Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Chapter 153

EMILIA

It all happens so fast. One second, Liam's in the doorway—chest heaving, eyes locked on Zane like he's about to commit a felony—and the next, he's in front of me. His hands land gently on my shoulders, steady but trembling.

"Are you okay?"

His voice is tight, careful, like he's forcing the rage down just to focus on me. His gaze sweeps over me, checking every inch he can see, and I can tell he's barely holding it together.

It takes me a moment to catch up. "I—I'm fine," I manage, though my voice shakes. "I just..."

Then I set my phone on the table, the screen still cracked, and it hits me. I must have called him first—my emergency contact.

When I look back at him, dishevelled, flushed, and out of breath, something in me breaks a little. He must've driven like a maniac to get here. My throat tightens, and before I can stop it, my eyes blur with tears.

Liam pulls me into his arms before the first tear falls. His hand moves in slow, steady circles on my back.

"What happened, love? Talk to me. Please."

I shake my head, voice cracking. "He didn't do anything—" My tears fall faster now. "My phone screen's broken."

For a moment, I think he's calm. But I can feel the tension in his chest, the anger simmering under his voice when he says, "I'll get you a new one. This model's outdated anyway."

I sniff and let out a small, messy sneeze. "I liked this one."

"Then I'll fix it," he says softly, pulling me closer. "Whatever you want, love."

His breath hitches a little before he adds, lower, "You have no idea how terrified I was when that call went through. All I could hear was you—and him—and—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "You did so well, Em."

He pulls back just enough to brush away my tears with his thumb, then—without thinking—licks the salt off and scrunches his nose. "Salty."

A small, wet laugh slips out of me before another sneeze hits. Liam chuckles softly and starts to lead me away—until his eyes catch on something behind me.

His whole face changes.

I turn—and see it too. Rose petals scattered across the bed like some deranged Valentine's Day. My nose burns just looking at them.

Liam's jaw locks. Without a word, he takes my hand and gently shifts me back, away from the bed and the flowers, guiding me toward the door like he's moving me out of danger. Then he turns to Zane.

"Get out."

Zane's hands ball into fists. "This is between me and Emilia."

"Maybe it would've been," Liam says, voice low and steady, "if you hadn't broken into her hotel room. But you did. So now it's my business." He tilts his chin, calm but terrifying. "Here's your choice: leave right now and I'll try to pretend this never happened. I'll do my best not to put you through a wall and get us both benched before tomorrow's game."

He takes one step forward—just one—but it makes the threat real.

"Or," Liam adds, "you can stay."

Zane actually freezes. His confidence splits down the middle.

Before he can answer, there's a knock. The door opens to two hotel security guards, the frazzled hotel manager, and the receptionist from earlier. Her eyes land on Zane and she goes pale.

"Oh my God—Mr Calloway, I—I didn't think—"

"You let him in?" Liam asks, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

The girl looks like she might burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, sir. I thought... everyone knows they used to be together. He said they were reconciling."

"She's very publicly dating me," Liam says coldly. "Does she look like she needs reconciling?"

The manager rushes forward, all apologies. "Mr Calloway, Ms Carter—please, let's not escalate this. We'll escort Mr Whitmoore out immediately. And I assure you, our staff will be disciplined."

Zane laughs—quiet, cracked, bitter. "Don't bother. I'm leaving."

He heads for the door, brushing past the guards, but pauses just long enough to look back at me. His eyes are hollow—angry, desperate, and still somehow full of warped affection.

"You'll regret this," he says softly. "He'll hurt you too. Just like everyone does."

Before I can reply, Liam steps in front of me, blocking Zane's view completely.

And this time, Zane listens.

The moment the door clicks shut behind him, everything erupts into motion. Security hurries after him, the manager practically bowing as he apologises for the fiftieth time—tripping over his own words, promising protocols and consequences and retraining seminars. Liam doesn't look at him. He doesn't look at anyone.

He just stands there, jaw locked, breathing too hard.

When the last person finally leaves, the room goes pin-drop quiet.

That's when he turns to me.

The anger is still there, simmering under his skin, but it's not sharp anymore—it's frayed. Shaken. He looks at me like he's afraid to blink in case I vanish.

"You're not staying here tonight," he says quietly.

"Liam—"

"No." The word is gentle but unmovable. "Pack your things. You're changing hotels."

I try to protest, but the look in his eyes steals all the fight from me. He's not being controlling. He's scared. Genuinely scared. And that hits me harder than anything Zane could've said tonight.

"Okay," I whisper.

His shoulders drop like he's been holding up the whole room by himself. "Good."

Then he steps forward and wraps his arms around me—not careful, not measured, just desperate. His face presses into my hair, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, the other grabbing a handful of my shirt like he needs something to hold onto.

I feel the tremor in his chest before I hear it.

He wasn't angry. He was terrified.

I curl into him, arms slipping around his waist, fingers tracing slow circles up his spine. His breathing shakes against my collarbone.

"Hey," I murmur, rising onto my toes so my lips brush his ear. "Breathe with me."

His grip tightens.

"In," I whisper. "Nice and slow... good. And out. You're okay, baby. I've got you."

He exhales a harsh breath that almost sounds like a laugh—or a sob.

I keep stroking his back, gentle, steady.

"I'm here," I say. "I love you, Li. I'm not going anywhere." With that, he finally lets himself lean his full weight into me.

We're still wrapped around each other—his forehead resting against mine, our breaths slowly syncing—when the door swings open.

"Em, you are not going to believe—"

Tessa stops dead in the doorway.

She's holding two perfectly plated meals, the kind that look like they belong on a Michelin-star Instagram page, and a glossy white gift bag that says "Thank You for Celebrating With Us!" in gold cursive.

Her eyes move from me... to Liam's arms still around me... to the rose-petal crime scene on the bed... then back to the plates.

"Oh," she says. "So... I'm guessing I missed something."