Eight

If I could've gotten out of going to Brokedown after the game, I would've. But of course Joel never misses an opportunity to hang out and be the center of attention. I so badly wish in these moments, my brother could replace me as himself. But with the brace on his arm and him being unable to move his wrist, it's impossible.

We even switched vehicles so no one would suspect that I'm not him. Now I'm forced to drive the run-down truck he's had since high school. He cites his reasoning for keeping the truck as "memories with Gwen," which makes me want to gag every time I slip into the driver's seat.

Have I mentioned how much fun I'm having pretending to be him?

To make matters worse, I've got the infuriatingly attractive Coach's daughter questioning me.

You're not Joel, are you?Her accusation batters my conscience, but I mentally swat it away. I'm not going to feel guilty for helping my family. And I'm definitely not going to give her an inch of room to find any more inconsistencies. I can successfully fake being my brother. Have in the past dozens of times. A nosy little brunette with hazel eyes and cherry-red lips isn't going to ruin this.

At least, that's what I tell myself over and over to not have to admit to Joel that I blew my cover on the first game. But that's just it. No one else has suspected a thing. Just her. Which means I've got to nail this ruse even harder with everyone else if I want to keep being able to cover for Joel.

Once I arrive at the little tavern the Dragons favor, I breathe deeply and make my way to the entrance. Pushing open the door, I'm assaulted by the smell of fried food and the noisy din of patrons.

"Joely's here!" Gray shouts, raising his glass in the air.

I head toward the familiar group of guys with a wide smile pasted on my face, mustering every last residual dredge of excitement left in me from the high of winning the game.

"Boys," I say, slapping a hand down on Gray's shoulder. "Must feel good to finally have your star player show up." Multiple groans of protest go up as one, and Gray shoves me off.

Laughing, I take a seat at the bar next to Aiden. "Must be feeling better, then, aye?" he asks with a thick layer of Irish brogue.

"Better than ever." I wave over the bartender and order an iced tea—Joel's drink of choice.

"It's a shame Gwen couldn't make it out tonight," he adds before taking a long swig of his drink. "She's a mite better to look at than you. No offense."

I pretend to be jealous and send him a glare. "Keep your eyes to yourself, Doyle." He chuckles and shakes his head as the bartender sidles up with my drink. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Aiden turn.

"Ah, there's my favorite Darling."

At his pronouncement, I follow his gaze. Two women saunter up, one with long dark hair, the other blonde. Calloway's arm is slung over the blonde's shoulders possessively as she smiles up at him.

"What took you two beauties so long to get here?" Aiden grabs the brunette's hand and places a kiss on the top of her knuckles.

Calloway scoffs. "Don't you ever get tired of flirting with other people's wives?"

"Never." Aiden stands. "Stevie, care for a dance? These married people are stuffy."

She smiles, but I don't miss her subtle eye roll as he leads her toward the small sea of moving bodies.

"Missed Gwen tonight," Evander's wife says, slipping into the seat beside me. I can't for the life of me remember her name, though I've seen her face on the local news. Her and Calloway's competition made local headlines and was a whole big thing on social media.

"Yeah. I'm under strict instructions to bring her an order of cheese fries when I'm done here, so I don't plan to stay long."

"Aw, that's a shame." Tingles spread up my back at the new voice to my left. Slowly, I face the Coach's annoying daughter. "You're the life of the party, Joely," she says, her dark eyes narrowing.

I look away, frustrated. Why does she have to be here? She's not a part of the team. The night we met eyes in this tavern flickers through my mind, bringing with it feelings I wish I didn't still have right now. I want to hate her and pretend she doesn't exist.

"You saying I'm not entertaining, Chantelle?" Evander teases. "Joel might think he's the life of the party, but I'm pretty sure a half a million plus fans say otherwise."

His female counterpart laughs. "You're so full of yourself."

"Yeah, but you love me."

She smiles and drags him toward the dance floor next to Stevie and Aiden. Chantelle slips into the seat her friend vacated, but I ignore her. Little good it does me. Her gaze sears into the side of my face like a laser beam.

"It's uncanny, really."

I refuse to engage with her as I sip my drink. I refuse—

"I mean, sure you guys are twins," she continues, undeterred. "But you're so…identical."

I push my drink away and send her a bored look. "Are you still talking about my brother? Do you have a crush on him or something?" It's impossible not to smirk when her eyes flash with some dark emotion I can't name.

"I don't find your brother attractive. Or you." She shakes her head, eyebrows pinched together like she's frustrated with herself. "Neither of you. Ew."

"Ew?" I'm offended. For fake Joel and for real Jude.

"Um. Joel's married. And you look just like him."

Biting the inside of my cheek to tamp down my growing frustration, I switch from bored to cocky and annoyed. "I am Joel. This weird little scene you're trying to pull isn't cute, sweetheart. Go run on home to Daddy if you're so sure I'm not him. He's with me more than you are, and he's clearly not concerned." I hold her eyes in challenge. "He's my coach. Trained me for years. Do you really want to question his expertise on this?"

It's a risk, a total foolish thing to do, to push her to question Coach Pratt about my legitimacy, but it's the only thing I can think of to make her second-guess her conclusion.

Her expression falters for a split second before hardening. "Sweetheart?" she repeats with a singular eyebrow raised. "Joel would never call me that."

I roll my eyes, truly and genuinely exasperated, but pretending to be even more so for fake Joel's sake. "Listen, Chantelle. I'm just annoyed that you're not letting this drop. Gwen's not feeling great, I am still not feeling great," I add, pressing a hand to my stomach. Hopefully she'll think I had a stomach bug and back away. "And I don't get why you're doing this right now. Don't you have someone else to pester?"

I look around the bar in an exaggerated way. "How about Gray? He stunk it up the last few minutes of the game. Go tell him all the ways he could've done better and leave me in peace." Marking an end to this conversation, I wave the bartender over again and order Gwen's cheese fries to go.

Okay, so they're not really for Gwen, but Joel did say they're her and his favorite thing from Brokedown.

Just when I think I might've won this small battle, a light tap on my shoulder tells me otherwise. I turn and find a glaring Chantelle, her slender arms crossed. "I may not know exactly what, but something is up with you. Whoever you are."

I want to respond, but I can't. If I say another thing wrong, I'll only give her more ammunition. So I school my features into the most bland, blank expression I can as she continues.

"And you may have fooled my dad," she says, leaning in and lowering her voice to a whisper, "but you aren't fooling me." Her eyes flick over my face in a quick assessment before she backs away. "I just hope you two know what you're doing."

Without another word, she spins, her dark hair swaying against her back. I blow out a hard breath and run a hand through my hair. Just when I think I've got a handle on this whole charade, the wild card known as Coach Pratt's daughter shows up to wreck mine and Joel's plans.

"Chantelle knows." My announcement hangs in the air like an acid-filled balloon about to pop and melt us to shreds.

"Are you sure?" Gwen asks, skating her hands up and down her arms, a nervous habit. "She texted me and asked where I was earlier but never responded when I said I wasn't feeling well."

I release a tired sigh. "She probably did that after suspecting me. She might've wanted to ask you herself."

Joel tosses his one good hand in the air. "I don't get it. How does she see through you, but no one else does?"

Shaking my head, I give him the only response I can think of. "She's got an extreme attention to detail. The way she looks at me, it's…" It's sexy is what it is, but I'm not admitting that out loud. "It's like she sees every single thing I'm trying to hide."

If I wasn't trying so hard to be Joel, I might leverage her obsessive interest in me and try to get a date out of it. But I can't. Because Joel is married. So here I am, forced to be rude to her and act like she's insane. She's obviously way smarter than we're giving her credit for.

"Come on, Joel," Gwen says. "You know she's memorized the way you guys play." Pressing her fingers to her temples, Gwen groans. "I can't believe I didn't see this coming…I totally forgot how Chantelle scrutinizes the players."

"Why does she?" My question earns a shrug from Gwen.

"She loves hockey, feels like she's a part of the team—always has, I guess."

"She's a very invested coach's daughter," Joel adds. "She could probably coach the team herself with how well she knows the players. Their strengths, their weaknesses…"

"So what do we do?" I ask. "I called her sweetheart."

Joel winces. "Shoot. She hates nicknames."

I file that tidbit away as silence fills the air. "Do you think she'll say something to Coach Pratt?" Gwen asks.

Wincing, I admit, "I may have dared her to." Joel hisses a harsh laugh. "In my defense, I thought it would strengthen my case."

He turns pleading eyes on Gwen. "I think you need to text her. Try and smooth this over somehow. She'll believe a friend over anything Jude says."

Gwen nibbles her bottom lip before agreeing. "Yeah, okay. I'll text her tonight and let you know what she says."

We're all uncharacteristically quiet after that. Because one more wrong move and this is all over before Joel's fully healed and ready to return to his rightful place.