Page 71 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

FINN

HOME ISN’T EASY

East-West Play:It’s a passing or skating move where the puck moves laterally (from one side of the ice to the other). Often used to create scoring chances by pulling defenders and the goalie out of position. Especially common on power plays or odd-man rushes.

I don’t know what I expected from Pine Hollow, but it wasn’t this. Kate didn’t make a lateral move when she left this sleepy town. Nope. She massively scaled up.

The town’s barely more than a gas station, two diners, and a handful of run-down shops that all seem to sell the same dusty antiques no one’s buying. The streets are cracked, the sidewalks uneven, and every damn person we pass stares like they’re seeing a ghost.

Or worse.

They know exactly who I am. I suppose I should have driven an economy car from the airport, as the Bentley is overkill here.

Kate’s been quiet the whole drive. I’ve never seen her so quiet. She sits with her arms crossed around her knees, tucked under her chin, like she’s sitting on her old bed, and she stares out the window.

If she could make herself disappear, I think she would.

I’m sure it’s nerves about seeing her mamma. Maybe she’s embarrassed to bring me here.

She shifts in the passenger seat as we pull up in front of the small, weather-worn trailer at the edge of town. “You don’t have to say anything tonight,” she mutters, barely looking at me.

“I won’t,” I promise, my voice low and steady.

But I can already tell I’m going to want to.

Her mamma’s waiting outside before we even kill the engine—leaning against the front steps, cigarette dangling from her fingers, her sharp eyes already sizing me up.

Kate groans under her breath. “God.”

“Relax,” I murmur, squeezing her hand before she can pull away. “I’ve been in worse locker rooms than this.”

She lets out a weak laugh and gives me a warm look before we climb out, and her Mamma’s voice cuts through the air.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she drawls, flicking ash off the side of the steps. “Little Miss Fancy Singer and her hockey player.”

“Mamma,” Kate warns under her breath.

I smile, polite but unreadable, and offer my hand. “Ma’am.”

She looks at it like it’s a joke—but after a beat, she takes it, shaking with a grip meant to intimidate.

“Didn’t think you’d bring him here, Katie,” she says, giving Kate a pointed look.

Kate flushes, jaw tight. “We’re just visiting.”

“Uh-huh.” Mamma’s gaze slides back to me, eyes sharp as glass. “You got deep pockets, don’t you, Mr. Callahan?”

Kate’s face goes scarlet. “Mamma?—”

I don’t flinch.

“Depends who’s asking,” I say smoothly, meeting her stare head-on.

Her mamma lets out a barking laugh, clearly not expecting me to hold my ground.

Kate looks like she wants the earth to swallow her whole.

Before the tension can stretch further, the door creaks open, and a younger voice calls out, “Kate?”