Page 93 of Faking It For Real

I considered the question seriously. "Photography is about watching. Really seeing someone. I've been watching you for months, Ethan. I saw your joy when you played, the weight you carried as captain, how you supported your teammates while feeling disconnected from them." I met his gaze directly. "I saw you."

Something shifted in his expression. "No one's ever really seen me like that. Not my coaches, not my teammates. Not even my family. Especially not my family."

"Maybe you never let them," I suggested gently.

"Maybe." He was quiet for a moment. "The semifinals is over. The scouts were impressed, according to Coach. They're coming back for the Finals. To 'get to know the real Ethan Wright,' whatever that means."

"And who is the real Ethan Wright?" I asked.

"I'm still figuring that out." He looked at me, his eyes sincere. "But I know he's someone who cares about you. Who regrets hurting you more than anything. Who wants a chance to show you that what started as pretense became the most real thing in his life."

My breath caught at the echo of his words from the letter. "Ethan—"

"I'm not asking for forgiveness right away," he said quickly. "I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I just... I want a chance to prove that I can be better. That I can be someone who deserves you."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten. We'd both entered this arrangement with clear boundaries and expectations. Neither of us had anticipated developing real feelings—or the complications those feelings would bring.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "This is all... a lot."

He nodded, accepting this without argument. "I understand. Take all the time you need." He hesitated, then added, "But before I go, I have one request. It's okay if you say no."

"What is it?" I asked cautiously.

"Tomorrow is the finals game." He took a deep breath. "Would you wear my away jersey? It's a team tradition for partners during important games. Like a good luck charm."

The significance of the request wasn't lost on me. Wearing his jersey would be a public statement, erasing the "fake" aspect of our relationship.

"That's a big ask," I said quietly.

"I know." He looked down, then back up with surprising vulnerability in his eyes. "It's also kind of a superstition I've had since juniors. Having someone I care about wear my number... it helps me find my focus. The joy in the game, not just the pressure."

"I'll think about it," I finally said, not ready to commit either way.

Relief crossed his face. "That's all I can ask for." He stood, gathering the takeout containers. "Thank you for listening, Mia. It means more than you know."

At the door, there was an awkward moment—neither of us seemed to know the appropriate goodbye. A handshake felt too formal after everything we'd shared, but a kiss would be premature given our uncertain status.

Ethan solved the dilemma by pulling me into a gentle hug. "Thank you," he whispered against my hair. "For seeing me. The real me."

Before I could respond, he released me and stepped back. "Goodnight, Mia."

After he left, I leaned against the closed door, mind whirling with conflicting emotions. Olivia's door opened almost immediately.

"Well?" she demanded, headphones hanging around her neck. "What happened? Are you back together? Did you forgive him? Do I still need to slash his tires?"

"We talked," I said simply. "He apologized. It was... sincere."

"And?"

"And I told him I need time to think." I moved past her toward my room. "He asked me to wear his jersey to tomorrow's finals game."

Olivia's eyebrows shot up. "That's serious stuff in hockey world. Like, practically a proposal."

"It's not like that," I protested. "It's just a team tradition."

"Uh-huh." She clearly didn't believe me. "So are you going to do it?"

I paused at my bedroom door. "I don't know yet."

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