Chapter 2
Chapter two
Colby
Fake Relationship Proposal
I groan into the pillow and blindly reach across the nightstand of my cabin bedroom. The screen lights up with seventeen missed calls, forty-three texts, and approximately one thousand notifications.
Most from teammates.
Which means this is already catastrophic.
I crack one eye open.
TOBY: bro did u secretly become a suburban father overnight
LIAM: the internet thinks you have a six-year-old daughter ??
JAMIE: Call me before you call anyone else.
Then:
MOM: Why didn’t you tell me there was a child???
I stare at the message.
What.
I sit upright too fast and instantly regret the whiskey I drank last night after the festival.
Snow falls steadily outside the cabin windows overlooking Lake Briar. The whole place smells faintly like cedar and fireplace smoke. Usually, mornings in Briar Cove calm me down.
Not today.
My phone rings again. It’s Maddie, my PR manager, which means the world is definitely on fire.
I answer with a grimace. “Please tell me nobody died.”
“You’re trending above a celebrity divorce and a senator scandal.”
I rub a hand over my face. “That’s not technically an answer.”
“Colby.”
Her voice carries the exhausted tone of a woman one inconvenience away from homicide.
“You need to look online immediately.”
“That bad?”
“That viral.”
Fantastic.
I open social media and instantly wish I hadn’t. The photo from last night dominates every feed. Me carrying Jillie on my shoulders. Sadie smiling beside us beneath the festival lights. The three of us looking painfully domestic. Painfully happy.
The captions get worse from there.
COLBY REID’S SECRET FAMILY EXPOSED
HOCKEY’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR HIDING A CHILD?
FROSTHOLM BAD BOY FINALLY SETTLING DOWN?
I scroll farther.
Fans are losing their minds.
I always knew Colby wanted kids.
This is literally the happiest he’s looked in YEARS.
Protective dad Colby was not on my bingo card.
The little girl looks just like him omg.
I choke on air.
“She does not look like me,” I tell Maddie.
“You have dimples.”
“She’s six.”
“The internet doesn’t care about science.”
I toss the blanket aside and pace to my kitchen barefoot while snow whips across the frozen lake outside.
“This is insane.”
“Actually,” Maddie says carefully, “this is incredible.”
I stop pacing. Uh-oh.
That tone means she’s about to say something I hate.
“You’ve gained nearly four hundred thousand followers overnight,” she continues. “Your jersey sales jumped twelve percent before six a.m. Women who spent the last year calling you emotionally unavailable are suddenly making edits of you carrying that little girl.”
“Edits?”
“Oh, honey. So many edits.”
I do not want clarification.
“I’m deleting the internet,” I mutter.
“Colby, listen to me. This is the best public reaction you’ve had in almost two years.”
And there it is. The real conversation.
I lean against the kitchen counter and close my eyes.
Two years ago, I was hockey’s golden boy. Then came the playoff collapse, the locker-room rumors, the ugly breakup with influencer Vanessa Sinclair, and every sports podcast deciding I was selfish, arrogant, and impossible to work with.
The truth barely mattered anymore.
Didn’t matter that I was burned out.
Didn’t matter that I was exhausted.
Didn’t matter that I barely recognized myself by the end of last season.
Public opinion had already picked a villain. Apparently now I’m a father instead.
“Absolutely not,” I say flatly.
Silence.
Then Maddie sighs. “I knew you’d react this way.”
“Because you know me.”
“Because you’re emotionally difficult before coffee.”
“Still no.”
“You haven’t even heard the proposal.”
I push off the counter immediately. “No proposal.”
“Colby—”
“No fake interviews. No staged paparazzi walks. No pretending I’m dating a woman I met twelve hours ago.”
Technically not true.
I met Sadie once years ago at a charity event in Frostholm.
Briefly.
She’d catered desserts for the fundraiser.
I remember because she’d looked directly at me when I thanked her instead of staring at me like I was a headline wearing skates.
At the time, I’d found that weirdly refreshing.
Last night she looked exactly the same. Tired eyes. Pretty smile. Protective instincts sharp enough to cut glass.
And when I saw Jillie’s sad face…
Something inside me reacted before my brain got involved.
“She’s not some random woman,” Maddie says carefully. “She owns a bakery in your hometown. The internet already loves her.”
I reopen social media against my better judgment.
Mistake.
Huge mistake.
The comments get uglier the farther I scroll.
Small-town girls always know how to trap rich athletes.
Another gold digger looking for fifteen minutes.
That bakery probably staged this.
I feel my jaw tighten.
Then I see a paparazzi photo taken outside Sweet Seasons early this morning.
Sadie stands near the bakery door in a heavy coat; one arm wrapped protectively around Jillie while cameras crowd too close.
Jillie is crying.
The sight hits me harder than it should.
Way harder.
“She didn’t ask for this,” I say quietly.
Maddie pauses.
“No,” she admits. “She didn’t.”
I zoom into the image before I can stop myself.
Sadie’s expression isn’t fame hungry.
Isn’t excited.
Isn’t calculating.
She looks furious.
Good.
Honestly, that feels reasonable.
My phone buzzes again.
TOBY: If u keep doing sweet things like that, I’ll need a survival plan.”
LIAM: the internet named your fake daughter “tiny Colby”
JAMIE: Ignore them. Call me.
I finally hit Jamie’s number.
He answers immediately.
“You alive?”
“Barely.”
“That bad?”
“I think America adopted me overnight.”
Jamie laughs quietly.
I sink onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely starting. Toby’s already planning your fictional family Christmas card.”
“Tell him I’ll fight him.”
“Too late. He mocked your sweater choices for ten straight minutes.” That actually sounds accurate, he’s definitely do that.
I scrub my hand down my face. “This is a disaster.”
“No,” Jamie says thoughtfully. “It’s interesting.”
“That’s worse.”
“You looked happy.” The words land harder than they should.
Because the worst part is…
I had been.
Not fake happy.
Not media-trained happy.
Real happy: Jillie laughing on my shoulders, Sadie smiling despite herself, snow falling over Main Street.
For five stupid minutes, it had felt normal, and I haven’t felt normal in a long time.
“You still there?” Jamie asks.
“Unfortunately.”
“You going back to Frostholm?”
I look out the cabin window toward Briar Cove waking beneath fresh snow.
“No.”
The answer comes too quickly.
Jamie notices. Interesting silence fills the line.
Then: “Maybe you should ask yourself why.”
I hate it when the captain gets emotionally insightful before sunrise.
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Coward.”
“Leader of men.”
He laughs and disconnects. I toss the phone onto the counter.
Then I immediately pick it back up because apparently my entire life belongs to notifications now.
One article catches my attention.
WHO IS MYSTERY WOMAN SADIE BENNETT?
I open it. Bad decision.
The piece includes:
photos of Sweet Seasons Bakery
screenshots from Sadie’s personal Facebook page
comments speculating that Jillie is my daughter
old images of Darren and Sadie together
My stomach twists. Then I see the comments underneath.
Single moms always move fast when money is involved.
Poor kid probably thinks every athlete is her new daddy.
Bakery looks mid tbh.
I go very still.
Something hot and immediate moves through my chest.
Protectiveness. Sharp. Unexpected. Absolute.
Not because people are talking about me.
I’m used to that.
But Sadie?
Jillie?
They got dragged into this because I picked up a little girl who looked sad.
And now strangers think they own pieces of them.
Maddie calls again before I can spiral further.
“What now?” I answer.
“I booked a private room at Harbor House Café in Briar Cove. Ten a.m.”
“No.”
“She already agreed to meet.”
I freeze.
“She what?”
“Calm down. She didn’t agree to fake date you. She agreed to discuss options before paparazzi camps permanently outside her bakery.”
That shuts me up. Because she’s right. This won’t disappear on its own.
“Colby,” Maddie says more gently now, “you know how this works. Either the story grows uncontrollably… or we manage it.”
“I’m not using them.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“It sounds exactly like what you’re suggesting.”
She exhales slowly. “I’m suggesting you protect them.”
I hate how those words land.
Because suddenly the issue isn’t PR anymore.
It’s Jillie crying outside the bakery.
It’s Sadie standing between cameras and her daughter.
It’s the internet deciding they deserve public access to two people who never asked for attention.
“You really think this would help?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Controlled appearances. One clear narrative. Fewer paparazzi incentives. Less speculation.”
“And when it ends?”
“Then it ends quietly.”
I look toward the lake again. Snow continues falling over Briar Cove in thick white sheets.
Temporary.
That’s all this would be.
Temporary.
Still, something about the idea sits wrong in my chest.
Because fake or not…
last night hadn’t felt fake.
“Ten a.m.,” Maddie repeats. “Please don’t wear one of your tragic beanies.”
“I like my beanies.”
“They look emotionally unemployed.”
I hang up on her. By nine-thirty, Briar Cove has fully transformed into a media circus.
Fantastic.
Two paparazzi SUVs already sit outside Harbor House Café when I arrive.
I keep my head down and step inside.
Warmth hits immediately:
coffee
cinnamon
maple syrup
small-town chatter
Normal life. The kind I miss constantly.
Maddie sits in a corner booth already typing aggressively on two phones at once.
“You’re late.”
“It’s nine-fifty-eight.”
“You emotionally delayed me.”
I slide into the booth across from her. “That’s not a real sentence.”
“It is in PR.”
Before I can answer, the café door opens again. Sadie walks in holding Jillie’s hand.
Every conversation in the café quiets slightly.
Not because of me.
Because small towns always know when something dramatic enters a room.
Sadie spots me immediately, and for one dangerous second, everything else fades.
She looks exhausted today.
Beautiful too, unfortunately.
Dark hair pulled into a messy knot.
Oversized cream sweater beneath her coat.
Protective tension written across every line of her body.
Jillie brightens instantly when she sees me.
“Colby!”
Every head in the café swivels harder. Great.
Jillie races toward the booth before Sadie can stop her. She nearly crashes into my legs.
“You’re famous-er today,” she informs me.
“Apparently.”
“Mommy said paparazzi are vultures.”
Maddie coughs violently into her coffee.
Sadie closes her eyes briefly. “Jillie.”
“What? You said they circle.”
“She’s not wrong,” I mutter.
Sadie looks at me then, really looks at me. And I realize she’s trying to decide whether I’m part of the problem.
Honestly?
Fair question.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly before anyone sits down.
Her expression flickers with surprise.
Then exhaustion wins again.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“I had a reporter ask if Jillie likes living between Frostholm and Briar Cove.”
Jillie gasps. “Do I have two houses?”
Maddie mutters, “Honestly, the internet already thinks you do.”
Sadie sinks into the booth opposite me. “I want this over.”
“So do I,” I admit.
Maddie immediately leans forward… predator sensing weakness.
“There may be a way to minimize escalation.”
Sadie narrows her eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like PR language.”
“It is PR language.”
“I knew it.”
Maddie ignores her. “Right now, the media thinks there’s a hidden relationship and potentially a hidden child. That mystery is fueling the frenzy.”
“No interviews,” Sadie says instantly.
“Agreed.”
“No cameras near Jillie.”
“Agreed.”
“No pretending that she’s his daughter.”
“Obviously.”
Sadie folds her arms. “Then what exactly are you suggesting?”
Maddie looks at both of us carefully. “A temporary public relationship.”
Silence.
Jillie slurps hot chocolate loudly.
I immediately shake my head. “No.”
Sadie says it at the exact same time.
“No.”
Maddie presses forward anyway. “One month. Public appearances only. Simple narrative. You met in Briar Cove. You’re seeing where things go. No secrets. No scandal. Interest dies down naturally.”
“Absolutely not,” I repeat.
Sadie nods sharply. “Thank you.”
Maddie points at the café windows.
Three photographers stand outside in the snow.
Waiting. Jillie notices them too. Her smile fades slightly. And suddenly this stops feeling theoretical.
“Mommy,” she whispers quietly, “are they gonna keep following us?”
Sadie’s face changes instantly.
Fear.
Anger.
Protectiveness.
All at once.
I feel something twist hard in my chest again. Because no six-year-old should look scared walking into a bakery.
Maddie softens her voice. “Only while the story stays chaotic.”
I hate this.
Man, I really hate this.
But then Jillie scoots closer to Sadie and asks in a tiny voice: “Did I do something bad?”
That does it.
Completely.
I look at Sadie.
She looks back at me.
And suddenly we are no longer discussing publicity.
We’re discussing damage control for a little girl already learning how cruel strangers can be.
I exhale slowly.
“One month,” I hear myself say.
Sadie’s eyes widen.
Maddie looks stunned that I surrendered first.
I focus on Jillie. “No fake dad stuff,” I say carefully. “No confusing her. No pretending we’re something we’re not.”
Sadie studies me for a long moment.
Then finally: Maddie…“One month.”
Jillie blinks between us. “Wait.”
Oh no.
“Are you dating now?”
Maddie whispers, “And there’s the headline.”