Chapter 10 #2
The house is gorgeous. Of course it is. Derek bought it for them just a few weeks after the engagement, with plans for them to move in together after the wedding.
And of course, like everything else in Maya’s life, it’s perfect.
A lakefront property on White Bear Lake, with a massive deck and floor-to-ceiling windows.
It’s modern farmhouse meets Scandinavian minimalism meets “we have more money than taste but hired a designer to fix that.”
Meanwhile, my apartment is going for that “I have no money and no designer to fix it” vibe. So…samesies.
Actually, that’s not entirely true anymore.
For the first time in my adult life, I’m not panicking about rent. I paid up last month. This month. Next month. Three months ahead. The landlord did a double-take when I handed him the check.
I also made a massive payment on my student loans. Didn’t clear them—because that would require winning the lottery or a small miracle—but I made a dent. The kind of dent that means I might actually pay them off in this lifetime.
Thanks to the contract.
Thanks to twenty thousand dollars for playing pretend girlfriend.
It should feel like a victory.
Instead, it feels like I sold something I can’t get back.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Jessa
How’s it going? You freaking out yet?
Chloe
No. Not freaking out.
Jessa
That’s a lie. You used a period. You never use periods unless you’re lying.
Chloe
I’m FINE. The cupcakes look great. The games are set up. Even the bartenders are set up. Everything is great.
Jessa
So he hasn’t texted…
And there it is.
The question I’ve been avoiding all day.
No.
Brody hasn’t texted.
Well, that’s not entirely true. He texted exactly three times this week. Each one shorter than the last.
Monday: Dad’s doing better. Thanks for asking.
Wednesday: Practice has been intense. Talk soon.
Friday: Should I pick you up tomorrow? 6 p.m.?
And I said no.
I don’t even know why. Pride, maybe. Or self-preservation. After our near kiss, I’m not sure I can be trusted alone with him.
Maya’s giving me a ride. See you there.
His response: Okay.
One word.
That was it.
No “Are you sure?” No “I don’t mind picking you up.” No attempt to push back or insist or act like he wanted to see me before the party.
Just: Okay.
Cool.
So lucky me got to ride with Maya, who spent the entire drive lecturing me about needing a car.
“You can’t keep relying on Uber and the kindness of friends,” she said, merging onto the highway with the confidence of someone who’s never had to check her bank account before filling up with gas. “If you’re going to be a professional event planner, you need reliable transportation.”
“I know. I’m working on it.”
“Are you though? Because you’ve been saying that for the last year.”
“I paid off three months of rent and made a massive loan payment. The car fund is next on the list.”
She glanced at me. Surprised. “Really?” Another glance, a flash of confusion. “That’s amazing. Business must be picking up.”
“Something like that.”
Lie.
Business is not picking up. Business is barely limping along.
But the contract money is keeping me afloat.
Which makes me feel simultaneously relieved and completely gross.
I watched his game last night. Staying up late with the excuse that I was going to multitask and work on last-minute shower details. And then I sat on my couch in my pajamas with a bowl of popcorn and my laptop open to the livestream, my last-minute shower details in a forgotten pile on the floor.
And maybe—maybe—I was wearing the jersey I bought.
Number 7. Kane.
It was a splurge, ordering the official Blue Ox merch, but I told myself it was a business expense. I had to look the part. Show off a little for social media, right? How could I play the part of devoted girlfriend of Minnesota’s favorite defensive player without wearing his number?
So I took a picture.
Me in the jersey. Hair down. Smiling at the camera with my best “celebrity girlfriend” smile. I took thirteen selfies before settling on one that didn’t make me look completely deranged and posted it to Instagram with the caption:
@BleedingBlue: Cheering on my favorite player tonight! Let’s go Blue Ox!
The likes came pouring in. Comments from people I barely know.
@Sherriontheshore: So cute!
@LuvCats39: You guys are perfect together!
@Momsquad: Relationship goals!
But Brody didn’t like it.
Didn’t comment.
Didn’t acknowledge it at all.
And I told myself it was fine. He was probably focused on the game. He probably didn’t even see it.
Except I know he saw it. Because his agent commented.
@RCastellano: Great support, Chloe! Keep it up!
They lost, by the way. 3–2 in overtime. Brody was on the ice for the winning goal against them. Not his fault—the forward blew past their left wing, and Brody was caught out of position trying to cover. (Someone please be impressed that I know this about hockey.)
But I saw his face after. That careful, blank expression that means he’s beating himself up inside.
And I wanted to text him. Tell him it wasn’t his fault. Tell him one game doesn’t define him.
But I didn’t.
The last thing he needs is a pep talk from his fake girlfriend.
“Chloe?” Maya’s voice pulls me back to reality. “You okay? You’ve been staring at that cupcake for, like, two minutes.”
“What?” I blink. Look down. I’m holding a cupcake with pink frosting, frozen mid-placement on the tower. “Oh—yes. I’m good. Just doing the final touches. Making sure everything’s perfect.”
“All right, stop. It’s perfect. You’re a miracle worker.” She’s leaning against the doorframe, wearing a white dress that probably cost more than my three months of rent combined. “Seriously. This is exactly what I wanted.”
“Good. That’s good.”
She quirks a brow, pinning me down with that big-sister look that tells me she’s about to ask invasive questions.
Great. Here we go.
“So. Brody.”
There it is.
“What about him?”
“How are things? Really?”
I set down the cupcake. Act natural. “They’re good. Great, actually.”
“Really?” She walks into the kitchen. Leans against the marble island like she’s settling in for a long conversation. Like it’s the sort of thing we do all the time. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird all week. Distracted. And Derek says Brody’s been off lately…”
My chest tightens. “He’s dealing with a lot. His dad just went through—” I stop. I don’t know what about Brody’s personal life is public knowledge. “He’s been stressed.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad about his dad’s accident. Derek told me all about it.” She’s watching me carefully, her gaze piercing. “I’m glad he has you.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I never was great at lying.
“Yeah. Well, I’m glad I have him too.” I’d be even more glad if I had him here. I could really use some backup right about now.
Maya tilts her head. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“What?” Nervous chuckle. “I—of course. We’re together. Obviously I like him.”
“No, I mean really like him. You’re falling for him.”
I swear, if there were anything flammable nearby, my face could set fires. “I—yeah. I guess. Maybe.”
“Listen, Chloe, I don’t want to butt into your love life, but I feel like you’re not getting the whole truth about Brody.”
I freeze. “What about him?”
She takes a breath. Glances toward the living room like she’s making sure we’re alone. “Well, Derek’s known him a long time. They played on the same team back in college—”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It was only for a year. Derek transferred after that. But while Derek was there, he saw a different side of Brody.”
My lungs seem to tighten, waiting for her to drop whatever terrible bomb she’s dangling.
“Apparently, there was this girl they both liked—I know, drama—but she chose Brody, who supposedly wasn’t even all that interested. It rubbed Derek the wrong way.”
Losing to Brody? I want to say. Who would have thought?
“And he got it in his head that Brody’s some sort of womanizer. So when that thing between Brody and Derek’s cousin happened—”
“What thing?”
Maya pauses, her head tilting. “You didn’t hear about that?
Derek’s cousin, Ashley, is this wannabe influencer.
Honestly, she comes off a little desperate for attention to me, but Derek’s got a soft spot for her.
So he got her this social media job at a Blue Ox charity event a few months ago, and that’s when she met Brody. ”
My stomach drops.
Ashley Morrison.
The girl with the viral post about Brody.
“Ashley got Brody’s number—said it was for work, social media stuff for the team. She started texting him. I’m not sure if Brody led her on or what—”
“He didn’t.”
Maya’s voice is careful. “Well, she says he used her. And Derek believes her version.” And I believe Derek. I can read between the lines.
“But that’s not what happened.”
She lifts her hands, as if to say Who knows what’s true?
I do. I know what’s true.
“Derek only sees that his cousin got hurt and humiliated online. And he blames Brody.”
“So Derek thinks Brody is some kind of serial heartbreaker.”
“Exactly. And now Derek thinks Brody’s doing the same thing to you. Using you for his image repair and that he’s planning to dump you when the press dies down.”
If my stomach sank before, it’s bottomed out now.
Because that’s exactly what’s happening.
I think.
I don’t know anymore, because that almost-kiss at his house made things so much more complicated than they were supposed to be, and the way he held my hand at Barcelona felt so real, and I’m so confused I could scream.
“Derek’s wrong,” I say. The words taste like ash. “Brody’s not—he wouldn’t—”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Maya’s voice is soft.
Huh. For once, it doesn’t feel like condescension. She’s really worried about me.
She meets my eyes. “So I’m giving him a chance,” she says firmly. “Despite Derek’s opinions. Despite the history with Ashley and college and all of it. I’m reserving judgment.” She reaches across the island. Takes my hand. “And I think you could be really good for each other.”
I can’t speak. I mean, what would you say?
“Thanks,” I manage. My voice sounds strangled. “That means a lot.”
She squeezes my hand. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. I’ve seen how he looks at you, but I’ve seen how you look at him too. Like he’s the answer to a question you’ve been asking your whole life.”
What question is that?
The sound of a car in the driveway breaks the moment.
“I’ll get the door,” I say.
I walk to the front door. Take a breath.
Open it.
And there he is.
Standing on Maya’s sprawling front porch in dark jeans and a gray sweater that makes his eyes look like oceans of blue. Looking unfairly gorgeous in that casual, effortless way that should be illegal. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered, and he’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand.
And when he sees me, he smiles.
That Candy Kane smile. Charming. Perfect. Completely performative. And I can’t help but feel just a little disappointed.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great smile. It’s the smile that’s launched a thousand endorsement deals and made him Minnesota’s most eligible bachelor.
But that smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It feels different now. Like there’s a wall between us that wasn’t there before.
My chest tightens.
“Hi,” he says.
Or maybe it was always there, and I’m just noticing it now.
“Ready?” he asks.
I open my mouth to respond. Nod instead.
“Good,” he says, stepping forward. Brushing past me into the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
And he walks inside.