Page 14 of Fake Shot

“Coach gave us a few days off so we could rest and gearup for the playoffs, but yeah, we’re back to practicing tomorrow.”

“What time do you guys practice? Early morning?” For someone whose brother played in the NHL, I know shockingly little about how it all works. Jameson had his own place when he was playing for the Boston Rebels, so I have no idea what his schedule was like back then. By the time our mom died, our dad left us, and Jameson moved home, he had retired from the NHL.

“Nah, we usually don’t take the ice until around ten. So I get there about two hours before to get ready.”

“Of course it takes you two hours to get ready, pretty boy.” I roll my eyes as I fall into the pattern of teasing him that’s become our norm. We never have real conversations; we just needle each other, which is exactly how I like it.

Digging his fork into the pasta, he looks up at me with a grin, one eyebrow cocked as he opens his mouth to respond, and then his phone vibrates on the table next to him. He glances down, then back up at me quickly before declining the call.

When he looks up again, his easy-going demeanor has been replaced with the hard lines of a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes staring off past me.

“Everything okay?” I ask, when he doesn’t say anything.

He shakes his head. “Yeah, just a phone call I’ve been avoiding.”

Oh, I know all about those,I think to myself. It’s been over two months since my dad reached out, which means I’m due. These longer stretches with no contact are both a relief, and also incredibly anxiety inducing—like knowing something bad will happen, but not knowing when, or how, or where.

I’m not sure how to respond to Colt’s comment, but I guess I don’t need to because that devil-may-care grin is back, and he says, “So, to get ready for practice ...” And then he’s off on a tear, explaining the ins and outs of what he brings to the rink, the protein-packed breakfast he eats once he gets there, and the warmup exercises and pre-practice workout he completes.

But I’m only half listening, because inside, my mind is playing back the way I watched his face go from easy-going, to hardened and angry, back to the cocky player I’ve always known him to be. And all I keep hearing, over and over, is the way my therapist assured me that we all wear masks.The hard part, she said,is knowing when we’re safe to take them off.

Chapter Six

COLT

“I’ll get you my estimate for the actual construction, and Colt will get you the costs for replacing the furniture and decor that was ruined,” Jules says, her voice all-business in the way that leaves no room for argument as she walks the insurance adjuster to the door.

I’m relieved that when I’d told her the adjuster was coming, she’d insisted I have a contractor with me. And since I haven’t hired one, she agreed to come with me so that I didn’t get fleeced.

Luckily, she’s totally taken charge and been such a boss the whole time the adjuster has been here. I have a newfound respect for her as I watch her in her element.

“I’ll take that into account when I put together the estimate,” the guy says in response. I can tell that he doesn’t like having to justify his numbers with Jules, but she’s not putting up with any bullshit when it comes to the lowball offer hewanted to give me for what it would cost to fix all the damage in my condo.

“I’m sure we’ll make it work,” Jules says, but the subtext is clear:I’m sure I’ll get my way.

She shuts the door behind him, and turns to face me, opening her mouth, but I cut her off with, “Thank God you were here. For real, Jules, I don’t know what I would have done without you. When he started talking numbers and materials ... ” I huff out a laugh as I shrug, because it really was all above my head. I’ve never eventhoughtabout shit like this, much less had to answer questions about the type of kitchen countertop I had—who the fuck knows? They were black?—or the myriad of other details he asked me about.

“You were completely useless,” she says with a laugh. “How could anyone know so little about their own house?”

“Again, it’s just a place to live. It’s not like this condo holds sentimental value,” I tell her as she walks over to the wall of sliding doors and stops where they open onto the balcony, with Boston Harbor stretching out in the background.

She releases a deep sigh. “But with a view like this ...”

“The view is literally why I bought it,” I say as I walk over behind her. “Can you see that tiny white speck on the island out in the Harbor?” I stretch my arm out over her shoulder and past her head so she can follow where I’m pointing.

“Umm hum.” The sound emanates from her rib cage, and I feel the rattle against my chest because I’m way too close to her. I quickly step back half a foot.

“That’s Boston Light. It’s the oldest continuously used lighthouse in the country. From here, you can see it lit up atnight. Apparently, it’s like a normal hundred-watt light bulb, but it can be seen twenty-five miles out to sea.”

She looks up at me over my shoulder, and I ignore the way the smooth skin of her cheeks is faintly pink and the way her lips shine like she just licked them.Fuck, why am I noticing her like this? She’s my best friend’s little sister and my roommate. Not that she’s so little now, but I would never go there.

“How do you know that?” she asks, her voice low and breathy.

“My real estate agent told me when I came to see the place before signing the papers.”

She clears her throat. “Karen sure got lucky with you. You must have been the easiest client she ever made half a million dollars off.”

“How do you know what she made?”

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