Fake Fiancée
Page 58I missed her.
It was the knocking at my door that woke me on game day.
I checked my phone. It was six in the morning, and too damn early for a normal person.
I lumbered out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, and opened the front door where a teary Bianca practically fell in my arms. I caught her to keep her from hitting the floor.
What now?
“Bianca?” I asked, as I set her back on her feet. “Wanna tell me why you’re crying?”
“It’s Felix.”
My chest rose. For the sake of the game, I’d let the knife thing go, but I didn’t want to be reminded of the asshole. I spent my time avoiding him this week as much as possible.
“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”
She wiped at her face with her hands. “No. I almost wish he had.”
Okay.
She tugged her sweater around her shoulders and sat on the couch.
Tate came out of his room in his boxers and took in the scene. He squinted at me. “What’s she doing here?”
He’d never liked her.
I shrugged. His guess was as good as mine.
She fluttered her eyes. “I came because of something I found out last night. I’m sick of keeping secrets, and as much as it hurts me to say this, I think Felix is out of control.”
“Go on,” I said.
She bit her lip, an apologetic gleam in her eyes as she took me in. “I know Felix has pulled pranks on you—like the snake freshman year. What you don’t know is he also left a daisy at Sunny’s door just to screw with her. He wants what you have . . .” a small sobbing sound came from her as fresh tears flowed. “And he probably only dated me because he knew it would bother you. But what people don’t realize is that I really care about him. I wanted him to have everything too. I wanted him to have your spot, and I pushed him and urged him on when he’d do things. I tried to make him jealous by talking about you—but I’d never condone what he’s done lately.”
My senses sharpened. “Like what?”
“I went to his place last night to see him—I don’t know—just because I still care even though he’s seeing Cyndi. He let me in. He—he bragged about messing with your car and getting away with it.”
I slapped my fist into my palm.
She closed her eyes. “He’s also responsible for Sunny being locked in the library.”
Cold fury ran over me. My teeth snapped and my eyes narrowed. “Did he get you to do it?” I bit the words out.
“Max . . .” Tate said, and I heard the tenseness in his tone.
“Shut up, Englishman. Let her talk.”
Bianca shook her head furiously. “It wasn’t me. I promise. That night at the library I was with Felix, but we were having problems. I went to the restroom, and when I came back he was talking to Cyndi. They were whispering, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I heard Sunny’s name. I stormed off, and I don’t know what happened after I left them—but I can imagine. I overheard him talking to Cyndi in the stairwell a few days ago. They were laughing about it.” She twisted her face, tears falling. “I’d never do that, Max. She could have been hurt.”
She had been hurt! She’d fallen off a goddam cart. What if she’d broken her neck?
I ran both hands through my hair. “Why are you telling me this now? Why not as soon as you knew about the basement?”
Her face caved in on itself. “Because I love him. I kept thinking we were going to get back together—but last night he told me he was done with me for good.” Fresh tears came.
I stood and paced around the room, my head a mess. Bianca didn’t give a shit about anyone but herself and the only reason she was tattling was because she was miffed at Felix.
What had I ever seen in her?
But Felix?
I was going to kill that fucker.
In the background I heard Tate dealing with Bianca, talking to her and edging her toward the door. She kept apologizing for coming over early, saying that she’d been up all night wrestling with what to do.
I barely noticed.
I walked to the bathroom and turned on the cold water at full blast and splashed my face. Wiping it off with my hand, I glared at myself in the mirror.
Tate came to the open door, his voice calm. “She’s gone. You okay?”
I gripped the edges of the sink and looked at him. “I could let the daisy thing go. And the car—it’s just money, and I know he wants me to get mad. But locking her in a fucking basement? Hell no.” I tied my hair up in a man-bun.
Tate frowned. “What are you going to do, mate? Do I need to call Coach?” I heard the worry in his voice, and it reminded me that he needed this game too. It was his senior year, and with the draft coming up, every single play counted toward making your stats look good. I rubbed my face.
I could tell Coach, but at this point there was no proof, and I’d seen his reaction already. Maybe Coach didn’t want to believe it. Maybe Coach needed this win so bad he was past caring what happened off the field. Plus, it was hearsay and he’d tell me he couldn’t do jack about that. I had to come up with how to handle Felix. And it had to be good—good enough that I didn’t lose the game or get kicked off the team. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">