Page 350 of Faking the Goal

"That's great, Con. I'm glad she finally realized how lucky she is to have you."

His eyes light up so intensely that another wave of goosebumps races across my arms. His chest lifts a little, and for half a second, he looks almost boyishly delighted by the praise.

Then he schools his reaction.

The smile softens. His shoulders drop. Concern returns to his face so smoothly that, a week ago, I might have believed it.

"I'm sorry about you and Kentaro, though," he says, but the happiness slips into his voice before he manages to flatten it. "That must've been... difficult."

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.

We rehearsed this.

Kentaro and I sat together last night while Detective Matthews walked me through what I needed to say. I warned Kentaro that none of it would be true. I made him promise he wouldn't listen from the other room and start believing a single word.

But knowing he can hear me say it still feels like pressing a blade directly against his heart.

"After what happened, I had a lot of time to think," I say, forcing myself to hold Conrad's gaze. "Kentaro wasn't there when I needed him. He knew I was in danger, and he still left."

The words scrape against my throat on their way out.

"I realized maybe he didn't care about me as much as I thought he did."

For the briefest moment, Conrad's satisfaction breaks through completely.

It is there in the faint curl of his mouth, in the way his eyes gleam before he lowers them as though he is trying to hide how pleased he is.

"I hate to say it," he begins, wearing disappointment like another costume, "but if a man really loves you, he doesn't leave you alone when he knows you're in danger. Not even for a minute."

My stomach turns.

"He should've been there," Conrad continues, his tone gentle but carrying a cruel edge now. "He should've protected you. Instead, he left you helpless, and look what happened."

I feel Kentaro's imagined reaction through the wall as clearly as though he is standing beside me. His jaw clenched. His fists tightening. Detective Matthews probably reminding him for the fifth time that breaking through the door and strangling Conrad would ruin the entire operation.

"What you need," Conrad says, stepping a little closer, "is someone you can trust with your life. Someone dependable. Someone who'd never let anything happen to you."

I look at him. I let my eyes widen just a fraction, let my lips part like I'm hearing something profound.

"Someone like you," I say.

His reaction is immediate and grotesque.

Conrad's chest puffs – actually puffs, like a cartoon character – and his grin widens until it takes up half his face. His eyes get that glitter again, that unholy shine, and I can practically see the words feeding into whatever delusional narrative he's built around himself. She needs me. She sees it. She knows.

Pathetic.

Completely, delusionally pathetic.

"Too bad you and your girlfriend are back together now," I add, and I let my voice dip into disappointment. Not too much. Just enough to plant the seed. Just enough to make him think there's something here he could have, if only.

He tries to look shy. It doesn't suit him. His big frame hunches slightly, his eyes drop to the floor, and he runs a hand through his hair again – that same rehearsed gesture.

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has that false modesty, the kind that's really just pride in disguise. "Too bad."

CHAPTER 44

KENTARO