Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 7

AFTER OUR LAST game against Dallas, I’ve seen my physical therapist three times. Falling on my ass last night didn’t help the ache in my body from a particularly brutal hit. Neither has it subsided when I wake up an hour before my alarm because the blinding sun pierces through my curtains.

I stare at my clock, only for the skipping stone on the nightstand to grab my attention. I forgot I kept it.

Suddenly, Sage’s laugh sounds fresh in my ears, and the way she bursts with energy is so contagious that it was impossible not to feel it too. Carefree and happy. That’s how I would have described her when I first met her, but after our date, I know that’s not her reality. She’s an open book and acts like nothing bothers her, but I know if I were to peel back the mask, it would show me something else. Something that would tell me her willingness to share the traumatic experiences of her life helps her hide a lot more. Like she’s shielding it with a facade of honesty.

I rarely trust people easily, if at all. But Sage spoke about things differently. Her passion for ballet broke through any whisper of doubt I had about her. She wasn’t on this date to get my number or snoop around my personal life. She was fulfilling her end of a deal she got roped into.

My thoughts scatter when I finally get up to shower and eat breakfast. There’s an anxious flutter that squeezes my stomach before I even reach for my phone and see the notifications. It’s not uncommon for me to receive a barrage of texts and tagged posts before a game, but this time it’s different.

BUNNY PATROL

Kian Ishida: Eli has a girlfriend and I’m finding out from the INTERNET?

Dylan Donovan: We’re coming to visit you soon, so you can’t ignore us anymore.

Kian Ishida: They’re gone for a few weeks and forget about us. Assholes.

In a panic, I click the link Kian sent and find another article from some gossip magazine about me. However, this time it’s not alluding to a one-night stand or the new girl of the week. It labels the girl in the picture as my girlfriend. When I press the image, it’s a picture of Sage and me when she had taken off her heels and handed them to me, jumping on my back as I carried her to my car. My lips almost twitch into a smile before I snap back to reality. This is bad.

It’s only a matter of time before she’s labeled as some gold digger, and people start to harass her on social media. When Brandy, our team photographer, was pictured with me, she had to disable her accounts because the messages were getting hateful. I can’t imagine what Sage’s will look like today. I know I have to warn her.

SAGE

Elias: Can we meet?

Sage: Am I dreaming? Cause I swear you were just a figment of my imagination.

Elias: Sage.

Sage: I can just picture you saying that. All growly like a little bear.

Elias: Little?

My phone instantly buzzes with a call. Sage’s smooth voice comes through when I answer. “Are you flirting with me, Westbrook?”

“Can we meet? I need to talk to you.”

“Miss me already?” She laughs. There’s music in the background and some shuffling like she’s moving things around. “Uh, sure. But not for an hour. Can you meet me at U of T?”

“The university?”

“Yeah, I teach ballet at a studio on Brunswick. I can meet you at the Bliss Café beside it.”

Going to a college campus where we rocked their hockey team a few months back, and then I got drafted to their national team, is never a good option. But I caused this inconvenience in Sage’s life, so I can brave a visit.

When I pull into a parking stall, I realize my hat isn’t doing much to cover my face, so I pull my hoodie over it. Black sunglasses make me look out of place, but it’s better than being recognized as a hockey player who can’t keep his dick out of the media. It’s humiliating when you realize people aren’t talking about how you play but rather how much you play outside the rink. Spending my whole life working toward the league, I feel the burden of carrying a reputation that demeans the sport and its players. Sometimes, there’s no way forward but through. It’s the going through it part I can’t quite stomach.

A flash of a pink fluttery skirt and curly brown hair dances across the large window of Elegance Ballet Studio. I lean against the hood of my car and lower my sunglasses. Sage smiles so brightly that the kids she’s teaching replicate it. Studious faces follow her lead as she moves in cadence with the music. I can almost hear the classical notes through the window as I watch.

With hockey, it’s easy to tell the difference between the players who work hard and those who eat and breathe hockey like it’s a part of their soul. That’s what I see when I watch Sage. Dancing is a part of her soul.

The class ends, and the kids exit to meet their parents outside as Sage turns to her phone to pause the music. When her gaze finds mine through the glass, she squints, pauses for a beat, then bursts into laughter. She doubles over like she’s spotted a clown in the middle of the road.

I stand straighter, looking around to confirm she’s laughing at me. Wiping away nonexistent tears, she places a hand on her stomach to catch her breath before she pulls out her phone and takes a picture of me. Ignoring her impolite greeting, I head inside the secluded café beside the studio and wait by one of the tables in the corner.

She’s still beaming when she finds me. “Why are you dressed like a stalker?”

I glance down at my outfit. “I’m incognito.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw a campus cop following you because you look suspicious as hell.” She leans forward on the table and pulls off my sunglasses. The move is slow and deliberate and makes my heart thud harder. “That’s better. Now, enlighten me about this secret meeting. Should we find a storage closet and get to it?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I should have done this over the phone.

And have her ream you out for hiding behind your phone like a coward?

“Your picture is in the tabloids,” I say bluntly.

She cocks her head, taking a long sip of the coffee I ordered her. Sage’s hazel eyes widen like she’s still processing the information. “Oh shit. That’s probably why my phone’s been buzzing all morning.” She pulls it out, gawks at the screen before flipping it to me. Messages and follow requests fill her phone screen, and I wince.

I’m not even a full month into the league, and I can’t go on one date without it resulting in harassment. I feel terrible that my life could somehow disrupt someone else’s and I can’t do anything about it. I usually avoid thinking about how much worse it will get as the years go on.

One of our captains a few seasons ago was caught by a fan leaving the bar with a woman who wasn’t his wife. The slandering he got was deserved, but his pregnant wife didn’t need to go through that publicly. The media has no remorse for how their viewers treat innocent family members as long as they have their five minutes of airtime.

“For what it’s worth, this is the first time they’ve written girlfriend instead of fling or any other equally demeaning term.”

“I’ve always been told I make a good girlfriend. There’s just something wholesome about me.”

I snort. “They haven’t heard the shit that comes out of your mouth, then.”

She’s surprised by the joke, and I try not to look offended. I don’t often let myself relax long enough to bring the carefree Eli out.

“Anyway, I wanted to be the one to let you know, so you’re not caught off guard if some dude with a camera starts following you.”

“You can’t be serious.” She starts looking around the coffee shop as if she’ll see one of them here. “Since when did hockey players become a hot commodity?”

“Fuck if I know.”

She gives me a long, assessing look. “I see it though. You’re a slept-on breed of insanely hot men. This would’ve happened sooner or later.”

I can’t help it. “You think I’m hot?”

She takes an even longer sip of her coffee, and my smirk goes nowhere even though I know I shouldn’t be acting like this. Why am I flirting with her?

“I think my exact words were insanely hot.” Her gaze drops from my face to my arms and then back to her phone glowing on the table. “I mean, one picture with you, and I have thousands of follows. You might need an escape, rookie. I’ll be happy to help.”

“Why? So you can watch me skinny-dip in Lake Ontario?”

She bites her lip to keep from smiling. “Just trying to help you drown out the noise.”

“Or drown me,” I mutter.

Sage lights up with a smile, and I like it. Her gaze bounces around my face thoughtfully, before she straightens and her eyes widen.

“Oh my God, that’s it!” She watches me so intensely I have no choice but to listen. “We don’t have to escape anymore.”

“What?”

“We should date. You and me.”

My head rears. “Excuse me?”

She grimaces at my expression but continues. “Fake date. The last thing either of us needs is a real relationship. But if the media thinks you’re in a committed relationship they’ll leave you alone. And with you as my boyfriend, I can get the following I need on social media to get my dancing out there so the theater will notice me.”

I try to form words, but every single one fails me. She wants us to date?

“Look.” She unlocks her phone and opens the first article she’s mentioned in. “They’re not calling me a one-night stand. They think we’re in a relationship, which means if we confirmed those rumors, they would probably get off your back. Your real fans wouldn’t let that gossip fly if they knew you were committed. And I would get a chance to audition for NBT.”

“I thought what the ballet theater is doing is unethical?”

She shrugs. “If you can’t beat them, join them.”

What she’s saying isn’t wrong, and I’m sure her presence in my life might help get the media to stop their scrutiny, but that doesn’t mean I’d let her take the heat. Or that I want anyone—especially her—to have a chance to dig into my life.

“No.”

My refusal only lights a new fire in her eyes. She looks out the windows of the café, and her fingers thrum against the wooden table. “What if I tell you it’s for charity?”

“Is it for charity?”

She deflates. “No.”

Watching her excitement crumble produces an uncomfortable twinge in my chest.

“All the media has ever done is lie about you. Don’t you want to take back control?” she presses.

“By stooping to their level?”

Her brows pinch. “It’s a clean break, and I promise I am nothing like Lana the stalker. If we’re successful, you’ll stay here and be the best rookie Toronto’s ever seen, and I’ll get to travel with Nova Ballet Theatre.” She leans back in her chair. “Do you need me to throw in a test drive? A little glimpse of what it’s like to date me?”

“You’re not a car dealership, Sage. This is real life, and I don’t date.” My blank stare makes her smile fall into a frown.

“All the more reason for everyone to believe us,” she contends.

“I don’t lie either.”

“Fine, I’ll do the talking. You just have to stand there and look pretty.”

“The answer is still no.”

A storm brews on her face, and she stands. The screech of the chair breaks our back-and-forth. “I’m not one to be put off by rejection, but you could at least pretend to think about it.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Trust me, it would never work. No one would believe this could be anything long-term.”

She scoffs and steps back, looking offended. “You know what? Forget it. It’s clear what you think of me.”

My brows rise in surprise.

“No one would believe us being together because I’m me and you’re you, right? You think because my life is such an imploding mess that I’m trying to sink my nails into the nearest famous athlete, and people would immediately sniff out that I’m some gold-digging washed-up ballerina.”

Her harsh words leave me stunned. Pushing my chair back, I loosely touch her biceps to stop her. “That is not at all what I meant.”

Her gaze flickers with something so vulnerable it leaves a hot, uncomfortable sensation to burrow inside my chest. Like fucking heartburn.

“I have to go.” She yanks her arm from my grasp. “Good luck with life, Eli.”

For some reason the nickname sounds all wrong when it comes from her. She walks out of the coffee shop, pink bow fluttering in her curly hair. I feel a deep, regretful storm in my gut, and just when I think to go after her, someone walks up to me.

“Eli Westbrook?” A tall guy, probably a student at the university, stares at me in disbelief and obnoxiously blocks my path. “Holy shit, man. I didn’t think I’d ever see you here. Well, not after you guys beat us in the Frozen Four qualifiers.”

It’s then I realize I’d forgotten to put my hoodie and sunglasses back on in my hurry to stop Sage. Though even if she did hear me out, I don’t think I could rectify the situation. She wants to put up a farce to help us both out, and I’d never be able to pull that off. It would be a disaster waiting to happen.

My lips form a tight smile, as my mind is still distracted by Sage’s words that continue to loop in my head.

“Can you sign this?” He pulls off his Toronto Thunder hat. “You’re who I want to be when I graduate.”

There’s a light spark in my chest when I turn to the bright-eyed kid, who doesn’t look much older than a freshman. My smile is genuine when I take his hat, and he shuffles through his bag for a marker.

He chuckles to himself in disbelief as he hands me a black Sharpie. “You’re an inspiration to all the guys in my frat. I mean a million-dollar contract without trying and unlimited girls, you are living the life. You got any tips?”

The words fall with a thump on my chest, and every muscle in my body contracts. The minuscule spark from earlier dies out and plunges me back into darkness. My smile dissolves into a flat one, and I sign the hat and hand it back to him.

“Nice meeting you,” I mutter, heading straight inside my car and out of the parking lot.