Page 82 of Play Fake
The cheer squad breaks formation, the crisp edges of our performance melting into post-game chatter. The crowd’s already thinning, students drifting toward the exits or making plans to hit the football house.
Ava falls into step beside me as we head toward the locker rooms to grab our bags. “Well,” she says, exhaling dramatically. “That was brutal.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, tugging my bow loose and running a hand through my ponytail.
“They had it,” she adds, shaking her head. “Beck and Logan were on fire the whole game, but…” She trails off with a shrug, letting the end speak for itself.
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. The final minutes keep replaying in my head like a broken highlight reel—the moment the receiver slipped past coverage, the look on Beck’s face as the game tilted away from them. He didn’t yell or throw his helmet like some of the others. He took the loss as well as anyone could, really. Quietly, being in complete control of his emotions. That somehow hurts more.
We grab our stuff from the locker room, slipping out of our cheer gear and into hoodies and leggings. Ava’s already making plans to meet up with some of the other girls at the house later, but I shake my head when she asks if I’m coming.
“Nah,” I say, forcing a light smile. “I’m wiped. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
She gives me a look—part curious, part knowing—but doesn’t push. “Okay. Love you, loser.”
“Love you too,” I say, bumping her shoulder as we part ways.
The walk back to my dorm is quiet, the campus buzzing faintly with post-game energy in the distance. I hug my bag to my chest, my thoughts drifting back to Beck against my will.
Normally after a loss, the team either blows off steam at the house or goes radio silent for the night. Either way, he’ll probably want space. He’s not the type to need cheering up—or want anyone to see him bruised like that.
Still, as I climb the stairs to my room and fumble with my key, I catch myself glancing at my phone more than once. Waiting for a text that probably isn’t coming.
Snickers greets me with a loud meow the second I walk in, rubbing against my leg like I’ve been gone for weeks. I drop my bag, scoop her up, and let her warm little body settle in my arms.
“Yeah, yeah,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to her fur. “I missed you too.”
But even with her purring against me, I can’t quite shake the image of Beck walking down that tunnel—tired, focused, a little bit untouchable. And the weird ache that comes with wanting to be someone who could reach him anyway.
Steam curls out of the tiny bathroom as I step back into my room, a towel wrapped snugly around me and another twisted up in my hair. My skin is warm and pink from the hot water, my muscles finally loosening after a long night of cheering.
Snickers has claimed my pillow like she pays rent, blinking up at me with slow, unimpressed eyes as I move toward my dresser. “You could at leastpretendto guard the place,” I mutter, grabbing a clean set of pajamas.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I glance at the screen…and freeze.
Beck: sorry I didn’t catch you after the game. you coming to the party tonight?
For a second, I just stare, towel half slipping down my shoulder, heart doing this stupid little flutter thing that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
I wasn’t expecting to hear from him tonight. After the loss, I figured he’d be off with the team, decompressing—or in his own head, the way he gets sometimes. But here he is, checking in.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, water still dripping from my hair onto the towel wrapped around me, rereading the message more times than I’d ever admit.
I wipe my hand on the towel and type back quickly before I can overthink it.
Hey. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to hang out after the game. Tough loss.
The typing bubbles appear almost immediately.
Beck: yeah. sucked. but we’ll bounce back. just didn’t see you on the field after.
My stomach does a little flip. He looked for me.
I went to grab my stuff with Ava. Figured you’d want space.
There’s a pause before the bubbles return.
