Chapter Two
Emmett
Emmett Novak knew three things with absolute certainty.
First, Tyler Donovan should never be allowed near a microphone.
Second, Piper Quinn’s smile was fake.
Third, agreeing to become her boyfriend in front of several thousand live viewers was probably the worst decision he had made since letting Beckett Monroe cut his hair during freshman year.
The crowd was still cheering.
Piper stood beneath his arm, warm and rigid against his side, while the screen behind them filled with hearts, exclamation marks, and comments moving too quickly to read.
He did not need to read them.
He could feel the disaster gaining speed.
“You won’t last ten?” Piper repeated through the smile she was giving the camera.
Her voice was soft enough that only he could hear her.
“It sounded better than thirty.”
“It sounded like a challenge.”
“It is a bet.”
“It was supposed to be a fake dating arrangement for charity.”
“That sounds less interesting.”
Her elbow connected with his ribs.
Not hard.
Enough to communicate intent.
Emmett kept his arm around her.
He had already crossed the line between bad idea and public commitment. Letting go now would look like regret, and the last thing Piper needed was another man appearing embarrassed to stand beside her.
He had seen Owen Keller’s video.
Everyone at Lake Briar had seen it.
Emmett had made it to forty seconds before shutting it off.
Forty seconds had been enough to understand exactly what Owen was doing. He spoke in a calm voice, gave carefully selected examples, and made himself look patient while explaining why Piper had been too much.
Too organized.
Too ambitious.
Too particular.
Too visible.
The video never said he had cheated.
It never said Piper had spent two years building his events, improving his brand, and making his life look better than he deserved.
Owen had taken every quality that made Piper good at her job and used it to make her sound impossible to love.
Emmett had wanted to break his phone.
Instead, he had spent the next ten days pretending he had not noticed the way Piper’s laugh disappeared whenever someone mentioned relationships.
Now she stood beside him with hundreds of people watching, and Emmett had offered himself as the next bad decision.
Excellent work.
Tyler lifted the microphone again.
“So it is official.”
“No,” Griffin said.
Tyler turned. “It looked official.”
“It looked like Emmett made a concussion decision without the concussion.”
“I am standing here,” Emmett said.
Griffin faced him. “Then explain yourself.”
Piper stepped out from beneath Emmett’s arm.
The loss of her warmth registered too quickly.
“It does not need an explanation,” she said. “It needs a correction.”
Tyler’s mouth fell open.
The crowd made a disappointed sound.
Emmett looked at Piper.
Her smile had not moved, but her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the card with his name that the paper had begun to bend.
“You want to correct it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
He should have felt relieved.
Instead, irritation settled beneath his ribs.
She had been willing to fake date Beckett.
Beckett, who once wore a velvet cape to a team dinner because he believed the restaurant needed atmosphere.
But the idea of dating Emmett, even for charity, required an emergency correction.
“Fine,” he said.
Piper blinked.
Tyler looked between them. “Fine meaning?”
“Correct it.”
The crowd groaned again.
Emmett bent to pick up his duffel bag.
This had been stupid. Impulsive. Completely unlike him.
He had arrived from training, heard Piper say he disliked her, and reacted before thinking.
That was the official explanation.
The fact that she had chosen Beckett because she believed she could never want him had nothing to do with it.
Probably.
Piper watched him straighten.
Something uncertain moved across her face.
“Emmett.”
He looked at her.
“You do not have to act offended.”
“I am not acting.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That is mature.”
“I agreed to help. You said no.”
“You agreed without asking me.”
“You had already agreed.”
“To a different person.”
“Exactly.”
Piper opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Tyler looked delighted again.
Griffin pointed at him without looking away from Emmett. “Do not narrate this.”
“I was not going to.”
“You were breathing like commentary.”
Maren climbed onto the stage and took the microphone from Tyler.
“The live is ending now.”
Tyler grabbed for it. “We have peak engagement.”
“We also have a woman who has been publicly ambushed twice in ten minutes.”
Piper’s posture shifted.
Emmett saw the reaction because he had been watching for it.
She hated being treated like she needed rescue.
“I am fine,” Piper said.
Maren looked at her. “I know.”
It was the correct answer.
Piper relaxed by a fraction.
Maren turned toward the camera.
“Thank you for joining the final Summer Showdown live. The scholarship total is now officially over goal, and tomorrow’s schedule will be posted tonight.”
The comment feed filled with demands for Emmett and Piper.
Maren ignored them.
“The Wrong Guy Bet details will be confirmed after the adults speak privately.”
“We are adults,” Tyler said.
Griffin took him by the back of the shirt.
“Some of us are under review.”
Maren ended the livestream.
The red light disappeared.
The lawn did not.
Hundreds of people still stood in front of the stage, phones raised and expressions hopeful.
Piper looked at Paulson.
The director understood.
He stepped toward the crowd and announced that the youth skills relay would begin in ten minutes at the main rink station.
Parents began steering children toward the next activity. The audience dispersed slowly, still looking back at the stage.
Emmett caught several people taking photographs.
Piper saw them too.
Her chin lifted.
There was the performance again.
Smile ready.
Shoulders straight.
Nothing touched her.
Emmett hated it.
Not because he disliked the smile.
Because he knew what it cost her.
Maren gathered Piper, Griffin, Tyler, Beckett, Ava, Nate, Miles, and Emmett into the equipment tent behind the stage.
The tent was designed to hold spare jerseys, promotional signs, coolers, and emergency supplies.
It was not designed for nine hockey players and two women with strong opinions.
Griffin zipped the entrance closed.
Tyler immediately said, “Before anyone gets emotional.”
“Too late,” Piper replied.
“I think we should acknowledge that the numbers were excellent.”
Griffin stared at him.
Tyler raised both hands. “I have acknowledged it.”
“You put Emmett’s name in two envelopes,” Piper said.
“It improved probability.”
“You were supposed to put one name in each.”
“I did. Then Beckett changed the labels.”
Everyone turned toward Beckett.
He leaned against a stack of folding chairs.
“The envelope system lacked narrative tension.”
Piper pointed at him. “I chose your envelope because of the blue circle.”
“That circle represented Emmett.”
“You draw blue stars beside your own name on everything.”
“Which is why I evolved.”
Emmett looked at Beckett.
“You switched them.”
“I elevated chance.”
“Why?”
Beckett glanced at Piper, then back at Emmett.
“Because you are boring when left unsupervised.”
Emmett considered whether the scholarship fund would survive one fewer volunteer.
Probably.
Piper took a slow breath. “This is irrelevant. The wrong name was announced. Emmett agreed because he walked into the middle of chaos. We correct the mistake, choose someone else, and move on.”
“No,” Emmett said.
Every face turned toward him.
Piper stared.
“You just said fine.”
“I changed my mind.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You change your mind?”
“Occasionally.”
“Based on what?”
He looked at the bent card in her hand.
“New information.”
“What information?”
“That you want anyone except me.”
The tent went silent.
Beckett whispered, “Narrative tension.”
Griffin pushed him toward the far side of the tent.
Piper folded her arms.
“This is not personal.”
“That sounded personal.”
“I chose Beckett because he is easy.”
Beckett called, “Thank you.”
“Not now,” Maren said.
Piper continued. “He would treat it like a performance. No confusion. No expectations.”
“And you think I would be confused.”
“I think you hate attention, dislike pretending, and have spoken more in the last five minutes than you did during the entire month of June.”
“That was a quiet month.”
“You see my point.”
“No.”
Piper looked toward the ceiling of the tent as if asking it for patience.
Emmett should let her out of this.
He knew that.
She had been embarrassed in front of the crowd. Her ex’s video had played without warning. Tyler had turned one defensive sentence into a public bet.
She needed control.
Emmett knew exactly what it felt like to have people decide what you wanted because they believed they understood you.
His agent had spent three years trying to make him more marketable.
More interviews.
More social media.
More smiling.
More access.
Less silence.
Everyone wanted Emmett to become easier to consume.
Piper had made a career out of giving people polished moments, but no one seemed interested in asking whether she wanted her own life displayed.
He understood why she wanted to end it.
He also understood that once the clip circulated, correcting the name would not erase the story.
It would create a new one.
Piper Quinn rejects Emmett Novak in front of thousands.
The internet would decide he was humiliated.
Then it would decide she was cruel.
Owen would probably post a thoughtful response about her inability to consider other people’s feelings.
Emmett set his duffel bag on the floor again.
“The clip is already everywhere.”
Maren checked her phone.
“He is right.”
Piper looked at her.
“How everywhere?”
“Two fan accounts reposted it. One is over eighty thousand views.”
Tyler smiled.
Maren turned the phone facedown.
“Do not.”
His smile disappeared.
Piper rubbed her forehead.
“We can post a correction.”
“And then what?” Emmett asked.
“We explain there was an envelope mistake.”
“So Beckett becomes the boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Piper dropped her hand.
“No?”