Page 7 of Play Fake
The words shouldn’t make my heart stutter. But they do.
I swipe my card, the lock clicks, and I slip inside before he can see how rattled I am.
Leaning against the cool glass of the door, I watch him turn back down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders broad and steady under the glow of the streetlights.
3
BECK
Ishould’ve gone straight back to the house. That was the plan—show my face, grab a drink, then leave before anyone asked me to stick around. Instead, I ended up walking Sophie across campus like some knight in a shining hoodie.
Not that she needed saving. She held her ground just fine. But sometimes assholes don’t know when to quit, and something about the way he was crowding her didn’t sit right with me.
So, I stepped in, like any good man would do. Nothing more to it.
The night air bites a little by the time I cut back across the quad toward the house that’s all the way across campus. My hands are shoved deep in my hoodie pocket, hood up, keeping my focus forward. She said she was fine. She probably is.
Still, I catch myself replaying the way she looked under the streetlight—chin tipped stubbornly up, eyes the kind of blue that stood out even in the dark. Pretty, sure. But plenty of girls are.
That’s where it ends.
I’m not in the market for distractions, and I’m not sure my heart will ever be solid enough to risk again.
The locker room is loud with the usual pre-practice noise—helmets clattering onto benches, music spilling from someone’s speaker, half the team talking over the other half.
I keep to myself, same as always, dropping onto the bench in front of my locker. Tape, pads, helmet. Routine. No room for anything else.
“Harrison!” Logan’s voice cuts over the noise. “Where’d you disappear to last night?”
“Had enough,” I say, short and simple, tugging my jersey over my head.
“Man, you’re getting soft,” one of the linebackers jokes from down the row. “Can’t even close down a party anymore.”
I don’t bother answering. Logan smirks from across the room, but he doesn’t push.
The whistle blows, and just like that, the noise cuts off. Everyone files out, and I follow, shoulders loose, head clear.
Out here, there’s no guessing, no second-guessing. Just the field, the drills, the hits.
I drop into position, eyes locked on the offense. The snap cracks, and I’m moving, muscles firing before thought. Impact rattles through me as I drive into the runner, pads colliding, the sound sharp and final.
That’s the only thing I need. The only thing I trust.
I drop into my stance, knees bent, weight forward. The quarterback barks the cadence, the ball snaps, and instinct takes over. I read the guard’s pull, cut across the line, and slam into the running back before he has a chance to find the gap. His pads pop against mine, the impact cracking through my shoulder and chest.
He stumbles backward, feet tangling, and I drive through him until the whistle blows.
“Good pursuit, Harrison!” Coach Harding’s voice slices through the morning air. “Keep that edge!”
Harding is a hard ass, pun intended, but he’s also basically a teddy bear too.
Last year, one of my best friends and our quarterback, Carter Hayes, fell for Coach’s daughter, hard. That was a bit of a bumpy ride from what I was told, but it worked out well for them in the end. Lyla is rocking her internship, and he’s playing his first season in the NFL this year as is our former wide receiver, Jaxon Montgomery.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Montgomery is making headline after headline, already set to break some huge records during his rookie season. All the guys are planning to watch them play each other in a few weeks, even though Carter is riding his team’s bench a lot so far. He’ll get his time, I’m sure of it.
I jog back to the huddle, breathing hard but steady. Sweat runs down my spine, dampening the collar of my jersey, but it feels good. Controlled. Exactly how I like it.
The next rep resets fast. Offense lines up, trying a new look. I scan the formation, the way the tight end shifts, the quarterback’s eyes flicking wide—tells I’ve learned to read without thinking.
