Page 7 of Fake Shot

The traffic light changes, and I start to move with the after-work crowd across the crosswalk. Once I hit the tree-lined streets of the South End, some of the noise of the cityfades away. I inhale the early-spring scent—the trees, with their leaves finally blossoming, and the tulips and daffodils that line people’s small planting areas in front of the brick row houses. The days are finally getting longer and warmer, and I already can’t wait for the first really nice day.

Audrey’s text that she’s arrived home safely comes right as I take the steps to our row house, so I let her know I’m home too. And when I shut the heavy wood and glass front door behind me, all I can see of Jameson is his dark dress pants and his crisp light blue button down, because his head is shoved into my refrigerator.

“Why are there no leftovers?” he calls out, standing fully and turning toward me.

“I haven’t felt like cooking lately.” I shrug out of my long cardigan and hang it on the hook by the door.

“Life not stressful enough?” he teases.

It’s always been the joke in our family that you can tell if I’ve had a stressful day by how much I cook that night. But the truth is, cooking is my love language, and without my family around to enjoy the food, there’s far less pleasure in it. I still cook for our weekly family dinners, but I find myself making something simple or ordering out more often than not on the weekdays.

“What’s the point, if there’s no one here to eat it?” Setting my bag on the counter, I reach up to grab a glass off the open shelf above it. I spent so long talking tonight that I’m parched.

“I might have a solution for that,” Jameson says as he shuts the refrigerator door.

My face scrunches up in confusion as I try to figure out what he’s talking about. “A solution to what?”

“To not having anyone here to eat your cooking.”

Pausing mid-step on my way toward the water dispenser, I turn my head slowly and look at my brother. “What are you talking about?”

Oh god, please don’t let something be wrong with him and Lauren.I send the plea up to the universe, even though the thought is ridiculous. But he’s standing in my kitchen asking about leftovers instead of going home after work to her ... so for the briefest moment I’m worried he means he’s moving back into his old apartment on our third floor. But no ... I’ve never known him to be this happy, and Lauren has the quiet confidence of knowing he’d do anything for her or her daughters. They’re solid.

“I need a favor.”

“The last time you asked me for a favor, I ended up remodeling Lauren’s entire house.” I place the empty glass on the counter and fold my arms across my chest, a small smile on my lips.

“And look how that turned out,” he says.

Our lives all changed for the better when Lauren moved back to Boston. Not only is she now one of my closest friends and my future sister-in-law, but I also gained her sister, Paige, and her cousin, Morgan, as close friends. Combined with Audrey, we have a very tight-knit circle—they’re part of the family we’ve built in the aftermath of losing both our parents. “I don’t need any more friends, Jameson. What’s the favor?”

“I ...” He pauses and then shoves his hands in his pockets as the next words come tumbling out in a jumbled rush that’s entirely unlike my brother’s normal air of calm confidence. “...told Colt he could stay in my old apartment for a couple months.”

“You ... what?”My heart races as the reality of the situation settles like lead in my stomach.

No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“His entire condo flooded. He came home yesterday to a partially collapsed second floor and six inches of water in his first floor. It’s totally uninhabitable. He needs a place to stay while his condo is fully gutted and remodeled.”

“How about he rents something?” That man is the highest paid player on the team, and he’s had lucrative endorsement deals since I was a kid. It’s not like he can’t afford it.

“He’s about to start the playoffs, Jules. Finding a place to rent, furnishing it ... he doesn’t have time for that shit. He just needs a place to stay when he’s not traveling for hockey.”

“So find him a furnished apartment to rent for a couple of months.”

Distance is what makes our relationship work. Having him in my space, where I can’t avoid him, is a no-go.

“Ihavea furnished apartment he can stay in. Why would we go through the trouble of looking for other places? Neither of us has time for that. Colt’s in New York today and tomorrow filming a commercial for one of his brand endorsements. We have Drew and Audrey’s party this weekend, and then Lauren and I are heading up to Blackstone with the kids for a few days next week to visit Jackson,” he says, referring to one of Lauren’s best friends who owns a ski mountain in New Hampshire with her husband, Nate. “I told him I’d help him move in on Wednesday once he’s back.”

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying not to let mythoughts escape my mouth. My family always accuses me of not having a filter.If only they knew the things Idon’tsay.

“You can’t just offer up that apartment like that, Jameson. It’s not like it’s separate from this house.”

After our mom died and our father left a note under an empty bottle of scotch saying he “couldn’t do this anymore,” Jameson retired from the NHL to become a sports agent, and to serve as Audrey’s and my guardian. He raised us in our family’s brownstone, trying to give us as much stability as possible after a few years of hell.

And then when we were both in college, he remodeled our house and created a one-bedroom apartment for himself on the third floor. But to get to it, you have to come in through our entryway, which with our open floor plan basically means you walk into our living room and kitchen, and then go up two flights on the central staircase, right past the second-floor bedrooms. This wasn’t a problem when it was my brother living on the third floor, and Audrey, Graham, and me living on the first two floors.

“It’s just Colt.” Jameson says it dismissively, and my nostrils flare as I try not to react to that statement.

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