Page 70 of Hard to Fake

I think of Kevin. Prep school grad. White teeth.

Thought he could get away with anything.

Sweat beads on my forehead, streaking down my skin.

I might be a low-key kind of guy, but there are things I won’t stand for.

Every ounce of me goes into lifting the weight, as if it’s the only thing between me and his piece-of-shit face.

"Everything chill?” Atlas asks when my set is done.

I rub a towel through my hair. "Yeah."

But I'm not chill.

It's unsettling how not chill I am right now.

I spot Jay near the pull-up bar on his phone with an expression like storm clouds.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Brooke. I’m going to tell her not to go.”

No. She needs this event. Plus, it’ll piss her off, start a fight between her and Jay, and that will distract our captain from the work we need to get done on the court.

I wanted to step back, but now there’s no way I’m letting her walk into that alone.

I know what I have to do… even if I really don’t want to do it.

I grab the phone out of his hand and hit the “Call End” button.

“The hell?!”

I take a breath. “You don’t have to worry about her going because… I’m going with her.”

The air evaporate from the room.

Everything reduces down to my friend and teammate’s expression as he processes my words.

Confusion.

Disbelief.

Anger.

“You what?!”

Fuck.

This is not a conversation I planned on having, especially not today.

The Miles Garrett the league and the media know would play it off, joke that it’s something casual.

But that’s not true, and I’m not sure I could fake it if I wanted to.

“Let’s talk about this outside.” I nod to the door, unsure of whether he’ll deck me before we get there.

We manage to make it into the hall without any bloodshed.

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