The Fake Zone: A Fake Dating Sports Romance (Oleander Springs Series Book 3)

“Are you excited to go home to New Mexico?” I ask Evelyn as we take the same route Grey and I have been running every morning for the past six days.

It’s the first time I’ve braved running a second run in the same day, and already I want to quit. I’m still not sure how Evelyn finds enjoyment or peace while running when all I can think about is how long until we can stop.

“I’m still undecided,” Evelyn says as a man on a bicycle passes us. “My parents still refuse to be in a room together, and with classes starting the day after we get home, I kind of wish we canceled.”

“It’s going to be good for you guys, and if you start to feel stressed out, just remember you have three days of relaxation at the end of your trip while staying at an all-inclusive resort.”

Hudson had been worried that the Christmas gift he gave to Evelyn would be misconstrued, but I assured him it was a good idea, reminding him how nervous Evelyn was to return home this year with her parents’ recent divorce and the myriad of changes she was dreading.

Evelyn’s face flushes, and a goofy grin crosses her features. It’s her Hudson face.

“Besides, most of the professors will be exhausted after our six-week break and won’t want to jump into anything, either. The first week or two will be slow, and come March, Hudson will be drowning in practices again, so this was a good idea.”

I try my damnedest to sound convincing because inside, I’m curled in the fetal position, realizing my two best friends will be gone an entire week, and I won’t even have classes to distract me. My parents being home is my silver lining.

We run a mile and a half down where the trail intercedes with Birch Park, home of the springs that Oleander Springs was named after. The popular park draws tourists hundreds of years later with the lore that the springs contain healing powers. It’s one of the largest parks in the city, sprawling several acres with multiple playgrounds, walking trails, soccer fields, and more. I’ve been taking the same route with Grey every morning.

Evelyn coughs and slows to a stop. I had been worried I’d slow her down, but the cool afternoon has her asthma flaring.

“Want to sit?” I ask.

She shakes her head and places both hands above her head, prompting thoughts of Grey telling me to do the same, explaining that doing so would open my lungs.

A tightness forms in my stomach. I’ve been trying to forget how it felt to be kissed by Grey, but the memory slams into me sometimes, distracting me from all coherent thoughts.

Evelyn coughs again. The dry, high-pitched sound chills me. She’s never been afraid of her asthma, but the condition has consumed my thoughts more than once. Sometimes her attacks can be so sudden and intense.

Evelyn pulls in a slow breath through her nose and blows it out even slower through her lips. I strive to appear calm while watching her even though I’m not.

“My feet are killing me. Let’s sit for just a minute.”

Evelyn doesn’t buy my story for even a second, her shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. You’re working so hard.”

“I refuse your apology,” I tell her, linking my sweatshirt-covered arm with hers. Evelyn is painfully independent, a perfectionist, and above all, loyal. I hate that she feels even an ounce of guilt for us stopping.

We cross the parking lot to reach the benches that line the park and sit across from a group of adults doing CrossFit. Evelyn’s shoulder brushes mine as she reaches for her inhaler and pulls the medicine into her lungs. While we wait for it to work, I watch the class roll giant tires and lift heavy ropes. They’re constantly releasing battle cries and groaning, their faces twisted with exertion. I wonder if this is how I look when I work out.

A man from the CrossFit class sets down a pair of ropes and walks to the edge of the field near us. He’s tall and bulky, his long hair pulled back in a man bun. He shoots a snot rocket, adjusts himself, and then hocks a loogie before his gaze collides with us. Rather than appear sheepish, a wolfish smile crests his lips.

It’s petty and vain that his attention makes me feel good about myself. Most mornings while working out with Grey, my ensemble of baggy sweats, messy bun, and no makeup have guys looking past me like I don’t exist. Of course, it would be the guy who shoots snot rockets who doesn’t find me completely unremarkable.

I look away before he considers coming closer.

Evelyn chuckles, but the sound is still too high.

A cooler with a handwritten dollar sign taped to the front catches my attention. I find a small handful of singles in my jacket. Thank goodness I never clean out my pockets. “They have water,” I say, knowing hydration helps during her attacks. “I’ll be right back.”

I cross the damp grass to the cooler, shove a single into the crayon box marked “Cash,” and fish out a water bottle.

As I stand, a feeling of unease crosses my shoulders and has my spine snapping straight. Audiences often joke about intuition in movies, whether a character possesses too much or not enough, which has always led me to question if my own instincts are faulty since they’re always on high alert. Goose bumps pepper my skin, and adrenaline heats my blood as my gaze shoots to Evelyn, ensuring she’s okay and conscious. She’s still on the bench, but a man is beside her, offering her something.

Having lived with so many strangers over the years, faces and even builds and mannerisms can tickle at being familiar, and as I jog back across the field, something about this man niggles at my awareness, taunting me that I know him.

My heart beats faster and harder with every step I take to close the distance and see more than the stranger’s back and dark curly hair.

He turns to walk away before I can reach Evelyn, a water bottle in her hand.

“Don’t drink that,” I call, raising my hand to catch Evelyn’s attention.

The man stops and turns, his dark hair catching the single ray of sunshine in the muted afternoon. My heart feels like it stops as my feet speed up. His narrow frame, gaunt cheekbones, straight nose, and thin mouth are the same. But how? Why? If I were in a movie right now, I’d be the character everyone was rolling their eyes over because I’m refusing to believe it’s him, though I know it is.

Julian Holloway, the man who broke into my apartment last year, stares at me. “Mila,” he says my name with a note of familiarity that shoots adrenaline through my bloodstream.

“What are you doing here?”

He raises both hands. “I work here.” He slowly points at a riding lawnmower in the distance. “I was making sure she was okay.”

Evelyn stands and comes to my side. “Should I call Hudson?”

I move, standing in front of her. “Leave us alone, or I’ll call the police.”

He cocks his head as though trying to process my warning. His eyes turn sinister, and he takes a step toward us. “What are you going to tell them? This is where I work now after you got me fired.” Agitation lines each of his punctuated words.

“You got yourself fired,” I snap back.

“I was just trying to talk to you.”

I shake my head and take two steps back, shuffling Evelyn with me. “You broke into my apartment, psycho!” I regret the insult as soon as it leaves my lips.

I know from years of living with people whose tempers were as fragile as their egos that insults only escalate a tense situation, but thirteen and a half years of not having to worry about retaliation that came in the form of being beaten, starved, or stolen from has me forgetting the survival skills I honed at a young age.

Evelyn gasps as her hand grips the back of my sweatshirt, tugging me backward another step.

Rage contorts his features as he takes three steps toward us. “You ignored me for years, you bitch. What was I supposed to do?”

Three women and a man from the CrossFit group approach us. “Is there a problem?” a woman in her early forties with dark hair and shoulders that look like she could bench press me asks.

Julian once again raises both hands. “No problem. I was just trying to help.”

The dark-haired woman looks at me for verification, but I can’t respond because the word “years” is eddying in my thoughts.

“Years?”

Julian’s expression turns savage, and then he turns toward the riding lawn mower across from us.

“Are you guys okay?” a woman with blonde pigtails asks us.

“No,” Evelyn says.

My chest is tight, I’m sweating and shaking, and my mouth is dry. It’s the beginning of a panic attack. I immediately think of the balance of stars and the analogy that first therapist helped me learn.

I blow out a breath as slowly as possible, searching for four things to lock my gaze upon, followed by three sounds and two scents, knowing I need to keep it together for both of us right now.

I wish I could call Jon and Alex and ask them to come and get us. They would. They’d drop everything and be here, but they’re on a flight heading for us.

Unease crawls up my spine as I turn my attention to the strangers, realizing I need to ask for help outside my tiny circle. It makes me itch with discomfort. “Would you guys mind staying with us for a minute? I’m just going to see if we can get a ride.”

“Is that guy bothering you? Should we call the cops?” a girl with black hair and friendly brown eyes asks, glancing toward Julian.

“Yes,” Evelyn says. “We should.”

“He was in a holding cell overnight for breaking into my apartment,” I remind her. “There’s no way he’ll get arrested for giving you a water bottle in a public park.”

“He admitted to following you. For years.”

Chills race down my arms.

The strangers stare at me. “That’s serious shit,” the brunette says.

Evelyn’s uneven breaths are a taunt, threatening to overwhelm me.

“I’m going to get us a ride. You need to use your inhaler again.”

I grip my phone, trying to stop myself from shaking as I, once again, push outside of the comfort zone that wants me to message only Hudson. I add Palmer, Nolan, Corey, Grey, Hannah, and Hadley and send a group text requesting a ride. It’s vague. Hudson will be annoyed I lacked any sense of urgency, but it feels like taking a step on the moon as I wait to see if one of them replies.

Hadley: I am checking out at Target now. I can be there in 25 minutes. Is that too long?

Hannah: I’m home. I can be there in 15.

Corey: We just got out of practice. If Hudson can’t come, I’ll leave here in 5.

Hudson: I’m on my way now.

My chest warms, and I know later I’ll feel particularly sappy about how fast they all volunteered to help. “Hudson’s coming,” I tell Evelyn.

I receive a separate text outside of the group message from Grey.

Grey: What’s going on?

I hesitate, unsure what to say, unsure if I want to tell him that the guy who motivated me to learn how to defend myself is here now—and has been for years.

My pulse still gallops in my chest, recalling every white Ford pickup truck I’ve seen over the past few months. Past few years.

The strangers invite us to sit on a blanket placed in the middle of the field, surrounded by the CrossFit class. My thoughts are splintered in so many directions, my head aches, and I can’t bring myself to care that I feel like a goldfish as curious and watchful eyes keep tabs on us.

Hudson pulls up twenty minutes later. I notice him immediately.

He jogs to the field, scanning the area. When his gaze stops on us, confusion pulls at his brow and has him sprinting in our direction. The three women who had come over to help with Julian move to our side with two others.

“We know him,” I assure them as Hudson stops beside us.

Hudson looks from them to us. “What happened? Are you guys okay?”

Evelyn nods before glancing at me, inviting me to share the details.

Hudson stares at me. “Mila?” He turns to look at the fields, his jaw already strained as though anticipating a fight. He’s likely imagining one of these CrossFit guys did or said something that explains our unease.

I don’t want to be here for another second. I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever be able to run this same path again or return to the park. “We should go,” I tell him. I turn to the strangers who pulverized my suspicious tendencies and thank them for their time and help.

Hudson looks between us a final time and slowly nods before leading us to his Jeep. I scan the parking lot for what feels like the hundredth time, searching for a white Ford truck I don’t find.

Not finding that small piece of certainty that allowed me to know it was him feels like losing something significant. Aside from the crawling feeling across my skin, his truck was the only definitive sign of him. I recognized it from seeing it around the apartment complex during the six months I lived there. I knew the rusted fender, the Phillies’ bumper sticker, and the long scratch down the left side. Soon after he broke in, I realized he was around too frequently, driving by nearly every day when I’d leave for class.

“Did you have an asthma attack?” Hudson asks when we hit the main road.

“Julian Holloway was there,” I say.

Hudson whips his head around to look at me in the back seat, his knuckles straining white. “What?”

“He works there.”

“What happened?”

“I was having an asthma attack, and Mila went to grab me water. He came and talked to me while she was gone,” Evelyn says.

Hudson turns to her for half a beat before focusing on the road. “What did he say? Exactly.”

“He asked me if I was okay and if I needed to call anyone.”

“That’s it?”

“He gave me water.”

“Did he see you, Mila? Did he recognize you? How do you know he works there?” Hudson fires off the questions as his gaze flicks to mine again in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah. He told me he works there.” I work to recall what he said, but his expressions and tone are all I can think about.

Hudson pulls into our apartment complex, getting waved forward by the guards before he has to roll down the window. No one moves as Hudson turns off the engine.

“He was angry,” Evelyn says. “He accused Mila of getting him fired and for ignoring him for years.”

Hudson’s eyes turn sharp. “Years? What the fuck does that mean?”

I shake my head, clinging to the numbness keeping me afloat. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s go inside. We’ll figure this out,” Evelyn says, opening the passenger door.

Evelyn sits at the kitchen table while Hudson leans against the wall. Like me, he’s too tense to sit.

I hear his silent questions as though they’re in my own head, Am I sure it was him? Why would he be looking for me? Why would he approach Evelyn? How concerned should we be?

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I tell him.

“It’s never made sense, Mila.” He runs a hand down his face. “None of it. Why did he show up that night? How did he know you were home? How did he know you were alone?” He shakes his head. “How long has he been following you?”

I cross my arms to hide the fact my hands are shaking. “There’s no way he’s been following me. I would have noticed. You would have noticed.”

He releases a heavy breath. I loathe the pity that softens his familiar gaze. “Do you still have that police officer’s contact information?”

“What am I going to say? A guy offered my best friend water and then returned to work?”

Hudson leans his head back against the wall. “We have to at least try.”

“Did you meet him before the apartment?” Evelyn asks.

I shake my head. “Never.”

Hudson pulls in a long breath. “Mila, we need to tell the others. We need to tell your parents.”

Griffin is a whiz at chess. One of his favorite pastimes is learning uncommon moves that can only be used under rare circumstances. Today—now—feels like one of those instances when the rules change entirely.

“If he’s following you, we need to report it. Maybe it could bump up his charges.”

I nod though my confidence for that happening is a sunken ship. Our system isn’t set up to prevent most things. My childhood attests to this fact.

“Maybe we should cancel our trip,” Evelyn says.

My attention snaps to her. “No. No way.”

“What if he’s stalking you?” she asks.

“I’ll stay with my parents.” I glance at the clock on the microwave. “Speaking of which, we’re going to be late for dinner. We need to get ready.”

Evelyn looks at Hudson, trying to gauge his thoughts.

“No way are you guys canceling your trip,” I insist, refusing to allow Julian freaking Holloway to change one more damn thing in my life.

“Let’s get ready,” Hudson says.

“Let’s have fun tonight. I don’t want to talk about him. I’ll tell my parents tomorrow. I haven’t seen them since September. I just want to have fun and celebrate your last night here.”

“Pack to stay the entire week. I don’t think you should stay here while we’re gone.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay here tonight so I can drive you to the airport, and then I’ll head straight there.” A promise is unnecessary. After all, I moved in with him the following day because my parents were in Vancouver filming at the time of the incident.

Once in my room, I close the shades and turn on every light. I can’t help but wonder if I messed up fate, teased it for asking Grey to train me in an attempt to overcome my fears that have returned as a reality.

I quickly shower and dress before finding a text from Jon confirming they made it home. I pack a suitcase filled with clothes and the belated Christmas gifts while waiting for the others to get ready.

Since moving to Oleander Springs, Alex has always been gone for extended stretches due to work, but Jon previously split his time, staying two weeks wherever Alex was and then returning home with me for three weeks before leaving again. When I turned seventeen, he began swapping the stretches, going for three weeks, and staying home for two. By the middle of my senior year, he stayed with Alex, and they’d return home together between projects or on breaks. This is one of their brief breaks, a single week at home.

The drive to my parents’ house is only twenty-five minutes, but it feels longer, anticipation a second pulse. Hudson fills the time discussing precautions, reminding me to contact the police and to call Grey, Corey, Nolan, or Palmer if I need anything.

The front door of my house swings open the moment Hudson pulls into the driveway, and Alex and Jon step out.

I don’t bother with my purse or bag, closing the distance at a jog before being sandwiched between them in a hug.

“There’s our girl,” Alex says, kissing my temple. He pulls away, silently assessing my still-damp hair along with the jeans and sweatshirt I’d hastily pulled on before smiling a little wider. Last year when they got home, they obsessed over my living alone and spending so much time alone, and I know without him saying anything that he’s relieved Evelyn moved here.

“How was your flight?” I ask as Evelyn and Hudson join us on the porch.

“Quick,” Jon says. “We both fell asleep before hitting the Midwest, so we’re ready to party.” He swivels his hips in a two-step before hugging Evelyn and then Hudson. My parents love these two as much as I do.

“Let’s go inside. Dinner was just delivered, and we got everyone’s favorites,” Alex says, pulling open the front door to invite us all inside.

The scents of different cuisines greet us. Ordering appetizers from multiple restaurants has always been my favorite treat and how we have spent every evening they return to Oleander Springs for as long as I can recall.