Page 162 of The Fake Out Flex

Because we are getting smashed.

Despite having advanced to the third round of finals, we're currently at 3-0 in the best-of-seven series and down and 4-0 in this game. If we lose this tonight—which we most likely will since I don't see us having a miraculous turnaround in the remaining ninety seconds—it'll be a wrap on the season, and we can kiss our chances of competing for the Stanley Cup goodbye.

It's been a wildly inconsistent season for us. We've had short runs of great games, but we haven't been able to ride that momentum.

To top it off, Culver called a medical time out in the first period, his ankle flaring up this time, and he's been sidelined pending medical clearance.

I haven't been performing at my best tonight, either. The lack of sleep, the loss of electrolytes after last night's dinner, and the stress of having missed my connecting flight today—I almost didn't make it to the stadium on time—is wreaking havoc on my body.

Not to mention my heart's not really in it, either.

How can it be after everything that's happened? The only thing I can think about is Evie.

I hated the feeling I had last night when I discovered she'd been working on a story about me and my family. It was betrayal mixed with anger…and confusion.

How?

How could she do something like that?

I'm not proud of my behavior, storming off the way I did, but I needed to get out of there. If I had stayed, I risked saying something stupid or hurtful, something I'd regret once Evie got the chance to explain. I needed to cool off and get my head right.

And man, I'm so glad she came 'round this morning. I was deciding whether to give her a call before my flight since I hated leaving things unresolved, but her showing up was so much better.

Deep inside, I knew there had to be an explanation for what she was doing.

And there was.

It sucks that we had to have our first fight on the night we said our first I love yous, but I guess love never runs smoothly, does it?

Besides, we have plenty more I love yous ahead of us…and hopefully not that many arguments.

And it's gotten us to a good place. We've agreed to never go to bed being mad at each other, and we'll never keep secrets from each other, either.

I am fully on board with both of those things…but does a surprise count as a secret?

I'll have to check on that with Evie after I surprise her with the big plan I've been working on.

The game clock runs down the final seconds, and yep, that's it. The LA Swifts' season is officially over.

The only upside to losing?

I get to fly back to Evie and put my plan into action sooner than expected.

"Where are we?" Evie asks as I gently guide her with one hand pressed into her lower back, the other holding her hand. "This place smells funky."

She sniffs the air. She's blindfolded, so she's using her sense of smell to try to determine where I've taken her. This place is old and has essentially been abandoned for the better part of ten years, so yeah, the air in here isn't exactly fresh.

"And not the good kind of funky," she continues. "I'm talking bad funky. Like sweat and dirty socks and other bodily functions I don't want to mention aloud." She takes a few more whiffs. "Can I get a hint? Please?"

"You'll find out soon enough," I say, carefully steering her around the corner of a bench. "Be patient."

Yeah, right, I think just as she says, "Yeah, like that's gonna happen."

I smile even though she can't see me.

Everything is set, and I have to say, I can't believe I've actually pulled this off.

It was a longshot.

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