Page 164 of Play Fake
“You played amazing,” she murmurs against my cheek.
“I had my lucky charms here,” I say, tapping her foam finger with my helmet. “Of course I did.”
Her eyes soften. It’s been over a year since we said “I do,” but moments like this still knock the air right out of me.
I look between the two of them, Sophie standing beside me, Caleb still tucked against my chest. Football has given me a lot. Buttheyare my world.
The stadium lights blaze behind us, reporters shout from the sideline, teammates slap me on the back as they head for the tunnel. I don’t care.
My wife’s hand slips into mine. Caleb rests his head on my shoulder. And for the first time after every game, win or lose, I know exactly where I’m going.
Home.
By the time we make it home, the adrenaline from the game has finally started to fade, replaced with that warm, bone-deep exhaustion that only hits after a long day. Caleb talks the entire car ride, reenacting plays, insisting hecalledthe interception before it happened, and asking a dozen questions about what happens if we make the playoffs again this year.
Sophie just smiles at me over the console, that quiet, amused look she gets when she knows I’m loving every second of it.
The house smells faintly like cinnamon from the cookies they apparently made earlier, and the moment we step inside, Caleb kicks his shoes off, drops his hoodie on the bench, and bolts down the hall to grab his favorite dinosaur pajamas.
“Five minutes,” Sophie calls after him, hanging up her coat. “Teeth, face, pajamas, then bed.”
“I knowww,” he groans from down the hall, and I have to bite back a laugh because he sounds exactly like a teenager trapped in a seven-year-old’s body.
We follow him a few minutes later, finding him already tucked under his comforter, dinosaur plushies tucked aroundhim like sentinels. He’s still buzzing from the game, but his yawns are starting to catch up. Sophie leans down to smooth his hair back from his forehead, and I sit on the edge of the bed next to him.
“You were awesome today,” he says through a sleepy grin.
“You think so?” I ask.
He nods hard. “The interception was the best part. Everyone was yelling so loud.”
“Yeah, they were,” I murmur, smiling. “But you were louder.”
That earns me a sleepy giggle.
Sophie turns to switch off the lamp, leaving just the nightlight glowing softly in the corner. Caleb rolls onto his side, hugging one of his dinosaurs tight. “Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Beck.”
Even after a year, the “Mom” still hits Sophie straight in the heart. I see it in the way her smile softens, in the quiet way she brushes her thumb across his cheek. “Goodnight, buddy. Sweet dreams.”
“Night, champ,” I say, giving the top of his head a light pat before standing.
We step out and leave his door cracked just enough for the nightlight to spill a little glow into the hallway. Sophie leans against me as we head toward our room, her head resting on my shoulder.
“He’s getting so big,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I murmur, wrapping an arm around her. “And louder.”
We move through the quiet house, the hush after Caleb’s bedtime settling around us like a warm blanket. Sophie’s still in my jersey, hair tumbling loose from her beanie, the flush of the night lingering on her cheeks.
She disappears into the bathroom, the door left open, and I hear the faint sound of water running. I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her—her reflection in the mirror, the soft light catching the curve of her neck as she gathers her hair into a messy knot.
I step up behind her. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and something in me goes soft and hungry all at once. I slip my arms around her waist, pressing my chest to her back, feeling her relax into me.
“You know,” I murmur, nuzzling her hair aside so I can press a kiss to her bare shoulder, “every time I see you in my jersey, I swear I fall in love with you all over again.”
She grins, her eyes meeting mine in the glass, a little teasing spark lighting in her gaze. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm.” My hands slide under the hem, finding warm skin beneath cotton, and she shivers against me. I watch her reaction in the mirror—the way her breath catches, the way her cheeks flush deeper. My fingers trace slow, lazy circles along her hips, up her sides.
