He Faked a Lottery to Choose Her—Until I Changed the Game Chapter 06

On the way out, Graham turned to Grant.

“Are you taking Cece home?”

Grant paused.

“She’s already at mine.”

The looks that passed around the group said everything.

“Wait, Cece’s staying at your place? And your girlfriend’s cool with that?”

“Damn. That girl’s a saint.”

“For real, though, you need to sit down and actually talk to her. Don’t let this blow up over Cece.”

Someone else chimed in.

“Honestly? From the outside? It kind of looks like Cece’s the girlfriend.”

“Right? Six years and he hasn’t missed one of her birthdays.”

“He literally built a rigged lottery just so he’d have an excuse to pick Cece every year.”

“Same birthday, every year, and he picks her. Every. Time.”

Then one of the other guys said something that made Grant stop.

“Hey, didn’t your girlfriend go to her parents’ place for her birthday this year? I saw her post.”

Grant’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

“She spent her birthday with her parents?”

How had he not known?

She hadn’t told him. And he hadn’t asked.

The guy looked confused but kept going.

“Yeah. She posted about it, and I liked the post.”

He’d been at dinner with Celia that night. The proposal, the photos, the celebration. He hadn’t

thought to check Laurel’s page.

The $1,000 he’d sent her on Venmo? She hadn’t kept it. She’d sent it right back.

He reached for his phone, then remembered. She’d blocked him.

He couldn’t see her posts. He couldn’t see anything.

“Grant, you… didn’t know?” the guy asked.

Grant shook his head.

“No. She didn’t tell me.”

No wonder the apartment had been empty.

She’d gone home. To her parents.

Without a word.

Something heavy settled behind his ribs. He set his glass down.

Graham cleared his throat. “Maybe she just forgot to mention it.”

“It’s one birthday. When she cools off and comes back, just do something nice for her.”

The guy who’d brought it up shifted in his seat.

“Yeah, I mean, this is kind of how it’s always been, right? She’s probably used to it by now.”

Grant said nothing.

A long pause. Then, quietly: “Yeah. Let’s head out.”

He didn’t say a word the whole ride back.

Inside the apartment, he’d already kicked off his shoes when he realized Celia hadn’t moved.

She was standing in the entryway.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were already welling up.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Laurel won’t come home because of me. You two are fighting because of me.

She pressed her lips together. “I should go back to Harborwick. You need to fix things with her.””

Grant reached over and brushed the tears off her cheek.

“Hey. Stop. Laurel’s not like that. She’s reasonable. When she comes back, I’ll sort it out

“I’ll talk to her. Don’t worry about it.’

She looked up at him, eyes still wet.

“What if…” Her voice dropped. “What if she doesn’t come back?”

Grant pulled his hand back.

“She will. I know her.”

“Let’s get those shoes off.” He dropped a pair of house slippers at her feet. “Here.”

She slipped them on without a word.

Then, quietly, she spoke.

“Why do you always take care of me like this, Grant?”

“We have the same birthday. But every year, you come to me.”

Celia looked up at him.

There was something in her eyes he couldn’t read. Or wouldn’t.

He’d never stopped to think about it.

They’d been together since they were kids. Everyone (his parents, her parents) had always told him the same thing: Celia was fragile. Look after her. Protect her.

So he did. Through grade school, through high school. It was just what he did.

College took her to Harborwick, and then her health kept her there.

Why was he so good to her?

The answer came without effort. Habit.

He was so used to putting Celia first that he’d done it without even noticing. Laurel came second. She always had.

Laurel will be fine.” He said it like he believed it. “Go get some sleep.”

He went to the kitchen for water. That’s when he saw it: the fuse-bead magnet Laurel had made,

still stuck to the fridge door.

[Go easy on the ice!]

He’d laughed when she made it. Told her she was being ridiculous.

She hadn’t looked up.

“Somebody around here needs a reminder, since he won’t listen to me.

His stomach had always been sensitive. Laurel never forgot.

She cooked every meal around what he could eat.

When he worked late, she’d bring dinner right to his office.

He stood there, looking at the magnet.

Then he reached past the cold bottles and grabbed a room-temperature one.

The bedroom stopped him in the doorway.

It looked wrong. Emptier.

It hit him all at once.

Laurel’s things were gone.