Page 38 of Faking Ties

I frown, not liking that his mom didn’t support his passion. Maybe it’s a good thing that she’s not in his life if she can’t appreciate him.

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you close to your parents?”

“I don’t like to talk about my family to protect them,” I hedge. Stella told me that’s why she hasn’t once commented about her parents. She has the belief that no one needs to know about them to like her music. I have a feeling they aren’t close, but I don’t know for sure.

“I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me.”

Shit. I’ve got to make a decision—do I tell him the truth or lie?

The thought of lying makes me nauseous. I’m already lying about so much. I don’t want to addanother thing to it and have something else I have to remember. I also selfishly want to continue to get to know him, though God only knows why I want that.

“My mom and I are as close as close can be. But my dad? We used to be, but he cheated on my mom, and I couldn’t forgive him.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“No,” I say. “Not for the last six years. At first, he tried to contact me, but he gave up after he found a new family.”

“Six years is a long time…”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t deserve to have a relationship with me. I’m still holding a grudge against him for not trying harder to repair what he broke. I was the one left to care for Mom after—” I break off. Stella’s mom was never in a car accident. Stella never had to care for her while dealing with the fallout of her family being destroyed. I have to swallow back the truth and just leave it at, “He broke her heart and moved on to a new family within a few months and I was…forgotten. Months.” I choke on the word, wishing it never existed. I take a shaky breath, trying to compose myself, but it doesn’t work. “Months is all it took for years of a relationship to disappear as if it never existed in the first place.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The blanket rustles as he moves around on his couch. “Your dad is an ass for doing that to you. You’re someone who is unforgettable.”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. Am Ireally unforgettable? It doesn’t feel that way if my own father could leave me so easily. I cover my eyes with my hand, trying to push the tears back into my eyes. But it’s a useless endeavor because they fall anyway. “Tell me something funny,” I plead with him. “I don’t want to go to sleep sad.”

More rustling, then a knock at the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“Because it sounds like you need a hug.”

“Fine,” I whisper.

He comes in wearing only a pair of sweatpants, slung low on his chiseled hips. He’s at my side in an instant and pulls me into his arms and gives me the best hug I’ve ever had. I always thought Mom’s hugs were the best, but Hunter’s? They’re on another level. Comforting. Strong. Safe. But at the same time, there’s a charged undercurrent that races beneath my skin. It’s like the hug is a declaration of intent, and an awful lot like coming home to a place I never knew existed but was missing my entire life.

After endless minutes, he finally pulls away and lays me back down onto the bed, bringing the covers up to my chin. He lies on top of the covers and turns to face me.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he says.

“I don’t know…”

“I promise, he doesn’t.” He lightly brushes some hair from my face. “And to answer your question, all pantssuck when you’re hard. Even jeggings or maybe especially jeggings.”

I give him a watery laugh. “Mystery solved.”

“Speaking of mysteries, do you know how one sock always goes missing in the laundry? Well, some famous physicists reason that a spontaneous black hole is the cause.” I snort and he nods seriously before going on to tell me more ridiculous theories until I fall asleep with a smile on my face and Hunter next to me.

HUNTER

Sweat slicks my palms as we huddle around Jake. It’s our first game of the season and it’s a home game. We’re in the red zone, prime scoring territory. The crowd buzzes, anticipating a touchdown. Jake barks out the play: “Omaha, Green. Right Slash.”

This is what I’ve been waiting for, for the pass to go to me.

On the snap, I break right,a blur of green against the black of the defense.The ball,a perfect spiral,seems to hang in the air.I leap,fingertips brushing the leather before I engulf it in a tight grip.I land with a thud,the ball clutched securely to my chest, and sprint toward the end zone.

The defenders try to stop me, but they can’t. I’m untouchable.

The roar of the crowd is a tidal wave,threatening to drown out everything else when I cross the goal line.

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