Fake Fiancée

Mimi stood at the door dressed in a roomy number seventeen jersey Max had given her, leggings, and her fake Uggs.

“Whatcha doing?” I asked, trying to play off my I might be pregnant face. I caught a glimpse of a yellow cab as it pulled away from the curb. She’d woken up this morning feeling better after a bout of bronchitis but was still determined to get to the game. “I was coming to get you later for the game, silly. You didn’t have to waste your money and come here.”

That had been our plan anyway.

She swallowed, and it was then I noticed the way her lips compressed.

“Mimi? What’s the matter?”

She shook her head and brushed past me and into the house, and I followed her all the way to the den.

“Your father—his cousin just called me. He’s dying. The doctors don’t expect him to make it through the weekend. He asking to see you. He’s home.”

I found myself sitting even though I hadn’t remembered doing it. My lips went numb but I managed to move them anyway. “Why now?”

Mimi sat next to me. “I don’t know. Maybe he wants to ask forgiveness. He is a preacher.”

My heart dropped. Before my mother died, he’d been a decent father to me, but could I just forget all the bad? “Do I need to be there?” I couldn’t think.

Mimi looked at me, her face set in gentle lines. “It’s ultimately up to you, but perhaps closure would be good. He’s all you have left. And it’s his dying wish.”

I sucked in a breath. “What about Max’s game?”

She nodded, petting my head like I was a child. “I know Max. He’ll understand.”

I leaned into her. “Will you—will you go with me?”

She nodded. “I’ve no love for your father, but I’ll go for you. Just you, sugar. I’ll pack us some Long Island Iced Tea, too. Well, not for you since you’ll have to do the driving.” A sad smile crossed her lips. “I wouldn’t mind visiting your mama’s grave, too. I didn’t go to the funeral.”

I nodded. I got that. Part of me wanted to see it again—and my brother’s.

I’d left so many things behind.

For three years, I’d shoved everything from North Carolina into a dark box and focused on being the person I wanted to be. But now, perhaps it was time to face my past. I stood, my head fuzzy as I stumbled toward the hallway. “I’ll pack.”

Max

WE MARCHED ON THE FIELD for the second half, the smell of popcorn and beer filling my senses. I checked the stands. Still no Sunny.

Back in the locker room, when Coach had taken a restroom break, I’d snatched my phone to see if she’d sent me any texts. She hadn’t. I sent her one.

Where are you? Worried.

She hadn’t replied, but then I’d had to put my phone away when halftime was over. I didn’t care about the appearances; I just wanted her to be okay.

Resolving to get back in the game, I slapped Tate on the back. “Dude. I’m throwing you the ball all damn day and you better catch it and hang on. We’re gonna win.”

He nodded, a gleam in his eyes. “Bloody hell, I like your pep talks.”

“Let’s do this,” I called out as we lined up. Several agreeing murmurs came from my guys. The ball snapped, and I connected a gorgeous pass to Tate, who ran a route straight to the end zone. The crowd went nuts.

At a time out, I grabbed water from one of the boys and sat on the bench with Harley, the offensive coach. He walked me through some possible scenarios of the Taylor defense.

Felix approached although I pretended to barely notice. “I see your fiancée isn’t in the stands. Wonder where she is, Kent? You think she found someone else?”

Now that I’d scored, I felt more in control. “Don’t be such a baby, Felix, just because you aren’t playing in the biggest game of my career. Fuck off.”

His ears reddened. “I hope we lose this game.”

I shook my head at him and smirked. “You will say anything to make me blow up. Guess it really doesn’t matter anyway. The police will handle you.”

His eyes narrowed. “What lies are you spouting?”

“I know what you did in the library to Sunny. Bianca told me. I skipped campus police and went to the Atlanta PD today and told them everything. Hell, I hate my father, but I even took him with me.” I forced a laugh. “Everyone loves him, you know . . . big famous NFL player and all. The cops were more than willing to listen to us. He even signed a few autographs. They’re waiting for you just outside the stadium because I asked them to let you be part of the team—just in case I got hurt.”

Part of that was true and part of that was utter bullshit. I had gone to the police, but the cops weren’t waiting for him. They didn’t have enough evidence . . . yet.

I smiled a shit-eating grin, enjoying the shock on his face. “See ya.” I jogged out on the field for another run.

We started off at the fifty, and when I saw the double coverage, I sidestepped, took an opening in the defense, and ran like hell, the sound of the crowd louder the further I went.

Touchdown! I tossed the ball in the crowd and a fan caught it.

I glanced up to Sunny’s seats and kissed my fingers—out of habit—but she still wasn’t there.

Let it go, Max. She’s okay.

I concentrated on the next possession. We lined up, the ball was snapped, and like perfect choreography, I looked down the left sideline and connected with Tate for a twenty-yard pick up. Another pass to the tight end put us within thirty yards of a touchdown.