Page 49 of Fake Out Hearts

“You’re damn right it does. ‘Till death do us part’ and all that,” he says, leaning against the locker behind him.

My stomach twists again—mostly because I don’t actually have any idea how long Becca and I are going to have to fake this. It should be as short as a couple of years, but it could take longer if we want to be extra safe and make sure she’ll maintain her residency after the divorce.

“How are your parents taking the news?” Noah asks, cocking his head.

I groan. “Fine, but goddamn do I wish I’d told them before announcing it to the whole world in the press like I did.”

“Uh, yeah, that might’ve been a good idea.”

“Yeah, you should’ve heard my mom when she called the other day. I mean, she was happy for me on the one hand, but she was upset she had to find out that way.”

“Can’t say I blame her. It probably brought up all kinds of questions.”

“You have no idea. She wants me to be happy, so I don’t blame her for being skeptical about how fast this happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the green card thing. I’m not sure she’d understand.”

“Well, to be fair, it’s a lot for anyone to wrap their head around. But I know you’re close with your parents, so I’m sure they’ll come around eventually. Assuming you tell them someday.”

“I’ll have to eventually. I’m just taking my time.”

“I bet they’d understand more than you think they would. Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. Keep this energy up, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” I say and grin at him. Noah smiles back and leaves me alone in the locker room to finish cleaning myself up. I’m not really sure why, but talking to him makes me feel better, so I leave the arena with a smile on my face and a confidence I haven’t felt in a while.

Maybe I need to take my own advice and start believing everything is going to be fine. As easy as it is to buy into the fear that everyone’s out to get me right now, I can’t. Playing hockey is like riding a bike—once you learn it, you never really forget. So yeah, I might be in a slump right now, but dwelling on it all the time isn’t doing anything other than making a self-fulfilling prophecy out of it. The more I let myself get weighed down by all of this, the more likely I’ll make it that something bad will happen.

Becca is right. I helped score the winning goal in our last game, and I just left the other guys in my dust on the ice. The only thing in my way is me. And I’ve got to knock that shit off.

I climb into my car and drive home with the windows cracked just to feel the cold night air on my face. Something about the crisp chill always helps clear my mind. I don’t know what Becca is up to, but I don’t want to bring home any negativity to her. She has enough of her own to worry about, so she doesn’t need my crap piled on top.

And I don’t want a repeat of what happened between us the other night, either, so hopefully the cold air will help tamp that down too. This fake marriage thing is already hard enough, and the tension that has been building between us lately isn’t helping. I need to get it and myself under control, because the last thing I want is to ruin this. For Becca’s sake.

When I walk into the condo, I don’t see any sign of her, so I wonder if she’s gone out until I remember that I saw hercar parked in the garage. So, unless she went for a walk or something, she’s here somewhere.

“Becca? I’m home,” I call down the hall toward her room, but I get no response.

When I peek around the corner, I see her bedroom door is wide open, but she’s not inside. Then I hear the faint thud of music coming from somewhere in the house.

I follow it back into the kitchen and realize it’s coming from the gym, so Becca must be upstairs. I head that way, and the music grows louder. She’s blasting some sort of upbeat pop anthem, and hearing it makes me realize that, until now, I didn’t have a clue what kind of music she likes. But somehow, this fits her perfectly.

When I reach the doorway of the gym, I stop. Becca is on the far side of the room, where there are several mirrors mounted on the wall. She kicks and spins, her body moving as fluidly and gracefully as water, and I realize she’s practicing her dancing.

I shouldn’t be watching her like this, but I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her movements perfectly match the tempo of the song, and I can’t tell if this a routine she’s memorized or if she’s improvising, but it looks flawless either way.

But then she spots me in the reflection and freezes. Her face flushes immediately, and she drops her arms as she hurries over to her phone, which is sitting on one of the weightlifting benches to stop the music. She must have paired her phone to the speaker system.

“Oh, Theo! Sorry, I didn’t know when you’d be home,” she says a little breathlessly.

“No need to be sorry. I’m the one walking in on you. I tried to get your attention, but…”

“No, it’s fine. There’s no way I was going to hear you over that,” she says, waving away my apology.

“Well, sorry for interrupting you, but… wow. You’re good. Like,incrediblygood.”

Her blush deepens and she waves me away. “I’m not the most amazing dancer technically.”

“I’m no expert, but I know a few things about moving your body, and that looked pretty fucking perfect to me.”

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