Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player Chapter 33

EMILIA

When I finally wake up, we're already in Chicago.

I blink, trying to shake off the fog of sleep, only to realize—

I'm way too close to Liam.

Like, basically pressed against him.

My cheek is on his shoulder, my hand resting somewhere near his chest, and—oh God—his arm is draped across my lap like it just ended up there.

Heat floods my face as I sit up way too fast.

Liam stirs beside me, lifting his head. His voice is rough with sleep. "You're up?"

"You let me sleep this long?" I whisper, my eyes darting around. The plane is still moving, taxiing down the runway, but people are already stretching, gathering their bags.

"You looked comfortable." He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. His very messy, just-woke-up hair.

I swallow. "You should've woken me."

He smirks, lazily, like he knows something I don't. "Yeah? You seemed pretty happy where you were."

I open my mouth, then close it again. I was not.

Was I?

No. Definitely not.

I clear my throat, looking away. "Well... thanks, I guess."

Liam just chuckles, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifts slightly, and I snap my gaze toward the window.

Nope. Not looking.

The captain's voice crackles over the speaker, announcing our arrival. I stand to grab my bag and pretend my heart isn't doing something weird.

It doesn't matter that my skin feels a little too warm.

It doesn't matter that I can still feel the weight of his arm across my lap.

It definitely doesn't matter that for the first time since agreeing to this whole fake-date disaster...

I kind of forget it's fake.

The thought barely even settles before I snort. Forget it's fake? Yeah, right.

We get off the plane and the first thing I think is: The airport is total chaos. Not as bad as it was in New York, but bad enough to make me dizzy with a headache.

People are rushing with their suitcases rolling, voices echo overhead. I grip the handle of my bag tighter, my steps quickening to keep up with Liam.

He walks like he owns the place—long strides, hands shoved in his pockets, like he doesn't even notice the stares. And there are stares. A few people glance our way, their eyes narrowing like they're trying to figure out if he's someone famous.

Which, well. He is.

"Keep your cap low," Liam mutters, barely looking at me as we weave through the crowd. "And try not to look suspicious."

I scoff. "How am I supposed to not look suspicious when you say it like that?"

He shoots me a grin, eyes dancing with amusement. "Just don't start speed-walking like you're running from the police."

"I wasn't—"

"You were."

I huff but slow my pace, trying to act natural. It's harder than it sounds.

We push through customs, pick up our checked luggage, and finally step outside into the cool Chicago air. The sky is clear, the sun bouncing off glass skyscrapers. A car is already waiting for us at the curb—a sleek black SUV with tinted windows.

Liam opens the door and gestures for me to get in first. I roll my eyes but slide inside, settling into the leather seat as he follows, shutting the door behind him.

As the car pulls away from the curb, I let out a breath.

"We survived the airport," I say, mostly to fill the silence.

Liam smirks. "You sound surprised."

"A little."

My fear of flying has always been irrational, it was mostly a fear of taking off but most days I can't be too sure.

All those days of traveling with Zane and his teammates left me nauseous half time.

Sometimes, it feels like a healed wound that won't stop throbbing.

Still, that doesn't excuse my behaviour. I pretend my cheeks are not flaming hot as I recall what it felt like to be in his arms.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Then he pulls out his phone, typing something before glancing up at me. "We should be at the port in about half an hour."

Right. The port. That's what it's called.

Because we're not staying in Chicago—we're heading straight to the cruise. The wedding cruise.

Zane and Becca's wedding cruise.

My stomach twists.

Not from jealousy or whatever emotion that would have tackled me months ago—I've long since moved on from Zane—but extreme discomfort.

Just because I'm not jealous doesn't make it less embarrassing to attend a wedding as a guest when everyone thought I was going to be the bride.

I glance out the window, watching the city blur past. The streets are busy, cars honking, people moving in every direction. It's strange, being here for the first time in almost a year. So much has changed, but it still feels... familiar.

A little too familiar.

I shift in my seat, pressing my lips together. Liam notices.

"Cold feet?" he asks, his voice light but I don't miss the way his gaze sharpens.

I hesitate. "Not cold feet, exactly."

Liam tilts his head, prompting me to continue. "Then what?"

I exhale, one of my hands clenched into a fist, with the other my fingers drum against my knee. "It's just... weird, you know? Going back into his world. Seeing people who knew us as a couple."

Liam hums, watching me for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he reaches over and lightly taps the back of my hand.

Just like he did at Mar and Elijah's wedding. He taps it over and over until I unclench it and he slips his hand into mine.

My breath hitches.

"Just remember," he says, his voice softer now, "you're not going back as his anything. You're going as you. And if anyone gives you a hard time..." He smirks. "I'll handle it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do you plan to do that?"

Liam leans back, completely relaxed. "Dazzle them with my charm, obviously."

I snort. "Right. Because that always works."

He grins. "You'd be surprised."

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

Maybe.

×××

I take my statement back.

I was wrong, completely uninformed, and way too confident in my ability to handle this.

I might not be desperate to get Zane's ring, but that doesn't mean I'm not a mess right now.

My nerves are so bad that we have to pull over once so I can throw up. Liam rubs slow circles on my back, handing me a bottle of water without a word. He doesn't say anything snarky, doesn't tease me, and somehow, that makes it worse.

By the time we finally make it to the port—much later than either of us expected—I half-hope the cruise ship has already left. That they got tired of waiting and decided to sail off without us.

No such luck.

The moment we find a place to park, the paparazzi swarm. Cameras flash in our faces before I even have a chance to unbuckle my seatbelt.

Liam mutters a curse under his breath. "You good?"

I nod, even though I'm not.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't push. Instead, he grabs my hand and squeezes once before stepping out of the car. The second he does, the shouting begins.

"Liam! Over here!"

"Emilia, how do you feel about seeing Zane again?"

"Is it true you and Liam are engaged?"

Engaged? We're not even dating!

"Liam! What do you think about your girlfriend's thing for hockey players? Emilia, are you really a puck bunny?"

The words hit like a slap. My stomach twists. I nearly trip, but Liam's grip on me tightens, kind of like an anchor—steady and unshakable.

I glance up at him, and for a second, I see it—the anger, the frustration. The same pain that's been clawing at me ever since those headlines started. NHL's Favorite Puck Bunny. My face plastered everywhere, my name dragged through the mud.

At first I thought he didn't care. And maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's just the guilt of knowing how far he let this go gnawing at him.

Then I remember how bad those two weeks were. How terrified I was to even stare in the mirror, too busy comparing who I was to what everyone thought.

How hard it was to breathe.

The crowd presses closer. Cameras flash. Microphones are shoved in our faces.

My heart starts to be faster, so much that it's uncomfortable. My stomach turns and twists and I feel like I'm going to throw up again.

"If it gets too much, just squeeze my hand, and we're out of here."

Those were his words at Mar's wedding. I wonder if they hold weight even now.

I squeeze his hand in rhythm with my heartbeat. Trying not to think about my chest that's desperate to cave in.

Liam stops.

Dead in his tracks, he turns, his jaw clenched, his expression ice-cold. His voice is sharp enough to cut through the chaos.

"You don't deserve to say her name." His eyes lock onto the reporter. "Call her that again, and we'll have a problem."

Silence. Even the cameras stop clicking.

He doesn't wait for a response. He simply pulls me forward, pushing through the crowd like they're nothing. And for the first time in weeks, the noise doesn't feel so loud.