye, of course, and the pictures you’ll be in.”

Right.

My father is way less exuberant. He has his usual expression on. Like the one a judge would wear when sentencing a man to life in prison. “What’s going on here?”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. A dizzying sensation hits me, and I sway. Immediately, my dad’s arms grab me. His hold is rough, and he steadies me before quickly pulling away, as though he cannot bear to touch me for longer than absolutely necessary. A still-working part of my brain ruminates on the fact that Ben hasn’t even tried to reach out for me.

“Careful,” my stepmother says with a titter. “We paid a lot of money for that dress, and there are way too many cameras out there. You wouldn’t want to get a stain on it.”

Again, I observe how neither of them asks what’s wrong with me. But I’m also focused on other things, like her words.

We paid a lot for that dress.

The wedding was never truly mine. My opinions had mattered little during the planning. I had always wanted a small, simple wedding, not the gargantuan monster my stepmother orchestrated.

This reminds me of my career. How it got kickstarted when my father decided to push me into the music industry as a teen. How even now, I find it easier to just go along with what he wants—like coming out with song after song about Ben—than actually doing what my soul tells me.

Most days, I don’t even know what I want.

My father notices the lipstick stain on Ben’s face and seems to finally put things together. I watch as my stepmother follows his gaze and horror dawns on her face.

This is it, I think, and in spite of the circumstances, I feel a thrill run through me. I have watched plenty of movies, and I know what’s going to unfold. My dad going for Ben, maybe throwing a punch at him for daring to betray me like that. Then holding me close and telling me he is sorry.

Not that my dad has ever been one to show his love for me that much. The most I’ve gotten from him in terms of affection was an approving nod after my first album went platinum.

He doesn’t do any of that.

“Jesus, Ben,” he spits at my fiancé. “You couldn’t wait five goddamn minutes for the ceremony to be over?”

His words wash over me and leave a sickening feeling in my gut.

What is happening?

“Wash your face off,” my stepmother says, her voice muted. “We’ve got a lot of important people down in the hall, and we have to give them something to see. We’ll resolve this later, as a family.”

Something to see.

Even infidelity does not supersede the fact that the show must go on. Because that’s what my whole life is. A show.

“I’ll get the makeup artists to come for you.” My dad’s voice is mechanic. Kind of how he sounds when directing my instrumentalists off stage. “You’re a little sweaty. Diana, I need you to make sure all the other bridesmaids are ready. Ben, go get your guys in order. We only have twenty minutes until you both walk down the aisle.”

I stare in a daze as Diana shuffles past me, closely followed by Ben. My stepmother casts a nervous glance at me before slipping out. My father meets me with the same measured gaze before he walks out as well.

I stand in the room, alone again. My mind races with the lyrics of the song I released half a year ago.

In your eyes, I find a truth so bold,

A story untold, in whispers and gold.

You’re the missing piece, my heart’s refrain,

In your embrace, I’m whole again.

When I was writing it,I yearned for those words to be true. But now, I face the cold reality I’ve been hiding from for a long while. Even now, seeing what Ben just did, I feel nothing but disbelief. I don’t feel hurt, betrayed, or outraged.

Quiet tears run down my cheeks as I close my eyes.

I have no idea how long I have been content living this lie, pretending I’m in a dream relationship with a man who worships me. Talking my dad up in interviews as a perfect father when I know he doesn’t speak to me apart from giving me directions regarding my career.

Right now, it’s too suffocating. It’s hard to exist one second longer in this space. I’m suddenly filled with a desperate need to leave, but not just the room, or even the hotel. Rather, my very own skin.

I settle on getting out of here first. I’m back in the empty hallway, and the first thing I spot is the elevator.

Do I even dare?

Oh yes, I damn well do.

My pulse accelerates, my heart pounding against my chest with such force that my ribs start to hurt from within. I’ve been a superstar for almost a decade. In that time, I have not been caught once in the slightest hint of a scandal. I’m the picture-perfect, all-star American girl with a guitar.

The headlines flash in my head with dizzying clarity:

International rock stardisappears from the wedding with the “love of her life.”

Trouble in paradise?

Faye Strummer backs out of the wedding with Benjamin Fletcher.

And if thenews about the cheating leaks:

Faye’s Strummer’slifelong lover cheats on her on their wedding day.

I can imaginethe huge fallout on the internet when my fans learn that my love life isn’t the bed of roses I had led them to believe, being branded a liar who made people develop unrealistic expectations, the decline of the sale of my albums, the eventual ruin of my career.

And yet, the thought of walking down the aisle to a man I feel nothing for, while being cheered on by my fans, feels even worse.

My heart bangs in my chest as I press the button on the elevator. The doors open, and I slip inside. It feels like a whole hour, but it has to be mere moments until I’m spilling out of it, heavy gown trailing behind me. The foyer is empty, save for a receptionist, who’s sitting at the polished surface of her desk.

I run toward the front of the lobby, flying past the startled woman. The hotel grounds are in front of me, perfectly manicured lawns hedged by rosebushes. No one is in sight. I continue to run, not even pausing to think of where I’m going or what I’m doing. My heart is somersaulting in my chest, and I feel hot tears running down my cheeks.

But I don’t stop.

Not until I collide against a solid wall.

I scream, the sound lurching from my throat at the same moment I’m fighting to regain balance. But it’s too late.

I’m already falling.

Suddenly, there’s a pair of strong sinewy arms crushing me to a too-broad chest, holding me tighter and more carefully than my dad has ever done, cushioning the fall with his body as we both dive toward the ground. I catch a glimpse of blond hair and the shock in a pair of azure eyes before I feel the dull throb as we hit the ground below us.