My "Broke" Fake Boyfriend Is A Secret Hockey God

ER'S

e, and only then did I realize hot

aved my hand frantically, b

rpe

see him jogging toward me, wearing nothing but hastily

down on my wrist with a tight, br

t of his grasp, my nails scraping ha

at new denim jacket. She looked small, shivering, and utterl

polite upbringing vanishing into the cold nigh

es lingering on the spectacle we were

nce crossing his handsome face. "Is it really necessar

let out a harsh, breathless laugh. "So adults get to screw their

y fault," she wailed, clutching the collar of the jacket.

ars. The betrayal crashed over me, heavy and suffocating. Her pathetic, self-sacrificing act was lau

pat, the irony tasting like ash in m

toward the subway station, desperat

n my coat pocket. The screen glowed in th

by bus stop bench, taking a deep, shuddering brea

, M

her cheerful, oblivious voice

outh, but no

ng!" she continued. "Your Aunt Susan's daughter is getting enga

looking at flights, planning to finally bring Mason home for Thanksgiving to officially meet my parents.

future was nothing b

still standing there, watching me from a distanc

the tears. I wouldn't let them see me break. I wouldn't give the

rupted, my voice suddenly ha

efore she c

subway, I turned around and march

't look at his face. I dug my hand into my purse, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal of

at his feet. It bounced off his sh

m carrying," I said, my voice ee

his jaw clenching, his face ha

in her eyes, but I silenced her with a singl

n them for the final time, walked down the stair

he cool, vibrating glass, watching the city lights blur i

hands, I took

f me and Mason. The vacations, the

ry photo of me and Kennedy. Two years of

ed No Photos, a hollow empti

my life. Wast