Page 112 of Fake Shot

“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 haveto 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 asmuch as I want to head out there, guns blazing, to take care of this for her, it should be her choice.

“No, not really.”

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