behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Seventeen

HARPER

The Vancouver Storms took the win and made it feel like a damn coronation—4-0, with the final two goals from Millie. Watching her dominate was nothing short of breathtaking. I mean, I knew she was good, but this? This was something else entirely.
She was magic.
Every move she made on the ice had this almost choreographed precision, as if she could see the game seconds before it happened. Skating through bodies like they were set pieces. Dodging hits like they were leaves in the wind. And when she scored—God, the way the entire arena seemed to detonate in sound and light—it was hard not to get swept up in it.

And maybe it's ridiculous, maybe it's naive, but I felt proud. Like watching her crush it out there meant something personal. Like somehow, her win felt like mine too. Tonight, with my heart still hammering in my chest, she didn't feel like a stranger. She felt like mine.

We're outside now, huddled near the players' parking lot, the cold cutting through my jacket in these short, sharp waves. A few scattered fans linger, hoping to catch one last glimpse of their heroes. Most of the crowd has long since disappeared, the electric hum of victory replaced by quiet conversations and car engines purring to life.

The Bennetts are magnets. Even outside the arena, people can't help but gravitate toward them. Some fans recognize Luna and Mia and practically squeal, phones out before even asking. They're good sports about it—laughing, smiling, posing like pros—but I hang back while Audrey ducks off to the bathroom.

"Harper?"

The voice doesn't just stop me—it yanks me back in time. My stomach drops. I don't need to turn around to know who it is. That voice has been burned into my memory, deep and permanent, like a brand. There's a wedding date coming up on the calendar, and I've been quietly preparing for that day like it's a battle I have no choice but to fight.

But this? Now? I'm not ready. I'm nowhere near ready.

"Harper," he says again, like it's casual. Like it hasn't been months. Like he didn't watch me walk away and let me stay gone.

Slowly, I turn. And there he is. Isaiah.
He looks the same—too much the same. Blonde hair, neat as ever. Brown eyes that used to feel like home. He's got his hands in his coat pockets, like he doesn't feel the cold or the weight of our history. Behind him, I see Killian and two others from our old circle, but they're background noise. Everything narrows to him.

My chest tightens, breath snagging like my lungs have forgotten what to do. I haven't seen him since I left our apartment that night, since I found—
God. I look away. Anywhere but his face. I can still see it so clearly in my mind—him tangled up with someone else, laughing like he hadn't broken me.

He never said sorry. Never tried. Not a call. Not a text. Not even a damn 'Are you okay?'

"Wow," he says, shaking his head, like I'm the surprise here. "What are you doing here? You've never been a hockey fan."

"I...uh..." I force a swallow. My mouth feels dry. "Audrey." I gesture toward the arena, even though she's not in sight. "She's with the Bennetts."

"That's right," he says. "Your best friend's a Johnson. Small world."

"They're family," I say, voice sharper than I intend. But it matters. That distinction matters.

He nods, looks me up and down. There's a wet patch visible on my shirt from earlier. My hair's wind-blown, my hands frozen. This isn't how I imagined seeing him again. I wanted heels. Lipstick. Power. Instead, I feel like a frayed wire.

"So, what's new with you?"

I blink. Is he serious? I feel like I've been punched and he wants a casual life update?