Page 129 of Fake Game

Phoebe sighs. “I don’t like to make speculations.”

“But if you had to?”

“If I had to, I’d say someone’s obsessed with you. It’s not unheard of when it comes to public figures.”

Obsessed.

“Look, honestly, Deer, I’m not sure I understand why you don’t just come clean?”

“You mean dox myself?” My voice pitches higher.

“Yes.” She holds her hand out like she’s holding a platter, gesturing across the aisle to Aleks and Parker. “It worked for them.”

“Because they were being blackmailed.”

“And it made the blackmail go away.”

“I’m not being blackmailed! I’m being stalked.” The words wrench themselves from my throat with the sting of a thousand razorblades.

Phoebe must be nuts. The Deer Hunters have clearly veered from online trolls into stalker territory—revealing who I truly am would just put me in more danger, and that makes me want to throw up. Actually, it makes me want to buy a private island and escape off the grid.

The last thing I want is to make myself more of an available target for them.

“We would take measures to keep you safe.”

“No.”

“It’s going to come out someday.”

“How? My parents don’t live in this country anymore. I have no family here they could track me to. I went to an extremely private and prestigious high school and never went to college.” I check each point off on my fingers. “My entire look is different to how I was three years ago. No one would see me and go, ‘Oh, lookie here, that’s Deirdre Malloy.’”

“Your legal name is still your legal name.”

“So? I rarely travel, and if I do, I use private companies. My car is registered under Rick, and my new apartment is under your family’s name.”

Phoebe’s eyes flick to her brother. “I know.”

“I’m careful, Phoebe.”

“Fine.” The word is curt, cut with glass through slightly clenched teeth. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way. I’ll work to make sure your life continues as it is and try to root out this poison, but just remember I advised you otherwise.”

She’s giving me what I want but makes it feel like she’s handing me a death sentence.

I can only hope she is wrong.

THIRTY-FIVE

JACKSON

“Are you sure?” I hold my hand against the elevator door to stop it from closing.

“Yeah, I’m just going to go rot in my bed for the next twenty-four hours. Not exactly fun stuff.”

“We could just cuddle?”

“This is so weird.” Parker stares at me like I’m an alien.

“Shut the fuck up.”

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