Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)

AJ

Please explain to me why Wilcott just told me you won’t be at practice tomorrow?

Colt

Jules needs me.

AJ

Your team needs you. What the hell is wrong with your priorities?

Colt

For the first time in my life, my priorities are just right. I’d retire early before I’d risk losing her.

Colt

Your choice.

AJ

Just make sure you’re back in time for tomorrow night’s game.

Colt

I’ll do my best.

Jameson’s asleep on the couch when I come in the front door, but the sound of me shutting and locking it wakes him. His voice is groggy when he says, “I have half a mind to kill you.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“I warned you not to hurt her.”

“This isn’t something I did to Jules. This is a self-absorbed, pick-me girl stirring up drama because you went to AJ and Frank and got her dad’s sponsorship of the team revoked.”

“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t slept with her in the past.”

“Yeah.” There’s truth in that statement, but this didn’t happen because I’d slept with her. This is a pissy woman with a half-baked revenge plan, fucking with the wrong people. Just like her dad did. “It also wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t gotten involved.”

“Yeah.”

We stare at each other across the dimly lit space. I assume he’s considering his role in these events, just like I am. It felt damn good to deliver that refund check to Jerome and tell him his sponsorship had been revoked, but if I had realized what would happen as a result, I wouldn’t have gone through with it.

“When I went up and tried to talk to her last night,” he says, “she told me she was going to sleep and I should go home.”

“Dude, you can’t come in hot like that with Jules or she’s just going to shut down.”

He looks at me like he’s assessing the fact that I know this about her and he somehow doesn’t. There’s a whole lot I know about her that he doesn’t, but I’m not going to rub that in. He’s basically been the father figure in her life for over a decade, and I don’t want him to feel like I’m stepping between them in any way. Unless he tries to stop us from being together . . . then the gloves will come off.

When he glances at his watch, his face tells me he’s just realizing it’s three in the morning. “How the hell did you get a flight here this late?”

“I chartered a jet.”

“What the hell? How much did that cost?”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing I wouldn’t spend to be here for her. I’m going upstairs now. Can you lock the door on the way out?”

“Hey,” he says as I head toward the stairs. I stop and turn back to face him. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For becoming the person she deserves.”

There’s so much to unpack in that statement. He’s right that I haven’t always been worthy of her, but at least he sees that I’m working to be that person now.

I give him a nod. “Let’s talk once we’ve all had some sleep. There’s a lot we’ll need to figure out before I fly back to North Carolina this afternoon.”

“Alright,” he says. “How about I come back around ten?”

“Sure.”

Jules’s door is shut, and when I crack it open and peek in, I realize that she’s curled up on her side, still fully clothed and on top of the sheets. The curtains are wide open, and the moonlight casts a cool glow in the room. I take my clothes off, and the minute I climb onto the bed, she rolls over. Then she sits straight up like she’s just awoken from a nightmare.

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” She reaches for me like she’s not sure if I’m real or not, and I meet her hand, lacing our fingers together and squeezing lightly. Just being in her presence again heals something in me—it’s like there was this gaping wound, and her touch has stopped the bleeding. I fucking hate being apart from her, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

“There was no way I wasn’t going to be here for you after the shitshow that happened tonight.” I pull her close to me, wrapping her in my arms. “Especially because it seemed like you had a moment when you weren’t sure if you could trust me, and that gutted me.”

Her face falls. “There was a moment when I wondered if there was any truth to her accusations. But when I thought about it, it was obvious that her claims were impossible. Since you’ve lived here, you’ve done nothing but show me that I can trust you. You’ve been here for me, and with me, non-stop. I know you’d never cheat—that’s just not in your character.”

“I’m so sorry this happened. I’m sorry that Jameson and I got involved. I know we wouldn’t be in this situation if we hadn’t stepped in.”

The relief I feel as she rests her head on my shoulder is indescribable. She slides her hand along my abdomen like she’s going to wrap her arm around me in a hug, but her fingers hit gauze and tape and she pulls back. “What’s this?”

I lift my arm. “Take it off and see.”

As she reaches out to peel back the tape holding the six-inch square piece of gauze, her nose scrunches up like it always does when she’s intensely focusing on something. It’s cute as hell and I just want to lean in and kiss her, but I don’t want to interrupt her from seeing what’s under that bandage.

When she gently pulls the gauze away from my skin, she sucks in a sharp breath. Right there, directly under my heart, is an intricately inked pair of Tinker Bell wings. Her eyes fill with tears.

“When did you get this?”

“Tonight. I’d just left the tattoo studio and was headed back to the hotel when you messaged me.”

“Why this, though?”

“C’mon, Tink,” I say, my words and tone clearly indicating that she already knows the answer to the question. But she obviously needs to hear me say it. “You’ve worked yourself so deep into my soul, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be inked on my skin as well.”

She burrows her face into my chest, and I feel her tears as they slide down her cheeks and meet my skin. And as I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight, she whispers, “I love you so much.”

I press my lips to her head, grateful that she’s finally trusting her own feelings.

“I love you too, Jules. I always will.”

She squeezes me tight. “I know. And that’s the only reason I’m not afraid of falling . . . because I know you’ll always catch me.”

I’m in the kitchen making a pot of coffee when Jameson arrives the next morning. He’s got Lauren and the kids with him, which I wasn’t expecting, but right behind him, I see Audrey and Graham, followed by Morgan, and it all makes sense. Their family is coming to stand shoulder to shoulder, to be with Jules and to figure out how to fix this mess Jameson and I created.

“Where’s Jules?” Lauren asks as she looks around the kitchen. There are fake flowers and strands of leaves, along with candles and glass vases, everywhere. I know they’re hosting a bridal brunch for Lauren here tomorrow, and I’m guessing she wasn’t supposed to see all of this now.

“Upstairs getting dressed. She just got out of the shower a few minutes ago.”

It was a long night, full of tears and admissions of our feelings, and promises about our future. We were both too tired for anything physical, but I’d more than made it up to her this morning—which means we are now running quite late.

“I’m going to get a movie started for the kids,” Audrey says, heading toward the family room as Graham, Iris, and Ivy all follow her.

“I’ll get this mess cleaned up,” Morgan says as she starts scooping up supplies and heading toward empty cardboard boxes that sit in the entryway.

Lauren moves toward the stairs, and in the now-empty kitchen, my eyes meet Jameson’s. There’s a lot that passes through that look—two former teammates who remained best friends and business associates, recognizing that we are now going to be linked together as family.

We help Morgan put away some of the decorations, and then Lauren and Jules are heading down the stairs. Even in leggings and a tank top, with her face free of any makeup and her wet hair pulled back into a low bun, she takes my breath away.

I guess this is what love feels like—not the desperate need to cling to someone, but the deep peace they bring you just by being there.

With the kids in the living room watching a movie, we all gather in the kitchen. Surrounding the coffee and the box of pastries that Lauren and Jameson brought, we spend some time figuring out the next steps.

“AJ thinks you should have a statement prepared in case Jasmine tries to go public with this story,” Jameson says.

“You told AJ what happened?” I ask. Out of respect for Jules’s privacy, I’d been careful not to give her any details when we texted last night.

“Like there was another option,” he says, releasing a sigh. “You’re my client, and this woman is trying to fuck with your career.”

“No, she’s trying to fuck with my personal life.”

“And you think that, had she been successful, it wouldn’t have impacted your performance?” He looks at me like I’m an idiot, but he’s right—if Jules was hurt, it would have fucked with my game.

“Point taken.”

“Do we think there’s a chance that she actually might go public with this?” Jules asks as she tears off a piece of a croissant, seeming more calm than I’d have expected.

“I think we need to be prepared for anything,” Lauren says. “The Rebels can write up a statement corroborating your story, so that’s ready to go too.”

“You’re doing PR now too, not just marketing?” I ask.

“No, communications handles public relations. But part of my new role as the director of marketing is to facilitate a more coordinated approach between marketing and communications, and I can easily reach out about this.”

I had forgotten she got promoted when the former director of marketing was given the vice president position recently.

“I really hope Jasmine doesn’t go that route,” Audrey says. “But it does seem smart to be prepared, in case.”

“Her making this claim publicly would be bad for everyone involved, her included,” Morgan adds. “And her father will come out looking the worst in all this.”

“I think that’s the key to stopping this,” Jameson says. “If we write up a statement from Colt and Jules, and the team writes one up too, I can share both statements with him. We’ll offer not to publish them if he calls his daughter off.”

Jules laughs, and we all look at her. “So we’re basically going to go tattle on her to her dad. Got it.”

“Do you have another suggestion?” Jameson asks her.

“Nope. She’s acting like a fucking child. Tattling on her feels like the appropriate response, actually.”

Two hours later, everything is finalized. We have the approval we need from the Rebels’ management, and Jameson heads out to meet with Jerome. Everyone else trickles out, and Jules and I are left in the kitchen alone.

“When do you have to head back?” she asks.

“A car is picking me up in about fifteen minutes. My flight leaves in an hour and a half.”

She steps forward, resting her forehead against my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. I wish I didn’t have to leave her, especially since I’m not even playing tonight—unless something goes wrong with Hartmann. Or I wish I could bring her with me, but I know she can’t miss Lauren’s shower tomorrow, or work on Monday.

“Thank you for everything last night. For helping stop that panic attack, and then flying back last night. I didn’t expect that at all, but I’m so glad you were here today.”

“I’m always going to be here for you, Tink. My job makes me travel a lot, but it won’t be forever.”

She looks up at me. “You’re not thinking about retiring, are you?”

“I only have one more year left on my contract.”

“But you’re still playing amazingly well. They’ll want to re-sign, don’t you think?”

“We’ll see how I feel about things next season. Right now, I’m just excited for this season to end—after we win the Cup, of course—so I can be around all summer.”

“Maybe we can go away for a bit,” she suggests, and there’s a lightness in her blue eyes I want to keep there. “Like this summer, after Jameson and Lauren’s wedding? I never take time off, but I’m sure I can manage to sneak away for a week or two.”

“I’d like that. Why don’t you think about where you’d like to go, and I’ll take care of making the plans?”

“That sounds perfect.”

I’m just about to leave, when there’s a knock on the back door. Jules glances over and whispers, “Fuck.” And when I follow her gaze, her father stands with his back to the door. His hair is greasy and thinning, his shoulders slumped, and his shirt is dirty.

“Do you want to talk to him right now?” I ask. Because as much as I want to head out there, guns blazing, to take care of this for her, it should be her choice.

“No, not really.”

“Can I take care of this?”

She sighs, but it sounds like it’s full of relief. “By all means.”

He doesn’t turn around until I open the door, and by then it’s too late for him to leave because I’ve stepped out, cornering him against the metal railing of the brick stairs.

“I thought I made it clear that you weren’t welcome around here anymore,” I say.

“I want to talk to my daughter.”

“You don’t deserve to talk to her. You don’t deserve whatever help you plan to ask for. You don’t deserve her time, or her attention, or her money. So until you can clean yourself up, you need to disappear into whatever sewer you came from.”

“Who do you think you are?”

I’m pretty sure he asked me that last time he was here. So this time, I will make myself crystal clear.

“I’m the man who’s going to marry your daughter. And I’m going to take care of her, and protect her heart, and show her what it’s like to be loved—since she clearly didn’t see that from the way you treated her mom and then left her and Audrey.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he spits out.

“Oh, but I do. Sadly, though, you don’t know anything about your kids. All three of them are successful. All three of them are engaged. All three of them are happy. And you don’t know the first thing about any of it, because all you care about is scrounging money off your youngest whenever you can catch her feeling sorry for you. But that ends now. Don’t come around again unless you’ve cleaned up your life, or genuinely want help doing so.”

I step back so there’s room for him to pass me and walk down the stairs.

He stands there for a moment, unmoving. Then quietly, still looking down at the steps, he asks, “And if I do want help?”

“Then you know where to find me. But you don’t try to contact Jules again, unless you want me to get Jameson and the police involved in this.”

He purses his thin lips and gives me a curt nod as he heads down the stairs. As I watch him go, I hope that he will take me up on the offer, but I know his history well enough to know how unlikely that is. In the meantime, I’ll have a security system installed so I feel better about her being here when I’m gone.