Chapter 1

I finally got a bone marrow match for my mom while my surgeon boyfriend booked a flight to the World Cup with my best friend.

I'm standing outside the break room when I hear it. I came to tell Drew the good news. The match. The surgery date. Everything we'd been praying for.

Then his buddy's voice cuts through the door.

"Drew, man—you're really flying out with Sienna for the Cup? What about Sloane's mom? Her surgery?"

Drew's voice comes back, easy and bored.

"Her mom waited three years. Sienna and I have waited four."

"A surgery can be rescheduled. The Cup happens once. We're not skipping now."

"You're not worried Sloane's gonna lose it?"

Drew actually laughs.

"I'm the only surgeon in the country who can do this operation. What's she gonna do?"

My back hits the wall. My face goes ice cold.

Drew and Sienna can barely stand each other on a normal day. They snipe, they roll eyes, they pretend to hate each other's guts.

But the second anyone says the word soccer, something shifts. Their eyes lock like they share a secret language. And me—I'm the one who doesn't speak it.

For two years I've stayed up till 3 a.m. watching match replays. I read sports columns. I memorized player stats. All so I could squeeze one sentence into their conversations.

And every time I did, the room went dead quiet.

They'd glance at each other and shake their heads like I'd embarrassed myself.

"Sloane, honey. You really don't get soccer."

I don't get it. And I don't want to anymore.

…

Drew gets home around eight. I'm already at the table eating.

"Why didn't you wait for me?"

I sniff the air instead of answering.

"You had garlic fries? You never eat that stuff."

Drew is the pickiest man alive. Since we moved in together, I cook from a nutritionist's meal plan—different recipe every night, all of it organic, all of it perfect.

He pauses. Then his face smooths over.

"Passed a place on the way home. Thought of you. You love them, right? I tried a few."

I grip my fork tighter.

"When have you ever seen me eat garlic fries?"

Drew has a thing about smells. I stopped wearing perfume for him.

He blinks. "Guess I mixed you up with someone."

I don't say a word.

Because I know exactly who loves garlic fries.

Sienna does. Sienna inhales them.

She changed his whole personality in a weekend.

That's what makes me feel like the joke.

Drew sighs and drops into the chair next to me. Slides an arm around my shoulders.

"Are you still mad about the trip? Babe, I don't want to go. The hospital keeps shoving these conferences down my throat."

I stab at my food. I don't answer.

This afternoon, after I overheard him, I went into his locked office. The one I'm "not supposed to touch."

I found a photo album shoved between his medical textbooks.

Hundreds of pictures. All of them him and Sienna. At stadiums. At sports bars. At away games in three different countries.

The most recent one is from last week.

Last week my mom had her pre-op screening. I was so anxious I ran a fever. Drew said he was on call.

He was at a riverside grill with Sienna. Eating burgers. Watching the game.

That was supposed to be our date. He'd promised me for months.

He didn't forget. He just left me out of it because I'd ruin the mood.

His phone buzzes against the table. He glances at it and his mouth tugs up, completely unconscious.

"It's Sienna. Sending me match clips again. She's so annoying."

He says annoying like it's a love letter.

I push my chair back and head for the bedroom. He doesn't even ask where I'm going.

I sit at my desk and pull up my laptop to message Mom about the surgery date. A minute later, Drew comes strolling in, talking about the game like I asked.

I don't look up once. He doesn't notice.

When I finally stand to leave, the chair scrapes the floor and his eyes snap up—to the screen behind me.

"What's that?"

I turn. My stomach drops.

I'd accidentally clicked over to my sports forum account. The one where I log every game, every player, every stat. The one I built so I could keep up with them.

Drew leans over and scrolls.

"Damn, this is solid work. This is Sienna's account, right?"

I stare at him. "It's mine."

He laughs. Actually laughs.

"Babe. Your brain is full of restaurants and shopping. There's no way you wrote this."

My fingers curl into my palm.

If Sienna had shown him this, he'd call her brilliant. For me, it's a lie.

"You're right," I say quietly. "It's hers. I logged into her account."

He flicks my forehead. Hard.

"Stop pretending to be something you're not. It's exhausting."

He didn't pull the hit. My eyes water before I can stop them.

I've told him a hundred times to be gentle. He never listens.

Maybe it's time I stopped trying too.