Page 138 of Play Fake
“Everything all ready for the big day tomorrow?” I ask.
She laughs, loudly. “When I tell you that Claire has a checklistforher checklists, I wish I was kidding. But yes, everything is going smoothly so far. No issues with the caterersor anything like that. As long as the rain stays away, everything should be good.”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. From what I’ve heard, it’s going to be quite the wedding. Sophie’s voice softens as the conversation winds down. “You should probably get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I say, though honestly, I could stay on the phone with her like this all night. “I’ll text you in the morning.”
Her smile warms the edges of the crappy hotel room. “Goodnight, Beck.”
“Goodnight, Soph.”
And just as I’m about to hit the red button, the bathroom door swings open, and Logan’s voice cuts across the room.
“GOODNIGHT, SOPHIE!”
Sophie bursts into a startled laugh, cheeks going pink. “Good luck tomorrow,” she says quickly before hanging up, still smiling.
I stare at the blank screen for a second, shaking my head with a low chuckle. “You’re an idiot,” I tell Logan.
He just grins, tossing his towel onto his bed. “Yeah, but I’m hilarious.”
I roll my eyes and set my phone on the nightstand. “How’s the leg feeling?”
He stretches out, grimacing a little. “Sore, but I’ll be fine. Just need to keep it loose tomorrow. Trainers taped me up before practice, and I’ll get them to do it again before warm-ups.”
I nod slowly. “Good. Just don’t push it too far.”
Logan snorts. “You sound like my would-be mom.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, pulling the covers up. “Someone’s gotta keep you in one piece.”
He laughs as he climbs into his bed. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, leaving the room quiet except for the hum of the heater.
I lie there staring at the ceiling, the glow from the streetlights outside cutting faint lines across the plaster. Sophie’s voice lingers in my head, the way it softened when she talked about the kids at the agency, the conviction when she said she wanted to foster someday.
She wasn’t just talking about a job. She was talking about a life.
And damn if it doesn’t stick with me.
I close my eyes, letting the noise in my head settle, and for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep with my chest feeling full instead of empty.
We’re huddled tight at midfield, helmets off, breath clouding in the cool Oregon air. The stands are already filling with fans, a low roar building like a wave waiting to crash. It’s one of those games thatfeelsdifferent before the first whistle even blows.
I have to focus and play my best, then turn around and rush back to make it in time for Claire’s reception. It’s fine, totally fine. Thankfully, it’s an evening wedding, and we are playing a rare early game.
Coach’s voice cuts through the noise, bringing me back into focus. “This is it, boys. Two more games. You’ve worked too damn hard to let up now. You give everything on that field today—every play, every snap, every hit. Defense, we set the tone early. Offense, you finish what they start. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, Coach!” echoes around me, hard and hungry.
I glance at Logan across the huddle. He rolls his shoulders, face set, but there’s a tightness in his movements that I clock immediately. The same leg. The one he brushed off last night.
I shift my jaw. He’ll push through. He always does.
But that storm in my gut doesn’t settle.
The whistle blows, the kick sails, and the game is on. The crowd roars as our kicker boots it deep, pinning their returner near the ten-yard line. He makes it to the twenty-two before our special teams swarm him. The energy is electric—sharp, charged, the kind that makes the hairs on my arms stand up under my pads.
We huddle quick on defense, helmets clacking, breath clouding in the chill. I call out the adjustments, my voice loud enough to cut through the noise. “Watch for the run on first—they like to test the gaps early. Middle tight. Keep your eyes disciplined.”
