Fake Out Hearts, page 1
Fake Out Hearts
Nikki Lawson
Copyright © 2024 by Nikki Lawson. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Note: although this book is overall a sweet and fluffy romance with a green flag hero, it does deal with a few potentially sensitive subjects, including references to infertility and an eating disorder.
Contents
1. Theo
2. Becca
3. Theo
4. Becca
5. Theo
6. Becca
7. Theo
8. Becca
9. Theo
10. Becca
11. Theo
12. Becca
13. Theo
14. Becca
15. Theo
16. Becca
17. Theo
18. Becca
19. Theo
20. Becca
21. Theo
22. Becca
23. Theo
24. Becca
25. Theo
26. Becca
27. Theo
28. Becca
29. Becca
30. Theo
31. Becca
32. Theo
33. Becca
34. Becca
35. Becca
36. Theo
37. Becca
38. Theo
39. Becca
40. Theo
41. Theo
42. Becca
43. Theo
44. Becca
45. Becca
46. Theo
47. Becca
Epilogue
Epilogue Two
Books by Nikki Lawson
To all the readers who want to be called “my wife” by a tatted up hockey player with a filthy mouth.
Bonus points if you want him to be so possessive that he’ll make you come in front of your ex just to prove you’re his.
Theo Camden is waiting for you…
Chapter 1
Theo
Steaming hot water from the team shower pounds against my scalp and runs down the length of me. It’s almost enough to distract me from my disaster of a failed pass tonight. Almost.
The rest of the Aces are shouting and bantering in the showers around me, but their voices meld into a jumble of background noise as scenes from the game we just played flash in my mind like I’m playing it all over again.
“We’re down to the wire, but Camden has the puck and what could be the start of a real turnaround here, folks!” The announcer’s booming voice echoes in my head, urging me on. The game is tied and there’s less than a minute left on the clock, but that’s all the time I need.
A wet towel claps against bare skin and a shout rings out in sync with the crowd howling in my memory.
The Prowler’s nervous goalie steels himself as I hurtle toward him, picking up speed like a freight train. There’s nothing in my way, and the poor fucker knows I’m about to hit him with everything I’ve got.
“Wake up, Camden!” Noah, our team captain, barks, and I can’t tell if I’m hearing him in my memory, in reality, or both.
I keep hammering down the ice as my vision turns black at the edges and every muscle in my legs screams along with the crowd. They know as well as I do that I’ve got this. They’ve seen me sink easier shots than this before.
“Camden!” Noah’s voice shouts from two worlds at once.
One of the Prowlers appears out of nowhere, trucking at me from my right like his life depends on it, and I panic. Fuck, he’s moving too fast. I’m not gonna make it.
“Goddamn it, Camden!” Noah’s voice hounds me again.
This time I look. Noah is farther up the ice and alone to the left of the goalie. If I act fast, I can pass to him before the asshole Prowler chasing me figures out what’s happening. If Noah takes the shot from there, the goalie will never see it coming and the game is guaranteed to be ours. But I’ve got a wide-open shot from here!
“Did you get hit so hard you lost your hearing or something?” Noah asks and shoves me gently.
I almost fall on my face as someone checks me from behind. The rink blurs around me while I fumble, and when I stabilize, my face blazes as I see my least favorite person rocketing down the ice in the other direction with the puck.
“That Kaplan guy has gotta be the biggest prick around,” Reese, our left winger and co-captain, says from the other side of the showers like he’s reading my mind, and I snap out of my daydream. The other Aces must have finished cleaning up a while ago, judging by how dry and clothed they all are. But Noah is standing there and looking at me like I grew a second head.
Fuck. How long have I been zoned out?
“Right? And we were on our A-game tonight too,” Sawyer, our defenseman says, and my eyes dart away from Noah’s piercing blue pair. We both know damn well Sawyer isn’t including me in that after my shitty play cost us the game against our biggest rivals tonight.
“Home ice advantage, I guess,” Reese offers with a shrug, but our goalie, Grant, scoffs and shakes his head.
“No such thing. We fumbled it.”
“Alright, alright, enough with the pity party. I’m ready to forget about tonight.” Maxim Federov, one of our forwards, holds his hands up. “Who’s down to get this press crap out of the way so we can go drink away the sting?”
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Reese says and heads for the door. Everyone follows him, even Grant, which is a shock. Well, everyone except for Noah. He watches the rest of the team file out of the showers into the locker room and leans against the wall beside me with his arms crossed.
“You alright?”
I look up at him with the same cocky grin that’s won over the media and the fans for years.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You sure about that? That’s twice today you’ve locked up on me,” he says, and I flinch.
“Just enjoying the hot water. Don’t worry about it.”
It’s bullshit, and I can tell from the look he shoots me that he’s not buying it. Why would he? Everyone’s seen that my game has been off all season, but even I don’t know why. It’s like I’ve lost my spark, that drive that kept me hungry and hustling. I keep trying to get out of this rut, but nothing is working and it’s really starting to piss me off.
If I’d just taken the fucking shot… hell, even if I’d passed to Noah, it would’ve changed everything, I’m sure of it. But I froze and Kaplan won the goddamn game because of it.
Noah’s not gonna let my crappy playing off the hook forever, but I definitely don’t want to talk about it right now, so I towel off, get dressed, and square up to look him in the eye because he’s still staring at me expectantly.
“I’m fine,” I insist, and he throws his hands up.
“Alright, but it’s not me you need to convince. The press is waiting, so fix your face before you go out there. You don’t have to talk to me, but there’s no getting out of talking to them.”
“This face? Nothing to fix,” I say and flash him another grin before we stride out to face the swarm of reporters who have already gathered in the press room.
“Theo! Theo! What happened out there? How are you feeling after that last-minute steal by Kaplan?” a young guy from the local news asks.
My stomach twists and my fists clench at the mention of Kaplan, but I grin at the reporter and shrug.
“Not much to say. We played our best, but we got outplayed. Might be hard to believe, but even the Aces can’t win every game,” I say to laughter.
Noah catches my eye and nods approvingly, but all I see is the way he looked at me right before Kaplan checked me in the back.
“Anything you would’ve done differently?” another reporter asks from the rear of the crowd, clearly not getting the hint that I don’t want to talk about this.
“Having eyes in the back of my head might’ve helped,” I say to more laughter. “But in all seriousness, no. I’m proud of the way the Aces played tonight.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, they feel hollow. But what the hell am I supposed to say? I’m not about to give Kaplan the satisfaction of knowing he got to me, and I don’t want Noah sweating me any more than he already is, so I decide to cut things short.
“I don’t want the bus to leave me in Prowler territory, so I’d better get going. See you at the next one,” I say and push my way through the reporters and don’t stop moving until I’m out of the stadium and safely on the team bus with the rest of the Aces.
Noah follows not long after and I pretend like I’m listening as we do our usual post-game debrief on the way to our hotel, but I’m barely picking up any of it. None of it matters anyway because I know exactly where things went wrong and who’s to blame.
Thankfully, the guys leave me alone while they argue in the hotel lobby over which bar to go to. I don’t really care where as long as there’s plenty of stiff drinks and hopefully, a hot woman or two to take my mi
Eventually, the concierge suggests a local sports bar called Pitcher Perfect that’s only a few blocks away, so we drop our stuff off in our rooms and pile back into the bus to head over. The whole drive passes in a blur without me noticing much of it until I’m standing at the door with the rest of the team.
From the outside, the place looks like every other sports bar I’ve ever been to, all low lighting, high top tables, and flat screen TVs. And I can see through the windows that it’s fucking packed with people wearing Prowlers jerseys, which is just great.
“Ladies first,” Reese jokes as he holds the door open for me, so I sock him on the arm on my way past. “Ouch! Someone’s feeling feisty tonight.”
“Gotta keep my shot arm strong somehow,” I say and stroll past him like I’m the most unbothered dude in the room even though I’d much rather be back at the hotel with a bottle of something from room service.
The roar of conversation washes over me as I stop in the waiting area and take it all in. Peanut shells crunch under my feet, and the place reeks of stale IPA, which makes me hate it even more, but I’m too far in to back out now. I glance around the room, scoping out the available talent, and freeze when I spot a head full of familiar, wavy dark hair across the bar.
The woman it’s attached to is thin and gorgeous, with a small but muscular body and toned calves shooting from her denim jeans that scream she’s a dancer. She’s got her back to me, and I cringe when I realize she’s wearing a Prowlers jersey too, but I can’t help staring at her anyway. Where do I know her from? I can’t place it.
Laughter erupts at the crowded table she’s sitting at, and I spot someone carrying a boom mic as they loop around the edge of the table to hold it over the head of a smug face I’d very much like to punch. Two goons with cameras on their shoulders follow, and my blood curdles.
Because Shawn Kaplan is here.
With his stupid fucking reality TV show crew.
And that means the woman I can’t take my eyes off must be Becca, his girlfriend.
We’ve met a few times before, most recently after a home game when I found them arguing outside a bar. Kaplan was a total dick to her, only worried about how she was making him look by wearing his jersey—like that’s anything to be upset about. I still think she’d look much better wearing mine, and I’m debating walking over to tell her that again when a hand clamps around my bicep.
“Relax, Camden,” Noah whispers in my ear, but I barely hear him. “Remember what I told you about Kaplan: he’s got it out for you. Don’t take the bait, especially not here.”
“Easy for you to say. He didn’t make a fucking fool out of you today,” I mutter back, but Noah squeezes my arm so hard that I wince.
“Exactly. So don’t let him do it again.”
“Fine,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I’ll play nice. For now.”
“Good. Come on,” Noah says and practically drags me to an open table on the opposite side of the bar, far enough away that I can’t start shit, but not far enough that I can’t see every irritating moment happening at Kaplan’s table.
The waitress comes a few seconds later, a young brunette with striking hazel eyes and a teasing smile.
“Good evening, gents. I’d say welcome to Pitcher Perfect, but this isn’t exactly Aces territory,” she says with a grin and gestures at the Prowlers jersey she’s wearing too. Of course. “Oh, come on, lighten up. I’m kidding. You played great tonight too, but you all look like you could use a drink, so what can I get you?”
I’m first to bark an order for a triple whiskey on the rocks. The waitress raises her eyebrows at me but doesn’t say anything, which is the right move. The rest of the team orders a round of drinks and we all sit watching the sideshow that is Kaplan’s table of sycophants while we wait for the booze to show.
A few minutes later, the waitress returns with a tray balancing our drinks on her shoulder. I snatch the whiskey glass off the tray before she can lower it to the table and down most of it in one go.
“Okaaay, so it’s one of those kind of nights, huh?” she teases as she hands out the other drinks. “Round two?”
“Stat.”
“Can you believe this prick really has cameras follow him everywhere?” Reese asks, tilting his head in Kaplan’s direction as the waitress vanishes into the crowd. “Who the fuck does he think he is? An honorary Kardashian?”
“He’s got a big enough ego to be one,” Sawyer answers and everyone laughs but me. I finish the last of my whiskey instead and watch as Becca shifts in her seat toward Kaplan. She tries to put her hand on the small of his back, but he shrugs her off. She tries again a few moments later and this time he swats her hand away and scowls at her.
“Easy, Camden,” Noah warns in my ear again. He must have been watching me the entire time, which pisses me off even more. I don’t need a babysitter. “Not your circus, not your monkeys.”
I open my mouth to tell him to piss off, but a fresh round of shouts erupts from Kaplan’s table, cutting me off. Becca jumps from her chair, knocking it to the floor with a crash, and the assholes with the cameras point them right in her face as the whole bar goes silent and stares. What the hell is happening?
“Are you serious right now?” Becca mumbles at Kaplan through the hand clapped over her mouth. It’s so quiet in the bar that I hear every word. Kaplan shrugs and flashes her the smuggest look I’ve ever seen.
“As serious as your insecurity,” Kaplan fires back, and I’m on my feet before I realize it because I know exactly what’s going on.
Kaplan is about to break up with her.
In public.
On camera.
Chapter 2
Becca
The room feels like it’s spinning around me, like I’m the imploding star that this scene revolves around. It’s so obvious what’s happening, but I don’t want to believe it. The bar has fallen so quiet that I can hear my heart hammering in my ears, and my throat is so tight that I can barely breathe—which is exactly what I need to be doing right now.
I can’t see them, but I feel every pair of eyes in the bar pricking against my skin like knives, and the bright lights from the cameras aimed at my face cause spots to appear in my vision. Then Shawn swims into view wearing a mocking smile, and although it only intensifies my anxiety, at least I have something to anchor to.
He throws his arms wide, welcoming the watching crowd in. “Oh, come on, babe. It’s just not a good fit, but you already know that. Look at you, you’re falling apart. You’re too shy for the cameras.
Yeah, because you’re making an ass out of me in public. Again. The thought scorches through my brain, and I start to say something back, but Shawn talks over me.
“You don’t have the same ambition that I do,” he says, his voice louder. He moves so close to me that I can smell the alcohol on his breath, then leans forward until his face is only a few inches from mine. “And it’s so obvious to me what’s really going on here. You’re jealous because I spend so much time with women infinitely hotter than you.”
My stomach roils and my cheeks flame. I feel like I might throw up, but that’s the last thing I want to happen right now. I refuse to give Shawn the satisfaction of breaking me down in front of his audience, both here in the bar and watching at home.
“Are you seriously going to do this now? In front of all these people?” I ask, my voice coming out much firmer than I feel.
Shawn just shrugs, like I’m the most insignificant person in his world right now. And honestly? That’s exactly how I feel—small and worthless and easily discardable.
“It’s been a long time coming,” he says, giving me an almost pitying look that makes my stomach sour.
He reaches out for me, but I step back. Even the idea of him touching me makes my skin crawl. I’d sooner jump into a bed of bugs than let him put his hands on me ever again. Shawn has embarrassed me in public more times than I can count, but this one takes the cake.
“Look, it’s not you.” He holds out his hands, chuckling almost smugly. “It’s me. I just… I need someone more on my level, you know? Maybe it’s because you’re Canadian or something, I don’t know, but you’re just too bland.”
