Final Play (Fake Boyfriend 6)

Chapter One

MATT

The incessant buzzing of my phone on the bedside table drags me from sleep. I’ve been avoiding it for about five minutes now, and every time it stops, it picks right back up. It’s the middle of the goddamn night.

“I swear if that’s Jet drunk dialing us to tell us he misses us again, I’m gonna fly him home to give him a hug and shut him up,” Noah grumbles.

“Not if I kill him first.” I’m not as loving as my husband when my sleep is interrupted.

I reach blindly for my phone. With my eyes still closed, I hit Answer without looking. “Someone better be dead, in jail, or on fire.”

“Matt?” The sweet Southern voice hits my ears, and I bolt up in bed, wide-awake in a millisecond. It’s not Char, the only sister I’m still in contact with, but that’s all I can tell. It makes me feel like a shit brother for not knowing what my own sisters’ voices sound like.

It has to be Daisy. Jet and I decided we’d wait until the other kids were eighteen before getting Char to give them our contact details. Daisy turned eighteen a few months ago, and when we didn’t hear from her, I figured she didn’t want to talk to us—that she was on team homophobe with Mom and Dad.

“What’s wrong, Daisy?” It can’t be anything good this time of night.

“It … it’s not Daisy.”

“Fern?”

“C-Can you … Can you come get me?”

My heart pounds erratically. “Where are you?”

“O’Hare.” Her voice is so small.

In the middle of the night?

Noah sits up, wrapping his arms around me. “Babe?”

“I’m on my way,” I say to Fern and end the call.

Noah reaches over and turns on the bedside light while I scramble to find some clothes in my drawers. A shirt is easy. Pants are a different story.

“Another sibling kicked out for being gay?” Noah asks.

I pause. “Fuck, probably. I didn’t ask why she’s here.”

“She’s in Chicago?”

“Flew into O’Hare.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I give Noah a pair of his jeans and keep rummaging for my own. “Do I have anything clean?”

“How would I know?”

“Did you do a load of laundry?”

“Did you?”

“Fuck.”

Noah finds a shirt and throws it on. “You’re the one who decided we shouldn’t be spoiled brats and canceled the maid service.”

I find some sweats in my bottom drawer. “It didn’t make sense to have one in New York for half the year and one in Chicago for the rest of the time.”

“We’re not getting into this again. We need to go rescue your lesbian sister.”

We rush for wallets and jackets, my hands shaking as I wrap a scarf around my neck. I’m flustered and trembling by the time we get to the front door of our penthouse apartment.

Noah pulls me close to him, holding me tight but kissing me softly. It’s reassuring and pulls me back from going into full-on freak-out mode. For the second time in four years, one of my siblings has escaped Tennessee and come looking for me.

Noah and I have spoken about it before. I’ve wanted to move my siblings here with us, but because of flitting between Chicago and New York, being preoccupied during football season, as well as Char’s updates that everything is going well with them, we decided they might have a more stable life at home. Admittedly, living with our parents was never great, but it’s not like they’re abusive. Just absent.

That’s what I tell myself when I feel guilty about not fighting harder for my brother and sisters—but it’s not like I can force myself into my siblings’ lives. I have no legal rights as the older brother.

I don’t know what being in Chicago could mean for Fern. She’s seventeen, will be eighteen in a few months, but I don’t know what it means legally. If Mom and Dad kicked her out, do I have to file for custody or does the government not care about that stuff? She could become a ward of the state, and in that case, she might have to return to Tennessee. I don’t know how these things work.

We never had to worry about this with Jet because he was nineteen when he came to us.

“Babe,” Noah says. “We’ll work it out.”

I let out a loud breath, and my shoulders relax. It never ceases to amaze me how well Noah knows what I need and when I need it.

It’s no secret we rushed into the whole marriage thing, getting hitched after only a few months. Our honeymoon phase was literally still during the newly dating phase, so there was a lot of learning about each other.

Now we move in sync and can sense each other’s needs.

Noah holds my hand on the way to our building’s parking garage, giving me that little bit of extra comfort, letting me know he’s here for me.