Page 90 of Faking It For Real

I groaned, rolling over to squint at my roommate. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon. You finally slept, congratulations. Now check your phone. The university paper just posted their arts showcase winners online."

Suddenly alert, I sat up and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Dylan had already sent me the link, and I tapped it open with slightly shaky fingers.

The headline read: "EMOTION IN MOTION: MIA NAVARRO CAPTURES ROAD TO FINALS IN AWARD-WINNING PHOTO SERIES"

Below was a gallery of Mia's photographs from throughout the season, culminating in shots from the semifinals game. There I was, in various states of intensity, focus, celebration, and—most strikingly—isolation. The final image showed me at the center of our semifinals celebration, surrounded by teammates but somehow apart, my expression a complex mix of achievement and emptiness.

The caption read: "Navarro' winning series 'The Weight of Victory' explores the emotional journey of athletics, revealing the personal cost of public triumph through her season-long documentation of hockey captain Ethan Wright."

My throat tightened as I scrolled through the photos. She had seen everything—all the pressure, the expectations, the isolation of leadership, the moments of pure joy and crushing doubt.

"She really saw you, man," Dylan said quietly, reading over my shoulder.

"Yeah," I managed, my voice rough. "She did."

Later that day, as practice ended and the team headed for the locker room, I made a decision. I wasn't going to wait any longer. I needed to see Mia, to tell her in person what I'd tried to express in my letter. Whether she forgave me or not, she deserved that much.

I showered and changed quickly, then stopped by the small Thai place near campus—Mia's favorite—and ordered her usual: Pad Thai with extra lime and a side of green curry. Food had always been our peace offering, from those first pancakes atMidnight Munchiesto Christmas cookies with my family.

With the takeout bags in hand, I drove to her apartment, my heart pounding.

Chapter 21: Mia

I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the letter I'd found under our door this morning. I'd read it at least a dozen times, analyzing every word, looking for insincerity or excuses. But all I found was raw honesty that made my chest ache.

I don't expect you to forgive me. I wouldn't, in your position. But I wanted you to know that what started as pretense became the most real thing in my life. You changed how I see myself and the game I've dedicated my life to. And for that gift, I am grateful, whatever happens next.

That line kept replaying in my head. Not because it was particularly poetic or romantic, but because it felt so genuine. So unlike the image of the confident, laser-focused hockey captain that Ethan presented to the world.

A soft knock at my bedroom door interrupted my thoughts.

"Mia? You alive in there?" Olivia's voice called.

"Unfortunately," I replied.

The door cracked open, and Olivia peeked in. Her expression was a careful mix of concern and neutrality.

"I brought tea," she said, holding up a steaming mug as a peace offering. "And I promise not to mention He Who Must Not Be Named unless you bring him up first."

I smiled weakly, accepting the tea. "Thanks."

She settled on the edge of my bed, eyeing the letter beside me. "So... interesting mail day?"

"Technically it wasn't mailed. It was slipped under our door sometime last night." I sighed, picking up the pages. "It's from Ethan."

"I gathered that from the dramatic sighing and re-reading. What does Captain Clueless have to say for himself?"

I handed her the letter, watching as she read it, her expression shifting from skepticism to something softer.

"Well," she said finally, "that's... actually not terrible."

"Right?" I took the letter back. "It's honest. No excuses. Just... explanation."

"And apparently genuine feelings." Olivia nudged my knee. "Which confirms what I've been telling you all along—that boy has been gone for you for months now."

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers. "Dylan says Ethan's a wreck. That the team is worried about him for tomorrow's Championship game."

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