Fake Fiancée

I dreamed.

My mom was dead, lying on a sterile hospital bed. Her lashes rested lightly on her cheeks and part of me expected her to open them and send me her usual smile.

“You don’t have to stay,” the doctor murmured. He put a tentative hand on my shoulder, and I shook it off.

I picked her hand up as tears pricked at my eyes.

“The aneurysm was in her brain—there wasn’t anything you could do,” he murmured as if reading my thoughts. “Her death was instant.”

I nodded. Yeah. They’d gone over it with me—again and again. It was just so sudden. I wanted to yell at the doctor—tell him that it wasn’t fair—that she was all I had—but I held back, all of seventeen going on ancient.

I tucked her hand under the covers, touched her cheek lightly, and then walked out the door.

I had to get out of there.

I exited the hospital and found my Harley. The bike was new, and she’d insisted I drive it up for our vacation while she followed in her Mercedes. I’d parked it in a fire lane when I’d followed the ambulance. Fuck them. Let them try to tow me. I’d fucking . . .

I stopped, squeezing my eyes shut as I sat down on the concrete curb next to the road, exhausted. She fought to be happy for so long and right when she’d gotten there . . .

Someone walked past me, whispering, and I realized I had to get further away.

I got on my bike and rode out of the parking lot with nothing but my backpack and wallet.

I drove and drove until I had no clue where I was.

Needing to piss, I drove down a rural gravel road to a shoreline that overlooked a huge lake.

I wanted to throw rocks in it, scream at it. So I did. I yelled obscenities and rammed my fist into my palm. I cursed at God for taking her.

Toeing my shoes off, I laid down on the rocks, letting them dig into my backside. I didn’t care. At least it was something.

My heart ached.

I wanted my mom back . . .

I wanted Sunday morning waffles.

I wanted her to hug me right before a game.

A sob tore at my throat. Fuck. Not again with the crying shit.

A convertible Mustang sped by on the bridge above me, swerved, and hit the guardrail.

I sat up.

A grinding noise shattered the eerie silence as the rail gave way and the car soared into the lake.

I didn’t stop to think. Off came the clothes. I snatched my knife from my backpack, and in seconds I was in the water and swimming to where I could just barely see the top of the car.

Down I swam, putting all my grief into saving a life. If I could do this . . . there was fucking hope left in the world. I cut a hole and grabbed a hand that came through. I tugged the person out.

Once on the shore, I checked for vitals—no breathing but I had a pulse—and did CPR.

Beautiful relief hit me when she came to, her face deathly pale.

Strings of long hair wrapped around her neck and shoulders, and I moved them out of the way, noticing that even wet, her hair was blond. When dry, it must be nearly white. Her face was delicate, with a small nose and full lips. Lying in my arms, she didn’t look real.

How old was she?

My fingers brushed her shoulders and she trembled at the touch.

I wanted to ask her name—but I didn’t.

I didn’t have to.

Luminous gray eyes peered up at me.

“Sunny,” I whispered.

My eyes flared open as I awoke with a jump. Fuck me. She had been in front of me the entire time—and I’d forgotten her. I’d always remembered helping a girl out of a watery grave—hell, I’d even told Tate about it freshman year, but the other details . . .

I raked a hand through my hair. Did she remember me?

She did. My gut knew it.

And suddenly my heart was pounding. Was this why she’d been off with me lately?

“Bad dream?” Tate asked.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes, still wrapping my head around the knowledge.

“Must have been. Dude. You okay?”

No. I wasn’t. I shook my head, pushing his voice out as he continued to talk. So many things clicked into place—the automatic connection, that magnetic pull I felt, how she’d never been a stranger to me.

“You getting off the bus?” Tate asked as he gathered up his gym bag.

What?

I gazed around. We’d pulled up at the field house and parked. “Yeah. I—I need to see Sunny.”

Tate had already texted a groupie to pick him up, and he headed to her car as he stepped to the curb. Ryn was riding with me, and we headed to the Land Cruiser parked closer to the field house.

I’d just crawled in the front seat and cranked it when I heard a girl scream.

“What was that?” Ryn said as we both flipped around to look out the rear window. We saw Bianca and Felix arguing a few feet away next to her white Lexus. She’d apparently been here to greet him.

Let it go, Max.

But then he jabbed his finger in her shoulder.

My eyes swept the lot. Of course, all the coaches had bolted, either heading off in their car or they’d gone into the field house to dump equipment. The only people left were the handful who’d been in the back of the bus.

Ryn and I got back out of my car and headed to where they were. Because I had issues with Felix, I let Ryn step in first. I was the captain of this team, but sometimes that came with knowing when not to open your big mouth.

“Nothing to see here,” Felix snapped when Ryn asked what was the matter.

Bianca sent me a pleading look, almost as if telling me to go away. She played with her wrists, red marks on them. He’d tugged on her. Maybe she’d been in his face? My hands tightened. Whatever the reason, there was no excuse for manhandling a girl—not when you’re as big as Felix.