Carter’s phone buzzed against the bench just as the whistle blew for a water break.
He glanced at the screen — Maya — and was already moving before he consciously decided to.
“Hello? Maya, give me a minute.”
He held up a hand to the coach, pointing at the phone and mouthing one second, then jogged off the ice and through the tunnel, skate guards clacking against the rubber floor, until the noise of practice faded behind the heavy door.
“Sorry about that. What’s up?”
“Oh — you were at practice.”
“Yeah, but it’s a slow day, so I can talk. What’s going on?”
“Okay, um — I’m just calling to ask if you’re sure it’s okay.”
Carter leaned against the cinderblock wall, tugging his glove off with his teeth so he could actually hold the phone properly.
He knew exactly what she meant.
She always did this — circled the real question three times before she let herself land on it.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” he said, and he made sure his voice came out easy, like it cost him nothing.
“I’m gonna head home in a few hours anyway, see if I can actually get some studying done. Without you here to keep me honest, but hey — I can’t always be stressing you out over my grades. You’ve got your own stuff going on tonight.”
There was a pause on the other end, and then a rush of air that sounded like relief.
“Oh, thank god. Because I actually really wanted to go. Even though I’m kind of nervous — a little time with him will probably help, you know? Get me out of my head.”
Carter didn’t answer right away.
He stared at a scuff mark on the tile floor, at the dent in the wall from some freshman’s slap shot two years ago, at anything that wasn’t the sinking feeling settling low in his chest.
It wasn’t a big feeling.
It wasn’t even a feeling he wanted to look at too closely.
But it was there, quiet and stubborn, the way it always was whenever Maya said him in that soft, hopeful voice.
“Carter?”
Nothing.
“Carter, hello?”
“Yeah — yeah, I’m here.” He cleared his throat, straightened off the wall like she could somehow see him slouching through the phone.
“Sorry, thought I heard someone.”
“Oh, I thought I lost you for a second.”
“No, I’m here.” He pushed his free hand through his damp hair, forced the next words out before he could think better of them.
It was true.
He believed every word of it.
That didn’t make it any easier to say.
Before Maya could respond, the door to the tunnel banged open and Coach Daniel stuck his head through, tapping his wrist even though he wasn’t wearing a watch — some universal coach gesture for hurry up.
“Vance, two minutes, then you’re back on the ice.”
“Yeah, thanks, Coach.” Carter lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and the door swung shut again, muffling the sound of skates and the low murmur of his teammates back on the rink.
He went quiet again after that.
Just for a second.
Long enough that Maya noticed — she always noticed.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Yep.”
“Because most of the time when we’re on the phone I can tell when you’re smiling, and you love making jokes about literally everything. Right now you’re just… quiet. What’s up?”
Carter closed his eyes for a moment.
This was the part where he was supposed to say something easy, something that would make her laugh, something with an eyebrow-raise built right into the words even though she couldn’t see his face.
That was the whole deal with them — he made the jokes, she rolled her eyes, and somewhere in between all of that, nobody had to actually mean anything too much.
Except right now he didn’t have a joke in him.
Just something a little more honest trying to claw its way up his throat, and he shoved it back down before it could get any further.
“Nothing. I’m okay, Maya. I’m actually happy for you.” He made himself say it like he meant it, and the worst part was that he did mean it, underneath everything else.
“I want you to go out there tonight and make him fall for you so bad he can’t resist you. Especially with the fact that you’ve already got a boyfriend and everything — really ups the stakes for the guy, don’t you think?”
There was a beat of silence, and then Maya’s voice came back dry as ever.
“Fake boyfriend.”
“Yeah. Fake boyfriend.”
He could hear the smile creep back into her voice even through that correction, like she was grateful he’d handed her the joke back, like things were normal again.
Carter told himself that was the whole point.
Keep it light.
That was the deal they’d made back when this whole fake-dating thing started — nobody was supposed to take any of it seriously, least of all him.
“Look, he’s calling me on the other line, so I’ve gotta go,” Maya said, and there was a rustle like she was already grabbing her bag, already halfway out the door in her head.
“Okay. Do your best.” Carter pushed off the wall, started making his way back toward the tunnel door, back toward the sound of skates cutting into ice and pucks cracking off the boards.
“And be safe, alright? Text me when you’re home.”
“I will. Bye, Carter.”
“Bye.”
The line went dead, and Carter stood there for a second longer than he needed to, phone still pressed to his ear even though there was nothing left to listen to.
Then he pocketed it, snapped his glove back on, and pushed through the tunnel door into the noise and the cold and the bright lights of the rink, where nobody would ask him why his jaw was tight or why he skated the next drill harder than he needed to.
Coach Reyes clapped him on the shoulder as he took his position at the blue line.
“Phone call handled?”
“Yeah. All good.”
“You sure? You’ve got a face on you like someone stole your stick.”
Carter huffed out something that was almost a laugh, shaking his head as he tapped his stick against the ice, settling into ready position.
“I’m good, Coach. Just run the drill.”
But even as the whistle blew and his legs carried him through the motions — crossovers, the familiar burn in his thighs, the puck skating up the ice toward him — some part of his brain was still back in that hallway, still turning over the sound of Maya’s voice when she’d said a little time with him will probably help.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
He told himself this was exactly what they’d planned for — Maya getting her shot with the guy she actually wanted, him keeping his father off his back for one more semester, both of them getting something out of a scheme that was never supposed to mean anything more than a convenient lie they told the rest of campus.
He told himself a lot of things, skating drill after drill under the fluorescent lights, and none of them made the quiet, stubborn feeling in his chest go away.
By the time practice ended, his legs ached in that good, worn-out way that usually cleared his head.
Tonight it didn’t.
He showered, dressed, and sat in his truck in the empty lot for a full five minutes before he even turned the key, phone resting face-up on the passenger seat like he was waiting for it to do something.
It didn’t buzz again.
Not yet.
Carter exhaled, pulled out of the lot, and told himself that was fine.
She’d said she’d text.
She would.
And when she did, he’d read whatever she sent — had a good time, probably, or he’s actually really nice — and he would be happy for her, the way he’d promised, the way he actually was, mostly, underneath the part of him that didn’t want to look too closely at why fake had started to feel like such a strange word to keep using.
He turned the radio up loud enough to drown out his own thoughts and drove home to study alone, exactly like he’d told her he would.