Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 155

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He finally glances at me. Just one look – cautious, hesitant, all walls peeled back – and I see it. The thing I’ve missed for years. The

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softness under the silence. The way his jaw clenches not from anger, but fear.

“Aaron…” I whisper, and his name feels too soft in my mouth. He stills like it hurts to hear it.

I swallow. Hard.

“What are you on about?” I ask, but my voice is thinner now. Shaky. “You can’t even stand me.”

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and there’s

His eyes flick to mine – wide, glassy, wrecked something wild behind them, something that makes my breath catch before he even speaks.

“Are you serious?” he whispers, like it hurts to say. Then, softer sharper:

“Tessa, I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you.”

I freeze. The car. The world. Everything stops.

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“I’ve just…” he runs a hand through his hair, voice shaking, desperate. “I’ve been trying not to scare you with it.”

I open my mouth, but he barrels on, terrified now that I’ll speak – that I’ll shut this down.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he says, words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t care. I see you with him-

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with that asshole- and it kills me. Watching you hurt when I would never- I would never do that to you.”

He’s breathing hard, like he’s outrun his own silence. Like this has been buried so long it forgot how to be said.

“I know I’m not what you want,” he whispers. “I know I come off cold. I know I’m not good at saying things when you’re looking at me. But I swear to God, Tessa… if you just gave me the chance…” His voice breaks. “I would worship you.”

I can’t breathe.

He reaches for me disappear.

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not touching, just close. Like he’s scared I’ll

“And if I’m just a rebound to you, fine. If I’m just a placeholder until you find someone better, fine. If you never love me, if I’m never enough, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything. I just want to be something to you.”

His eyes find mine.

“Please.”

Like I’m the one who could destroy him.

Like I haven’t already.

The car becomes airless.

Something inside me shaps in place.

“Pull over,” I whisper.

He blinks. “What?”

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“Pull over the car. Please. Now.”

He does. Smoothly. Calmly. I’m anything but.

I fling the door open and stumble out, heels scraping asphalt, lungs refusing to work. The cold is instant. Knives to the skin. Or maybe that’s just me — unraveling.

I pace.

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One, two, three steps.

Everything hits at once, violently and without mercy.

The night with Lyle. The way I brushed it off. The way I forgot.

No, not forgot.

Avoided.

The air spikes colder. My stomach churns.

I bend double.

It crashes into me.

I’m two weeks late.

No. No. No. No.

Not me. Not this. Not now.

I dig my fingers into my scalp, panic curling up my spine like smoke.

Because I’m not made for motherhood. I’m not built to carry anything except resentment and regret. I can barely keep myself alive – plants die when I look at them too long. I haven’t returned my aunt’s texts in

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six months. I forget to eat. I cry over expired yoghurt. I say the wrong things. I am the wrong thing.

I can’t do this.

I don’t want this.

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