Page 64 of Faking with Three

Olivia lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "What are you even talking about?"

I exchange a glance with the others, the unspoken agreement settling between us. It’s now or never.

"I like you," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I have for a long time, and all those feelings came rushing back when I saw you outside the apartment. I was just stupid enough not to acknowledge those feelings before. And I thought… I thought maybe you felt the same way."

"You’re not the only one," Marcus says, his voice quieter but no less resolute. He steps forward, his eyes locking onto hers. "I care about you, Olivia. More than I ever expected to."

Jax finally pushes off the doorframe, his smirk fading into something softer, more vulnerable. "Yeah, well, get in line," he says, his tone lighter but his gaze serious. "Because I’m pretty sure I like her, too."

Olivia looks between us, her expression unreadable, her hand still clasped in mine. My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

"I…" she starts, her voice faltering. She shakes her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. "This is insane."

"Maybe," I say, stepping closer to her, my voice soft but firm. "But it’s the truth. And you need to know it."

For a long moment, the room is silent, the air thick with unspoken tension. I can’t read her expression, can’t tell what she’s thinking, but I’m desperately hoping, praying, that she’lllook at me and say something—anything—that will tell me I still have a chance.

"You can’t keep running from this, Olivia," I say, keeping my tone as even as I can. "We need an answer. You need to choose. Otherwise, we can’t move forward with Love Lab."

She stares at me, her eyes wide, stunned. "Are you serious?" she asks, her voice rising slightly. "Even with the injunction, that’s what you’re worried about?"

"Yes," I say, my voice firm but not unkind. "I need to know where I stand. Where we all stand. This…whatever this is between us—it’s bleeding into everything else. And we can’t keep pretending it’s not."

She looks like I’ve slapped her. Her shoulders sag slightly, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I can’t," she says quietly.

"Why not?" Jax steps forward, his voice softer than I expect, but there’s an edge to it. He’s trying to mask the frustration, but I can see it in the tight line of his jaw.

"Because," Olivia says, her voice trembling, "I think I might like all three of you."

My mind races to catch up, my heart pounding in my chest. Did she just say…?

I glance at Marcus, whose face is frozen in stunned silence, and then at Jax, who looks like he’s been physically struck. Neither of them says a word.

I turn back to Olivia, but before I can speak, she’s already moving. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she spins on her heel and bolts for the door.

This time, I don’t stop her. I can’t. My hand falls limply to my side as the door slams shut behind her.

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest feels tight, like I’ve been punched, and my brain is a whirlwind of emotions I can’t quite name.

"Well," Jax says finally, breaking the silence, "didn’t see that coming."

I rub the back of my neck, my mind still stuck on Olivia’s words. All three of us? Is that even possible? And what does that mean for any of us?

Marcus exhales sharply, folding his arms. "This is…complicated."

"Understatement of the year," I mutter, shaking my head.

But as stunned as I feel, I can’t ignore the undercurrent of something else—something darker and more insidious. Doubt. Jealousy. A quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering that maybe I’m not the one she’ll choose.

Or worse…maybe she won’t choose any of us.

CHAPTER 20

JAX

The parking lotof the old community sports complex is just as I remember it: cracked asphalt, faded lines, and the faint smell of rubber wafting from the gym shoes of kids and parents walking by. It’s been years since I’ve set foot here. Too long. The last time I played was a lifetime ago—before the injury, before the endless nights of trying to figure out who I was without the game.

I park my truck and grab my bag from the back seat, its weight almost nostalgic. My gear rattles slightly inside, reminding me of a version of myself I’ve all but buried. As I walk toward the rink, laughter and shouts grow louder. Kids dart around with sticks and pucks, their movements wild but full of energy. Parents lean on fences or sit on the bleachers, cheering them on. The place is alive, buzzing with the kind of hope I used to feel every time I laced up my skates.

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