Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 13

THIS IS THE first week since I was eighteen that I haven’t had my recurring nightmare.

It starts with both my parents looming over my bed with a look of horror painted across their faces. My mom’s crying, and my dad is shaking his head in disappointment. A searing pain pounds against my skull as light flickers in through the window. Then, I’m transported back to a dirty house where a woman is screaming in the kitchen, and a man cracks his beer bottle against the countertop. It’s that sight that jerks me back to consciousness.

The frequency of those nightmares fluctuates depending on whether or not I’m stressed. In college, they were rare, but since joining the league, they’re relentless. I anticipated one last night, but it never came. There’s only been one change, and it should be stressing me out because I hate lying.

But there hasn’t been much logic involved when it comes to my decision-making skills lately. The only pushback I received about my dating life was from Aiden.

“This whole fake relationship thing is not you, Eli,” he’d said. “You haven’t lied a day in your life, but now you’re doing it just to get the media off your back?”

I told him I cared what the fans thought, but he wasn’t convinced.

“And you think this is better? Forget the media. You haven’t been in a relationship in years, and the first one you’re in is fake. I hope you know what you’re doing. But know if you ever feel yourself getting to that place again, I’m here for you. We all are.”

That place is when I found out my biological father was blackmailing my parents. I didn’t let that ruin my life, and I won’t let this get to me either. I know what I’m doing.

So Sage and I decided to meet to iron out the details to avoid someone unraveling our plan as quickly as Aiden did. But she’s pushed that coffee date three times. Today, as I head home from the gym, she texts me the same excuse.

Rain check? Another ballet emergency.

I’m not sure what kinds of emergencies occur in ballet, but they can’t be serious enough to delay our meeting by a week. Especially since our game against Chicago is on Saturday, and I’m hoping we can talk before I leave for the weekend.

“Wanna order takeout?”

I glance up from my phone as Aiden enters the living room, towel drying his wet hair.

Deciding not to dwell on Sage’s message, I toss my phone on the couch. “Nah, I’m in the mood to cook today.”

He nods appreciatively, sinking into the couch and powering on the game console. It’s the usual time for the guys at Dalton to join in, so they play together. “What are you making?”

“Tacos.”

In the kitchen, I begin by tossing the ground beef into the pan, waiting for the sizzle before adding spices. I dice and sauté the vegetables in another pan before warming the tortillas. Cooking is my meditation—the rhythmic chopping and blend of movements always ground me.

When I was living with my parents, I’d cook every night to impress them. They were always receptive, and that’s what made me the designated cook in our off-campus house. Making food for the guys let us have a meal together, and I think it brought us even closer.

Aiden pauses his game to help assemble our plates in the kitchen. But as he offers me a drink, I decide to have my dinner elsewhere tonight. “Do you mind if I take the extras with me?”

His chews his food. “Where are you headed?”

“I have to check on something.”

Aiden chuckles as he takes his plate back into the living room. “Tell her I said hi.”

I pack the food and head straight to Weston. I don’t bother texting Sage because I know her response. Ballet emergency. But if I’m right, she’s home.

Arriving in Weston, I park in front of Sage’s apartment and notice the gate is wide open. There is no security in this place. I knock, and I’m assessing the rusty hinges of the damaged door when it’s yanked open.

Sage gasps, her tiger face mask shifting. She turns away, then back to me, then away again. “You are not supposed to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“This!” She points to her face mask. Her hair is pulled into a bun, and she’s wearing an old oversize Sidney Crosby T-shirt and nothing else. Her toned legs are shiny like she just lathered them with lotion, and her toes are freshly painted pink with those foam separators still between them. “Maybe you can leave and come back in five minutes. That way we can both forget about this.”

“Sage, you look comfortable. Why would that bother me?”

She sighs when I don’t move, then notices the paper bag I’m holding. “Takeout?”

“Dinner,” I answer. “I’m assuming you haven’t eaten?”

“Are you forcing me to have dinner with you? You could’ve just asked, you know.”

“I would have, but you’ve been avoiding me.”

She winces, sheepishly gesturing for me to enter. With a hip slam to close the door, she secures it with four bolts and double-checks each one.

The water-stained popcorn ceiling and flaking paint on the walls catch my eye first. Then the rough gray carpet, reminiscent of the ones I’ve seen in public schools. The chipped cupboard doors in the kitchen dangle from their hinges. Though spotless, it’s completely run-down.

“It’s self-care night, and I wasn’t expecting company,” she explains hurriedly. She moves a pink basket filled with nail polish and colorful bottles to the side table, nearly knocking over the nearby clothing rack. Her laptop plays a movie at low volume on the coffee table, beside which sits a framed picture: her and, I assume, her brother, beaming at one of her ballet recitals.

There’s a mildly concerning collection of candles on one side table. Three different ones are lit, crackling softly in a mix of scents. Vanilla, lavender, and another I can’t quite pinpoint.

Sage peels off her face mask and tosses it in the basket. She gestures for me to sit on the couch, and dusts off nonexistent debris. It takes me a second to realize she’s nervous, which throws me off, because I’ve never seen her like this.

“Do you want one?” Sage pulls out a container of silicone-like patches and puts one under each of her eyes. Her hopeful expression lifts the clear eye patches that have tiny gold stars inside them.

I only give her a look but can’t help smiling.

“You’re smiling! You so do.” She uses the tweezers to remove two more. “Okay, I might freak out. Nobody has ever wanted to do this with me. I don’t have many—or any—girlfriends, and Sean is not into all this stuff, so I’m warning you.”

That sparks my curiosity. “Not even any of your ex-boyfriends?”

“The last one wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole if he saw me like this.”

“Why not?”

She avoids my gaze and busies herself with putting the patches under my eyes. I can smell her vanilla-scented lotion when she’s this close. It momentarily distracts me from my lingering question.

But then she answers, “He saw me as a wind-up ballerina, ready to perform whenever he twisted the key.”

Protectiveness makes my body grow rigid.

Sage holds up a green tool. “Do you want a facial roller? It’s fun to use.”

I’m still reeling from the anecdote about her ex when I notice her excitement. It’s damn near contagious. She’s never done this with anyone before, so I give in. The cold stone feels nice against my skin when I try it, but the way she holds back a laugh tells me I must look ridiculous.

She whips out her phone and comes next to me to snap a picture. I can confirm—I look ridiculous. She laughs at me, but I don’t think I mind it.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re avoiding me?” I finally ask.

“About that.” She pauses the movie that was playing on her laptop. “I think we’re way in over our heads about this whole fake relationship.”

“You’re backing out?”

“No!” she exclaims. “Well, not entirely. I just mean we have no idea what to expect. There aren’t any rules to this stuff, so how do we know if we’re doing it right?”

This is the only thing going right for me, and now she’s second-guessing, maybe even backing out, before we’ve even started. “Is that what you need? Rules?” I ask.

She shrugs, watching me like I’ll have all the answers.

“We’ll set some terms and conditions, then,” I declare. “But we’re having dinner first.”

“Fine with me.” Sage gets two plates with napkins as I arrange the tacos. She sits cross-legged on the couch to face me.

When Sage takes a bite, her eyes widen. “Did you make this?”

I can’t seem to pry my gaze from her mouth when I nod.

“You could have just cooked for me, and I would have agreed to date you.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin and chews like she’s tasted heaven.

“You like it?”

She hums in appreciation, and something warms my chest. We eat in comfortable silence, forgetting the rules for a few minutes. When she takes my empty plate to the sink, I follow her, drying the dishes after she washes them, like this is our practiced nightly routine.

“Okay, so what’s the first rule?” Sage asks.

“We can start with who is allowed to know that this is fake. Aiden and a few of my friends back home already know, so if you have anyone you trust, you don’t have to lie to them.”

She only nods, and when we’re finally settled on her couch again, she pulls out her phone and types fake-dating for dummies into her Notes app. Her shoulders are still tight, but she’s stopped anxiously chewing on her lip. “That’s easy. I don’t have any friends.”

I’ve never heard someone say something so sad with that much confidence. She’s said it before, but I’ve always thought she was joking. “None?”

“None. And no, I’m not a loser, I just never had the time to make friends in college and I didn’t keep in touch with anyone from high school.” She says it casually.

I don’t get it. My friends are what made my college experience worthwhile. Other than my parents’ house, the hockey house was home for me.

“What about your brother?”

“No way. He said I look genuinely happy with you, and I couldn’t tell him it’s not real. I don’t even know what I’ll say if he finds out from someone else.”

“Is that it? You’re afraid that people will figure out we’re pretending?”

“Yes,” she says, dropping her head in her hands. “I may have read some of the stuff people are saying, and you were right. There’s no way I’m good enough to be dating you.”

I bark out a laugh, and it makes her lift her head from her hands to look at me.

“Remind me to never be vulnerable with you again,” she mutters.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. People will talk, and like I’ve said before, I don’t share that thought. You’re talented and beautiful. Frankly, they should be wondering what you see in me.”

Flustered, Sage shuffles to sit beside me so she’s not facing me anymore. The side of her arm touches mine, and I ignore the spark of connection.

“Okay, first, let’s outline what we want from this. Like Build-A-Bear but for a fake relationship. Build-A-Boyfriend!” She pats herself on the back for coming up with that.

“Do I get to Build-A-Girlfriend too?”

“Nope, I come well equipped.”

“And I don’t?”

Sage stares at me blankly, like I’m missing something.

“What?”

She appears reluctant to continue. “When reading my comments during that one moment of weakness, I came across some about you too. They said you haven’t been in a relationship, like, ever. Or if you were, it was never made public.”

“I haven’t.”

She hides her surprise. “Exactly. So, I’ll turn you into the perfect boyfriend. I’m basically doing your future girlfriend a favor.”

“Is this the charity part of our relationship?”

Her smile surfaces. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, Elias.”

“I doubt there’s something I wouldn’t want to do with you.” The words spill out easily, and I don’t mean for them to sound so suggestive, but her eyes widen.

I clear my throat. “So what does this perfect boyfriend look like?”

“You,” she blurts, then sits straighter. “I mean, someone who’s loyal and kind. The type of person who’s not rude to waiters and admits when he’s wrong. And he should care about me.”

“So … the bare minimum.”

She scoffs. “Trust me, most of what I’m saying is a reach for a lot of guys.”

It’s hard to keep the pitiful look off my face. “What else is on this unattainable list?”

“He should be tall. Taller than me, at least.” Then her gaze skims upward to my biceps, where my dark green full sleeve molds around my arms. “And strong. Definitely strong.”

Then she types another bullet point: social media.

“Since you already hard-launched our relationship on live television”—she gives me a sidelong glance—“we can just post a picture of us this week and go from there.”

I let her fill the screen with her own rules, hoping it makes her feel at ease with all this.

“Flowers, chocolates, expensive gifts. We don’t need to do all that,” she says. “People know you have money. And this is fake, so you don’t need to spend anything on me.”

“Flowers aren’t going to break the bank.”

“I don’t even like flowers.”

I’ve learned from my mother that if a woman—anyone for that matter—says they don’t like flowers, it’s probably because they’ve never received any. Or they’re deathly allergic.

“None? You don’t have a favorite flower?”

She shakes her head, continuing to type the ridiculous rule. It doesn’t make sense to me, and not because I haven’t been in a serious relationship before, but because she seems uncomfortable with the prospect of someone doing something so simple for her.

I take the phone from her this time and type dates. “We’ll need to be seen out in Toronto a few times for this to look believable.”

She quirks a brow. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“Last week. With you,” I say matter-of-factly.

Sage’s laugh is delicate. It reminds me of the first time I heard it when we were at the lake, and it almost makes me smile, but then I realize she’s laughing at me.

“That was not a date. It was practically an auction-ordered hangout.”

An auction‑ordered hangout? That was the first date I’ve been on in years, and she’s boiled it down to hanging out?

I relax my jaw. “Then we’ll have to have one that counts.”

“Sure, but nothing over the top like last week. I’d be happy with falafel from a food truck and going to that old theater that plays Dirty Dancing once a month.”

“Dirty Dancing?”

“It’s my comfort movie. I watch it every year for my birthday too, with a McCain chocolate cake I share with Sean.” She points to her screen. “I’m watching it right now.” Her screen is paused on a couple swimming in a lake. Then she turns to me again. “So, what else?”

“We’ll have to attend the pre-playoffs dinner hosted by the Thunder’s owners. And you should probably come to one of my games next week.”

The prospect doesn’t seem to make her nervous, which is a win.

“I have a small performance coming up next Thursday, so I can come any day after that.”

“Then it’s settled. I come to your performance, you’ll come to my game.”

She freezes. “What—no. You don’t have to come to my performance. It’s really small.”

I quirk a brow at her reaction. “Are you telling me no?”

“It’s not the ideal night out. Don’t feel obligated because I’m going to your game.”

“I’ll decide how I spend my Thursday night, Sage,” I say. “Anything else for our list?”

Sage sighs, then taps her chin in contemplation. “You already know about my family and my failing career. I don’t have any crazy exes to worry about. I think.”

“You think you don’t have crazy exes?”

Her expressive eyes shutter. “I’m sure.”

“I’m surprised we’ve hit something you’re not willing to share.”

She gnaws at her lip and stares at me through her dark lashes. “Let’s just say he recently reappeared in my life.”

“Is he bothering you?”

“No,” she says quickly. “He won’t interfere with us. You don’t need to worry.”

“That’s not why I asked. If he’s bothering you, I’ll take care of it.”

Sage fans her face. “That was hot. Keep up the whole protective boyfriend thing.”

I don’t pry further because she’s back to joking. But there’s a part of me that wants to know her for more than who she says she is. To see what’s under all those jokes.

“Should we practice kissing?”

Sage’s deflection works because I choke on my words and have a coughing fit. “No. There’s no need for any PDA,” I croak.

“At all? Do you need me to get tested or something? Because standing beside each other like a pair of cousins isn’t going to make this believable.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

She cocks her head. “You expect me to believe that?”

“No PDA,” I affirm, and it gets her to stop trying to read me like a newspaper.

“Fine, but no other girls, then,” she says. “I’m not jealous, I just mean you should keep it hidden, at least where the media is concerned.”

“There won’t be any other girls.” There haven’t been in a long time.

“None?” Her brows raise in surprise. “Don’t stop doing what you do on my account.”

I realize why she’s lax about me seeing other women. And I hate it. Sage believing that shit strikes hotter than the rumors themselves. “You believe them?”

“I wouldn’t say I believe them,” she starts. “There are just a lot of headlines, and you don’t exactly date. But I know what it can be like in your world. It’s normal.”

“Not for me.”

She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, jeez. I was giving you an out.”

“I don’t need one. Do you?”

“If I want to have sex with someone, I’ll let you know, warden.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “If you’re inclined to date someone, then let me know and we can end this. I don’t need to know about your sex life.”

She’s smirking now. “Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? If it helps, it’s just me and one very reliable battery-powered friend.”

Talking about her vibrator that is likely in one of those boxes she has all her stuff in is not how I imagined my night going. It feels awfully hard to swallow right now.

“We forgot one,” she says. “No falling in love.”

I freeze. That one was not on my radar.

Sage sees my stricken expression and bursts into laughter. “Your face!” She wheezes as she hits my arm. “Don’t worry, you’ll be running for the hills by the end of this.”

My laugh is brittle and not at all believable.

“So, it’s settled. When your season ends and I get word on my NBT audition, we’ll end this. No strings.”

“No strings.” I shake her hand. And just like that, I have a fake girlfriend.

“Before you go …” She trails off, tapping on her phone until mine pings beside me. The picture is blurry, but it’s clear who’s in it. Sage is on my back, arms looped around my shoulders, and I’m carrying her heels as we head out of the Pint. “That’s for you to post later,” she says.

“When did you take this?”

“I didn’t. Someone tagged me in it.”

“You want me to caption it ‘best part of my day’?” I read her text, trying to hold back a laugh. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Drop the no-kissing rule, and it’ll be true.”

I’m rendered speechless, but Sage just grins at my discomfort.

“Don’t forget to tag me, Elias.”