Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 168

“I think I got the locks changed,” I say, chewing. “It’s just… everything since then has felt like a year ago. And anyway, I doubt Zane would ever show his face here again. He’s…” I hesitate, willing my voice not to crack. “mourning Becca.” I glance at the screen. “We should probably cut him some slack.”

Liam doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t even blink.

Then, calmly: “Did Zane ever mention a Lolo?”

I pause mid–chew. “A what?”

“Lolo. A kid, probably.”

I think. Hard. But no bells ring. “No… Not that I remember. Why?”

He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought as much.”

“Liam…?” I study his face. “Are you hiding something from me?”

His eyes lift to meet mine – all ocean storm and quiet ache.

“I’m not hiding anything, love.” he says softly. “I’m just thinking.”

I wait.

He hesitates, then says, “If you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

I watch him for a moment. “Do you want me to know?”

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His expression answers for him.

“The less you hear, think, or talk about Zane,” he murmurs, “the better I sleep.”

I nod slowly. “Then that settles it.”

I rise to clean the wrappers and wipe my fingers, glad to let the conversation fade. I trust Liam. I trust him with my life

–

and more

terrifyingly, with my heart. If he’s keeping something from me, it’s not for him. It’s for me.

But just as I’m about to toss the wrappers, he speaks again.

“Becca mentioned a Lolo once. Just offhand. And I had a hunch of who she was… I just hadn’t confirmed it.”

I freeze. Turn. “Have you now?”

He meets my eyes.

“More or less.” A beat. “But God, I hope I’m wrong.”

“Why?”

His voice drops.

“Because if I’m not… then that makes him a sicker bastard than I thought.”

EMILIA

Once Liam and I hang up him off to his team meeting to dissect their next opponent, me left behind with a heart doing pirouettes – I realise I no longer have an excuse to slack off.

So I roll up my sleeves and dive into work.

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By the time the clock hits 6 PM, I feel like I’ve aged a year. My arms. ache. My feet are furious. My hair smells like three different types of frosting.

Honestly, I should really start thinking about hiring staff. It was casy running this place when the Becketts were basically my only regulars. But now? Ever since Liam started dropping by, word’s gotten out and so have the fans. Hockey jerseys, custom cupcakes, suspicious giggling near the counter. I don’t mind. As long as they buy a treat or two, they can camp out all day for all I care.

Someone even suggested I get a TV installed so customers can watch the Titans‘ games live while they sip their overpriced lattes. I’ve been mulling it over. I mean, I can’t charge people to sit and stare at a screen… or can I?

Everything’s business, right?

Liam’s game starts at 7 PM. There’s no universe where I clean this place up and still make it home in time to watch from the start — and yes, I’m sulking about it. I’m elbow–deep in dishes, mentally composing an “I’m so sorry I missed puck drop” text, when the bell above the door jingles.

I don’t even look up. I’m far too tired, and I’m certain I flipped the CLOSED sign this time.

“We’re closed!”

There’s a pause.

And then hiccup,

My head snaps up.

Mrs. Beckett stands there, beaming, with baby Theo curled against her

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