Page 62 of Fake Out

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” she replies, giving me a quick hug before heading to the kitchen to get us some drinks.

Left alone with my thoughts, I stare out the window at the fading sunlight and wonder if I’ll ever be able to really and truly forget about Charlie Elwood, about the life we could have had.

Or about the empty void his absence has left behind.

CHAPTER 27

CHARLIE

My feet pound against the treadmill’s belt. One, two, three. Again and again. Like a metronome. A rhythm that doesn’t let me forget, doesn’t let me escape. It just fuels the guilt gnawing at my core.

I push myself harder, sweat pouring down my face and my muscles screaming for relief. I don’t stop, though. I just keep going.

Maybe, if I run fast enough, I can outrun my entire past. All the mistakes. All the missed opportunities.

Maybe I can forget. Forget about the glory and the cheering crowds that are a thing of the past. Forget about the brand deals. About the luxury yachts and rubbing elbows with the biggest people in the world.

That life is gone.

Just like Marissa is.

It’s been two weeks since I last saw her, and no one calls my phone except for Tim and my mom. When it comes to everyone else, I might as well be dead. Marissa hasn’t called, and I haven’t heard a peep from a team rep either.

Which makes sense. I don’t even have an agent, and the relationship that Marissa concocted to make me look good is now over.

Basically, I have nothing.

I punch the buttons on the treadmill, going even faster.

The truth is glaringly obvious. It’s time to throw in the towel.

I’m starting to think seriously about selling this house and moving back home. Using the money I get from the sale to downsize and then invest the rest. Maybe I can find a place close to Mom and get a job coaching somewhere close by.

It feels like such a shameful end to my career, but it’s not even what stings the most. What really hurts is Marissa’s rejection — and, more than that, the way that I hurt her.

I can still see the hurt in her eyes, hear the tremble in her voice. Remember how she pulled away when I tried to touch her, how cold and distant she’d become. That’s the worst part — knowing that I caused her pain, that I drove her away.

My fists clench at the thought. The treadmill whirs beneath me, its rhythm echoing my heart’s relentless pounding. But no matter how hard I run, the memories don’t fade; they only grow stronger.

Thinking about Marissa is like a punch to the gut, sharp and painful. I miss her warmth, her smile, her laugh. I miss everything about her.

I slow down the treadmill, my legs heavy and aching. My heart feels even heavier.

I’ve always been good at running — running on the track, running from my problems, running from commitment. But now it feels like there’s nowhere left to run.

Marissa was more than just my agent and the girl I was dating; she was my best friend, my confidant, my cheerleader. And I screwed it all up.

My head falls into my hands as I slump against the control panel of the treadmill. Regret washes over me like a tide that drowns all hope of redemption.

The phone rings from somewhere in the distance but I don’t bother answering it. It’s probably Tim anyway. Or Mom.

I push off from the treadmill and stumble towards the shower. Hot water slashes my skin but does nothing to wash away this shame which permeates deeper than skin.

Drying off after the shower, I pad into my bedroom, only to be greeted by the sound of my phone ringing again.

“All right, already,” I grumble, going up to it.

Seeing the number on the screen, I freeze. It’s an unknown caller, but it’s a San Antonio number.

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