Falling: A Fake Dating College Hockey Romance (North University Book 1)
Falling: Chapter 10

Since my parents’ divorce six years ago, Melanie Hackerly has been on the quest to establish herself as a woman who can conquer all. She wanted to be the type of person people write articles about—the type of woman who could have hundreds of girls lining up to play her in a biopic. That was her plan for so long that when she was injured and went into coaching and teaching, she still found some loophole to get her to whatever stage she needs to be at in the future.

My mom has always treated me like I’m her student first and her daughter second. Sometimes, I wish she actually continued being a coach instead of becoming the head of the sports department at North.

There’s always been this immense pressure on my shoulders to perform for her. To fulfill this legacy that she never got to. My friends think that she pushes me too hard, but Mom thinks Darcy is too easy on me. I need the structure. I need the routines and someone telling me how to improve or I’m never going to get any better and the only talent I have will all be for nothing. I don’t just want to be good, competing in championships and competitions. I want to be great. I want to be someone great and important instead of this stupid wallflower that I’ve reduced myself to become. Being so immersed in my skating, I’ve never had time for anything else. The little time I do get away from it, I try to spend with my friends, reading or writing.

My mom’s words might be biting and harsh, but I need to hear them. If anyone is going to be brutally honest with me, it’s going to be her. I used to think she ruined skating for me, that she took the fun out of it, but these last few years, I’ve started to breathe my own life into it. I’ve set high standards for myself and for what people expect of me, and the fear of letting them down is nowhere near as bad as the fear of letting myself down.

As kids, Austin and I never really saw anything wrong with my parents’ relationship. They seemed happy. Whole. They had the kind of love you thought would last forever. We had weekly family outings, birthdays were always a blast, and we had regular vacations. There was nothing that we could see to tell us they weren’t in love.

When you’re told your whole life that your parents love each other, it’s hard to tell that the kind of marriage they really had was lacking it. You don’t know that until you realize what real love is. Their love was nothing to idolize or aspire to. It just was.

They kissed and said goodbye on their way to work; they always tucked us in until we reached our teens. Until one day, they just fell out of love. It was quick and simple. There were no arguments or name-calling, they just stopped. My dad told me it wasn’t our fault—because it never is—and they went their separate ways.

My mom’s current hyper-fixation is another recent divorcee, Mike, who has two kids from his last marriage. She moved out of our family home into a Spanish-style house in Centreville. My dad still lives in our family home, our childhood bedrooms still covered with the same One Direction posters I’ve had for as long as I can remember.

With Austin away, dancing for a prestigious ballet school in Russia, I’m my mom’s sole focus. Which is probably why she’s being so hard on me to help the team pick themselves back up. I’m not completely confident in Miles’s boyfriend abilities, but I’m going to have to trust him. I sent him a quick message to meet up on Friday, so I have to give us a chance.

“Any updates on the progress with the team? Darcy told me you all had a meeting last night,” my mom says, pouring me another glass of orange juice while she tops up her wine. It’s not that warm out, but we’re pretending it is, sitting by the pool in her backyard. Her house is huge for only two people, but it makes it a good spot to pretend to be vacationing every day.

“That meeting was a shit show,” I say, shaking my head. I know she doesn’t like it when I curse, but I can’t help it sometimes. I’ve never felt more useless than I did last night. “I can’t believe how terrible we are at coming up with ideas.”

My mom laughs. “Darcy wasn’t very happy that she didn’t hear back from any of you.”

I shrug. “There’d be nothing to say.”

We’re both silent for a few beats. The silence between us always feels deafening, even when we’re not talking about anything bad. There’s just never been that comfortable silence that I get when I’m with Dad.

“You are taking this seriously, right, Amelia?” my mom asks, using my first name to get under my skin. Amelia has never really fit me. I don’t know what it is about that name that I didn’t like, but the second I figured out my middle name was Wren, I made sure that’s what everyone would call me. There’s only a handful of people who actually call me Amelia, and I hate it.

“Of course I’m taking it seriously, Mom.” She holds her hands up in defense. I wasn’t trying to attack her; I’m just sick of feeling like I have to do everything all the time and I can never get a minute to do something I actually want to. “I think I might have something working out.”

“You think so?”

I nod, meeting her gaze. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, so nothing is set in stone, but it could work.”

Just thinking about spending more time with Miles sends a rush of excitement through me. I never know what I’m going to get with him. It feels like there’s always some element of surprise when we hang out, and I’m guessing that pretending to date is going to make that become more regular.

“Are you seeing someone?”

My mom’s question makes me jolt. “Where did you get that from?”

She grins, her lined dimples popping out. “Your cheeks are pink.”

I stumble over my words, gesturing to the pool and the gray sky. “It’s hot.”

“Not that hot.”

Telling her directly that I’m dating someone is like begging to get shot in the foot.

She’s always been protective over me, but when I started dating Augustus, those chains slightly loosened. She adored him. He was charming and funny, he always made jokes at the right time, and he was what my mom thought to be the perfect boyfriend for me. He was a pretentious ass, but I think that’s what my mom loved about him.

He pushed me too. Sometimes, it was a little too far, but I learned to brush off the sly comments he’d make about weighing too much to lift or when he would tell me all my favorite colors to wear weren’t flattering on me. I ignored them because I had to do what it took to win, and having him as my partner was my best shot at that.

He was the best male skater in our team for duos, and I have been skating with him since I was fifteen. Our on-ice chemistry was palpable and everyone knew it. When our relationship turned into something more, I liked the idea of having a boyfriend. I liked the affection and the attention, but deep down, he wasn’t anything special. He never did anything special, and I was stupid and broken enough to settle for that. My mom doesn’t know how he treated me in private and she probably never will. I’m happy with her thinking that he was the love of my life and that losing him was the most devastating part of the breakup and not losing the championship. I’d much rather have a shiny medal to add to my shelf than a boyfriend.

“It’s nothing serious,” I tell her, and she hums. “If it gets serious, you’ll know.”

She hums again, tilting her nose up, and she changes the subject. “Have you spoken to Gianna recently?”

“Why don’t you just call her Gigi, mom? Gianna sounds so formal,” I say, laughing. It’s become a running joke between us. My mom calls her Gianna, and Gigi still calls me Amelia. It’s silly and stupid, but most things are with us.

“Fine. Have you spoken to Gigi recently?” she amends, and I smile. “She and Diana came over for dinner the other night, and they were wondering if I’d heard from you.”

“You do know they both have my number, right?”

She shrugs, taking another sip of her wine. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt if you called them sometimes. They think you’ve forgotten about them.”

The guilt festers in my stomach. I know how busy I’ve been since starting college, but since Gigi doesn’t go to public school anymore, it’s been harder to hang out with her in person. We try to call a few times a month, but we’re both so busy. Coming to visit my mom just reminds me of how we used to hang out as kids and how having dinner with the Kowlaskis wasn’t as irregular as it is now.

“I haven’t forgotten about them. I’ve just been busy,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face. I tug on the ends of it, a nervous tick I haven’t been able to get rid of. “I’ll call Gigi on my way home.”

“You should. She misses you,” my mom says softly. That just hurts my heart even more. She turns to me, her blue eyes boring into mine. “I’ve missed you, too. I feel like we don’t see each other that much.”

And she’s gone straight for the kill.

“I know,” I whisper, dropping my gaze from hers. “When I’ve got this skating thing under control, I’m going to try harder, I promise.”

“Good because not having your sister here has been hard for me. I miss my little girls.”

My throat pinches, and I don’t know what to say.

Our views on my childhood are very different.

When I think about how it was when I was a kid, I think about competing in skating competitions when I was four years old. I think about missing out on schoolwork and seeing my friends because I was always training. I think about being swamped with homework because I couldn’t catch a break even when I wanted it. I think about having to wake up at three in the morning to drive out of state to a competition. I think about burying my head inside a paperback and wishing I could live inside a fantasy world instead. I think about having to worry about my diet at six years old. I think about not having anything in common with my friends until halfway through high school and forever feeling like I dedicated my whole life to something that could disappear the second I get into an accident like my mom. It’s like I’ve been skating on a fault line for years and at any second, I could fall through the cracks.

And I instantly feel guilty because all those memories gave me what I have today. It built the strength that I have and the talent that is going to get me to where I want to be. I refuse to let myself believe that this was all for nothing.

We change the topic, and my mom goes on a rant about Mike and the vacations they have coming up. She talks about her job like it’s the best thing in the world, and I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point in my career where, despite all the bad things that have happened, I can still see the good in the everyday.

Still, her comment pricks at me, and the guilt makes a home in my chest.

When I’m safely strapped into my car, I try my hardest not to cry. I’m not a big crier. I’ve always thought it was weak. It just reminds me of the times I would fall on the ice and my old coach, Donaldson, and my mom would shout at me to get back up. I’d brush myself off and carry on skating with tears in my eyes.

I shake my head, fiddling with the screen in my car to press Gigi’s contact. The second the call connects, I feel like I’m transported right back into the comfort of her house: the millions of certificates that line the walls of her writing achievements, the photos of us as kids, and the smell of pierogies. God, I miss it. I miss her.

“Hey, G. How are you?” I ask, a smile finally forming on my lips when she answers.

“I’m good. Just in bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating life, you know?”

“So, the usual?”

“Pretty much.” She sighs, and I can already picture her bedroom lit up by her lava lamps that illuminate the Marvel posters on the wall. “I’ve been writing all day, and my agent thinks I’m burning myself out.”

I get a stupid jolt in my chest at her words. I wish I had the courage that she does. I wish I had the balls to self-publish my novel like she did a year ago. Her fantasy series, The Last Tear, went viral last winter, and she got over ten thousand sales within the first month. She was quickly signed to an agency and has been working toward getting a traditional pub deal for months.

I know how hard it is for her to make friends and socialize, but writing has been that escape for her like it is for me. With her learning difficulties, she and her mom made the decision to keep her out of school. Her books were making enough money to live off, and she’s more than happy to commit to being a full-time author while her agent works on getting her a deal.

“You should probably take a break,” I suggest, my shoulders relaxing as I stop at a red light. “Maybe you should come hang out with me, Scar, and Ken. We haven’t had brunch in a while. It could be fun.”

“It could also be hell,” she mutters. I know she’s not being harsh. It’s just how she is, so I just laugh. “Thanks for the offer though. How are you? Are you one step closer to becoming the next biggest figure skating star?”

“I’m… getting there,” I say. I launch into a five-minute rant about the team and the funding and the lack of support, and she listens to everything, offering her own solutions. A bake sale, again. “I think I’ve got something figured out though,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“There’s this guy⁠—”

“There’s always a guy.”

“He’s, like, the most popular guy at college. North’s golden boy. High school kids treat him like a hockey legend,” I explain, and she just laughs. “I was thinking that we pretend to date, get some buzz around our relationship, and see if that helps with drawing more attention back to the skating team. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

She’s quiet for a minute, no doubt mulling over the idea in her head. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, Amelia.”

I snort. “It was Scar’s idea.”

“That makes more sense,” Gigi says, and I laugh. “It sounds like a good plan. Why are you worried about it?”

“I-I’m not worried about it.”

“You wouldn’t be calling me to tell me that if you weren’t worried about it.”

I forgot just how well she knows me. “I think it’s going to work out, seriously. It’s just going to be a little weird adjusting to pretending to date someone when I haven’t dated anyone seriously other than Augustus.”

“What’s this guy’s name? Can I internet stalk him?”

I snort. “Miles Davis. Do your worst. He’s got an annoyingly clean record.”

I hear some shuffling on Gigi’s side, and I turn another corner. I was going to go straight home, but I need to work off this energy. Yes, it might be nervous energy but I’m not admitting that to her. If I can’t get the support the team needs, I can at least be a good asset to the team for as long as it lasts.

“You’re right. He seems like a boring, conventionally attractive guy who plays hockey,” Gigi says with a sigh.

“I know. It’s a real shame our society has come to this.”

“What’s worse is that this is your upgrade from Augustus. I mean, how do you go from him to this god? You’re hot as shit, and you settled for Mr. Porcelain Doll.” I laugh, pulling into a parking space outside the rink on campus. “I love you, Amelia, but I seriously don’t get how you put up with him for so long. I’ve dated more men and women in the time you’ve dated this mediocre douchebag.”

Laughter racks my entire body, tears springing to my eyes. Nobody makes me laugh as much as this girl does. She has absolutely no filter, and I love that about her. I love that she doesn’t feel like she needs to switch off parts of herself for me like she does with other people.

“I love you too, Gianna, which is why I’m not going to say anything to that,” I say, shaking my head as I pull my gym bag from the backseat of my car. “Look, I’m at the rink now. It was great catching up. I’ll see you soon.”

“Not if I see you first,” she says hauntingly.

“What does that even⁠—”

The call ends, and I don’t know why I expected anything less from her. I slide out of my seat, pushing my headphones over my ears, and I know I’m going to be here for most of the night. I don’t mind it one bit. I need to tire myself out. I need to clear my thoughts and get them to stop running away like they do every time I see my mom.

I skate until my head starts to hurt.

I skate until my palms ache from where my nails have dug into my skin.

I skate until my legs wobble from the number of times I’ve tried to land my triple Lutz.

I skate until it feels like it’s all I’ll become.