Page 97 of Play Fake
She nods, flipping through a binder before pulling out a sign-in sheet and sliding it toward him. He scrawls his name quickly, then hands me the pen without hesitation. I sign just beneath his, heart giving a little stutter as I see my name there next to Beck’s, like this is something we do all the time.
“She’s in her room today,” the nurse says, her tone professional but warm. “It’s been a quieter afternoon, but she has mentioned your last visit quite often since you came to see her. I really think it brought her a lot of happiness.”
He goes still for a moment, jaw tightening the slightest bit. “That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad to hear that.”
The nurse gives us visitor badges and motions down the hallway. “You know the way. Just remember to press the call button if you need anything.”
Beck clips the badge to his shirt, then looks at me. There’s a question in his eyes—not about whether Icanhandle it, but whether Iwantto.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m right here.”
For a beat, his gaze softens, something unspoken passing between us like a thread pulled taut. Then he nods and leads the way down the hall.
The linoleum floor gleams under the muted lights, each step echoing softly. We pass a few residents shuffling toward the common area, some talking quietly to themselves, others accompanied by family. The air hums with that strange mix of stillness and unpredictability that hangs in places like this.
By the time we reach the long-term residential wing, Beck’s grip has tightened slightly—not crushing, just enough for me to feel how much this affects him.
Outside a pale wooden door with a small plaque that readsLynn Harrison, Room 212, he pauses. I can see the way his chest rises and falls, measured and practiced, like he’s internally trying to prepare himself for what he will find behind the door.
Then he reaches for the handle.
33
SOPHIE
The door creaks softly as Beck pushes it open, his hand still warm in mine.
His mom’s room is small and has just what she needs, but nothing extra. No vases or picture frames, a few photos sit in a stack on a shelf that seems to be built into the wall, the edges rounded.
She’s sitting in a chair near the window, knees pulled up. Her hair is streaked with silver, twisted into a loose braid, and her fingers pick nervously at the hem of her sleeve.
When Beck steps inside, she startles slightly, just a quick jerk of her head, but then her expression shifts. A flicker of recognition passes through her eyes as she looks at him.
“Beckett?” she says, voice light and uncertain.
He lets out a slow breath and gives her a soft smile. “Hey, Mom.”
Her face softens. “You came.”
“Of course I did.”
We step further inside, and he gently guides me toward the second chair near her bed. “This is Sophie,” he adds quietly.
Lynn turns her gaze to me. It’s sharp at first, as if she’s searching my face for something, then it settles into something curious. “Sophie,” she repeats. “You’re very pretty.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Thank you, Mrs. Harrison. It’s really nice to meet you.”
Her hands flutter nervously, but her smile widens a little. “It’s been a long time since Beckett brought someone to visit.”
Beck clears his throat softly, pulling a chair up beside her. “We’re working on a project for class,” he explains, his voice careful.
She nods as if that makes sense, though her gaze drifts toward the corner of the ceiling for a beat too long. Her fingers start picking faster at the blanket.
“They’re watching again,” she murmurs.
My stomach tightens, but I keep my voice gentle. “Who’s watching, Mrs. Harrison?”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and intense. “Them,” she whispers, leaning forward as if to share a secret. “They’ve been following me all day. Out in the courtyard. I saw them in the trees. They think I don’t know, but I do. Ialwaysknow.”
