Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player novel Chapter 189

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The first notes are soft, just barely there like he’s warming up, like the song’s still making its way through him. But then the bow finds its rhythm, and the room shifts. Everything slows down. Conversations trail off mid–sentence. Glasses are lowered. Even forks hang in the air, forgotten halfway to mouths.

The bow moves like it’s telling a story — breathless and raw and somehow quiet and full at once. The kind of sound that makes people forget they’re in public. The kind that lands in your chest and stays there.

When he closes his eyes to play – he’s gone. Possessed by whatever galaxy lives in his hands.

Then – like always – he changes tempo. Slows. Opens his eyes.

And sings.

His voice is haunting. Unfiltered. Raw in a way most people are too scared to be. It’s not about perfection – it’s about feeling. Each lyric is razor–sharp and aching, like he wrote it alone at 3 AM and never really recovered. The whole room forgets to breathe. I know Emilia does, because I hear her exhale like she’s just surfaced from underwater.

Halfway through, I glance around.

The waitress is wiping her eyes with a napkin. The guy in the corner is pretending his cocktail glass is just very emotional. The old couple in the booth across from us, have their hands clasped so tightly their knuckles are white.

And when he finishes – bow lowering, voice dropping to a whisper – there’s a silence even deeper than before.

Then the applause erupts.

Emilia’s wiping at her cheek before she even realises she’s crying.

I don’t say anything. I just pull her closer and lace her fingers with mine.

Mar gives a little nod, says thank you, and heads off like he didn’t just turn the entire club into one big puddle.

Emilia turns to me, eyes a little red but smiling.

“He’s really good,” she says, voice soft with something like awe.

I just nod. “Yeah, he is.”

Daniel doesn’t even blink at the sniffling echoing around us. Just turns, completely unfazed, and says, “I’ll tell Mar you’re coming backstage.”

“Dan—” I start, but he’s already sliding out of the booth with a lazy wave, not even bothering to look back.

I turn to Emilia, sighing. “Do you want to go backstage?”

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