Page 1 of Pump Fake

CHAPTER ONE

BRIELLE

Two Years Ago…

Fall Lake University was my safe haven from my crazy family. I’d counted down the years, then days, until I could escape to college. And it was everything I’d hoped it would be.

Except for the workload, and it was only my sophomore year. I pushed out a breath, determined to write my lit paper on the four major themes of Edgar Allan Poe’s work—death, perversity, revenge, and destruction. On a Saturday. When most of our school was at the football game.

I set aside my laptop, scooted to the edge of my bed, then held still as an image on the TV caught my eye. The news program switched to an aerial shot—of my house. I froze, my arm outstretched, the remote in my hand, and my thumb hovering over the power button.

The red banner across the top of the TV read, “Breaking News: CEO Arrested in Major Bust! Sinclair Enterprises’ CEO Paul Sinclair Facing Charges of Corporate Fraud.”

A team of FBI agents surrounded the mansion. Terrified my sister was home, I held my breath as they entered. I mentally went through a checklist of where Serena might be. It was close to lunch. She would have had tennis early in the morning. It wasn’t unusual for her to shower, have lunch at a friend’s home, then hang out. Neither of us liked to be home on weekends when our parents had too much time on their hands—at least during the day. I could only hope that was what had happened. She didn’t need to fall victim to our parents’ misdeeds.

I never wanted to end up like my mom—clueless and dependent, not to mention incredibly vain. I had plans for my life, and they didn’t include following in my parents’ footsteps.

What I didn’t love within that plan was the overload of assignments, since I had chosen to double major in Education—along with completing my teaching certificate junior year—and Literature, finishing that degree my senior year. That translated to a hell of a lot of classes and a full load every summer.

A flurry of motion on the front lawn narrowed my focus, and the helicopter’s camera panned for a closer look. My hand shook, and the remote fell to the floor with a thunk. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen as the staff exited the house, led by several FBI agents. Another team filed out with computers and other items loaded onto dollies. My dad’s home office was systematically dismantled and carted away.

They would take everything. I did not doubt that.Will my sister and mom be able to stay in the house? Will they take possession of it along with all our belongings?When the tow truck appeared to hook up Mom’s Mercedes, I had my answer.

Mom burst from the house, her honey-blond hair half falling out of her French twist as she raced across the lawn and threw herself on the hood of her car. My mouth formed an O at the spectacle of our family drama. Mom was making a fool of herself, her fall from her entitled life televised for everyone to see, including our neighbors and her country-club friends. Herreputation would be in tatters, the kiss of death for my very vain mother. Status and wealth were the most important things to her.

I cringed as the nightmare on TV played out, wishing instead that I’d gone to the football game—a sport I enjoyed more than I’d expected—to miss the live takedown.

Shame and horror filled me. But it was nothing compared to seeing my father dragged from the house in cuffs, struggling and twisting his body. He fell, and the agent released him. Temporarily free, aside from the cuffs tethering his arms behind his back, my father regained his footing and ran. My heart thundered against my ribs like an inmate during a prison break.

Dad’s attempted escape was blocked by our landscaping, where he misjudged his path to freedom. The hedge took him down. He lay face-first in the greenery until the FBI agent hauled him to his feet. I watched my dad lift his muddy face on the TV screen as a knock sounded at my dorm door.

I didn’t want to answer. Nothing good would come of it, not with what I’d just witnessed. My knees almost gave out when I slid off my bed and forced myself to open the door. Two men stood there holding FBI credentials.

Black dots swirled along the edges of my vision. I couldn’t get dragged into their drama, though my computer—a purchase my parents had made—probably fell into that category. I had more fight in me, though the trouble my father had always managed to find himself in had come calling, and my paper wasn’t even half-finished.

CHAPTER TWO

ARES

Present Day

The weight of the world rested on my shoulders from so many different areas of my life—family, football, classes, my future. The pressure was nothing new, just different. It was my senior year as well as Kylian’s and Liam’s, who were my teammates, roommates, and best friends. Everything was good with that part of my life. I lived in a condo with them and Kylian’s fiancée, Aurora. I never went hungry, as she was an amazing cook and had taken over the kitchen, which only benefited the three of us.

But a sense of despair clouded my mind as I went to Coach Becket’s office before practice in Fall Lake University’s football stadium. Though Coach hadn’t said what the meeting was about, his tone had told me it wouldn’t be good. And for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why. I’d been killing it as the team’s starting tight end. I’d even scored two of the three touchdowns last Saturday. So I was at a loss for why Coach was pissed. Mystats were terrific, especially with Kylian back in the QB1 position following a horrifying injury last year.

After parking in the athletic lot, I made my way to Coach’s office. His secretary sat at her desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Hey, Mrs. McKenna.” She was a stern middle-aged woman with short curly hair and kind eyes unless a person got on her bad side. I never had and didn’t want to start.

“Ares Bellingham.” She tsked, disapproval pulling her lips down. “You better go in. Coach is waiting for you.”

A chill ran along my spine—I was officially on her bad side.What the hell happened?I knocked on Coach’s door then entered. The room was bare bones aside from a desk cluttered with papers and a whiteboard off in the corner. Most of his time was spent on the field instead of in the office.

The room wasn’t as physically empty as I’d thought it would be. While Coach sat behind his desk, two other men occupied the chairs in front of him with a single empty chair remaining. The hot seat—the one meant for me, I supposed. They turned when I entered. I recognized Jack, one of the scouts who had recruited me to Fall Lake U, and Brad, the assistant coach.

“Ares,” Coach said. “Have a seat.”

I sat between the two men, as it was my only option. I kept my eyes on Coach, whose mustache was getting a workout as he aggressively chewed his nicotine gum. The bushy mustache fading from light brown to white made him look like a walrus. That and his bulk gave him a deceptively mild vibe. He was anything but that.

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