Page 34 of Faking the Shot
On the rink with Dad, running drills, I expected the usual—his precise eye, his relentless feedback, and the constant drive to be better, faster, more focused. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the way Valentina stood at the edge, her arms crossed, her lips curving into a soft smile as she watched. I could feel her gaze the entire time, and instead of throwing me off, it gave me a sense of balance I wasn’t used to. Like I could let my guard down for once.
I skated harder, pushed myself through the drills, but the usual pressure didn’t cling to me. Not tonight. Tonight, it felt like I could just exist in this space—me, Dad, and her on the sidelines, fitting into the moment like she’d always been part of it.
It didn’t make me anxious. It made me comfortable. And that . . . that was something I hadn’t felt in years.
At dinner, my five siblings filled the table with lively conversation, their voices overlapping as they shared stories and cracked jokes. Dad sat at one end, his face lit with laughter, while Papa handed off the breadbasket with a small smile. Valentina sat beside me, watching it all unfold like she wasn’t sure if she’d stepped into a family dinner or a competition to see who could speak the fastest.
Dad stands and stretches, his grin wide. “Game night,” he announces, clapping his hands together.
“Game night? What is he talking about?” Valentina asks, her wide eyes darting from me to my dad, who’s already striding toward the equipment room down the hall.
“Think of it as a team-building exercise,” I explain, leaning back in my chair, “except my family is the team, and I’m pretty sure someone is going to end up in the emergency room tonight.”
Her brows furrow. “What kind of games does your family play?”
“The kind that might void our insurance,” I reply with a smirk, standing and motioning for her to follow me. Around us, my siblings are already scattering, grabbing jackets and heading toward the backyard with an energy that suggests this is their favorite part of the night.
“The Crawford family has a tradition—after dinner, we play a game. Sometimes it’s something tame, like Pictionary. But more often than not, it’s a sport. And trust me, with our family, it gets competitive.”
She hesitates before standing, glancing around like she’s expecting someone to pull out a whistle and referee gear. “Okay, but what are we playing tonight?”
“Good question,” I say as I lead her toward the backyard. “I don’t know either. You’ll be fine, though.” I shoot her a wink, pushing open the patio doors open.
The backyard is already buzzing with energy. Killion is tossing a ball between his hands, Scottie is stretching dramatically, and Lucian is pacing like he’s already strategizing. They’re all decked out in athletic gear, like they’ve been preparing for this all day. Meanwhile, Valentina and I look like we wandered into the wrong party—me still in my casual dinner clothes and her in jeans and a sweater that she borrowed from my sister.
“What the fuck?” she mutters, her gaze darting from my siblings to me. “Did you know this was happening?”
“Not a clue,” I lie, though I’m sure my grin gives me away. “But you look great. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
Her eyes narrow, but before she can retort, Killion jogs over, his grin matching mine. “You’re late,” he says, tossing the ball in the air and catching it. “And Val here is on my team.”
“She’s a guest,” I argue, crossing my arms. “Shouldn’t she get to sit this one out?”
“Absolutely not,” Scottie chimes in, tying her hair into a high ponytail. “Guests play. That’s the rule.”
Valentina looks at me, her expression a mix of amusement and mild panic. “Is this hazing? Are you hazing me right now?”
“No,” I reply, chuckling. “Hazing is less fun.”
“Relax,” Killion says, clapping Valentina on the shoulder. “It’s just a friendly game. No one’s died yet.”
“Yet?” she repeats, her voice rising an octave.
“Don’t worry,” I say, biting back another laugh. “I’ll protect you.”
She shoots me a half-serious glare, but she still follows me toward the others. And for some reason, I can’t stop smiling. She doesn’t realize it yet, but Valentina Holiday is going to fit right in—even if it means I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Oh, would you look who it is? Mr. Prince Charming himself,” Greyson teases, smirking at me as he spins a soccer ball on one finger.
I flip him the bird without missing a beat. “Shut it.”
“Is that any way to act around your new girlfriend?” Scottie chimes in, her voice dripping with mock sweetness as she drags out the last word.
“Shut up, all of you,” I snap, glaring at them. It’s an empty threat, though, and they know it. They always do. My siblings know I’d never actually follow through on anything more than a half-hearted shove or a sarcastic comeback.
Leif tosses the soccer ball in Valentina’s direction, and she fumbles it, letting it drop to the ground with a thud. “We’ll see how nice you are in a little while. I hope you brought sneakers, girly.”
Valentina shoots me a look, one eyebrow raised in mild panic. All I can do is shrug. “Welcome to the circus,” I say under my breath. If she wants to prove to them that we’re actually a couple, she’s going to have to play along. Literally.
