Page 3 of Fake Shot

Jules

Enjoy my drink, and order me another.

Brock sends another selfie of him smiling and holding up an already empty glass.

Brock

I just ordered us both another. Get your cute ass back here quickly or I might have to drink both of them too.

As I smile, it feels like it might be the first time in too long. I’m serious by nature, and because I’ve loved Colt for as long as I can remember, I never really flirt with other guys. But this—the attention and the longing—feels good.

I leave the hotel room hoping that by the time I get back downstairs, the red stain of embarrassment and tears from earlier will no longer be visible through the concealer I just reapplied. And as the elevator descends, I make myself a promise:Those were the last tears I’ll ever cry for Mathieu Coltier. Any feelings I had for him are officially dead.

It’s time to move on.

Chapter Two

COLT

Present Day

“You need another?” Tiana asks as she glances up and sees me standing at the entrance to the galley in the back of the plane. Her voice is soft in the silence, but I don’t miss the notes of sympathy—and there’s nothing I hate more than someone feeling bad for me. I’m no one’s charity case.

“Please.” Even though I’m known for being the loud and crazy one, I keep my voice quiet. Behind me, the airplane is dark, and my teammates are still sleeping on our overnight flight back to Boston after tonight’s win in our last regular-season game. We clinched our playoff spot a while ago, and I can’t wait to have the next week off from games and travel before the first round starts.

As she turns and pulls out one of the sleek metal storage drawers, I stand here gritting my teeth. There was a timewhen I loved being on the road—the flights with my teammates, the hotel stays in different cities every night, and the endless stream of women. But maybe I really am the old man my teammates jokingly accuse me of becoming because, lately, the week-long road trips have me questioning how much longer I can do this.

For now, the perks of being the longest-running goalie in the NHL still outweigh the drawbacks. But I find myself wondering more and more often what it would be like to not be on the road for half the year. To eat meals at home, and sleep in my own bed every night.Lonely. It would be fucking lonely.

But the allure of my brand-new bed—in all its expensive, advanced-technology memory foam glory—is all I can think about as Tiana hands me two fresh bags of ice. Literally all I want in the world is to get home and crawl into bed.

I make my way back to my seat, rest the bags of ice on my knees, then recline until I’m lying almost vertical. I used to be able to sleep on these overnight flights, no problem. I’d be so exhausted coming out of those games, I could just close my eyes and drift off in these big, comfortable chairs the minute they dimmed the lights. But that was before everything hurt ... before I started feeling way older than my age.

“You need to see the fucking trainer about your knees, not the flight attendant,” Drew mumbles from beside me.

Turning my head toward my seat mate, I find that he’s no longer asleep. “Most judges wear robes.”

“Dude, it’s not a judgment, it’s a fact. We’re about to start fighting for the Cup. You need to be in the best shape you’ve ever been in.”

I love it when these younger players talk to me like they know shit. Drew Jenkins has been in the league for six years, but it’s his first year with the Boston Rebels. For some players who come to the NHL out of college, like Drew did, six years can be an entire career. The conventional wisdom used to be that by thirty, you were on your way to retiring. Even though Drew’s career is finally taking off, he should know his place.

“Please, regale me with your knowledge about winning the Cup.” He rolls his eyes in response to my dry tone, but I continue. “Once you’ve won two, like I have, I might listen. And once you’ve been in the league for over a decade, you can tell me how to take care of myself. But for now, it’s past your bedtime. Go back to sleep.”

I don’t know why it brings me such joy to give him shit. Maybe I really am the overgrown child that my best friend and agent’s youngest sister, Jules, constantly accuses me of being. I can’t seem to stop antagonizing her either. To be fair, I’m only like this with people I care about.

If I don’t like you, you don’t exist. Period.

And as if the universe is trying to fuck with me, a text from my brother immediately follows that thought.

Gabriel

I need to know if you’re coming. It’s Mom and Dad’s 50th anniversary. Please tell me you’ll be there.

Gabriel

It’s been fifteen years. You have to be over this by now.

It’s five in the morning, which means we’ll be landing inBoston soon, and somewhere outside of Montreal, Gabriel probably just finished a shift at the hospital. He’s an ER doctor, because of course he is.

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