Fake Shot (Boston Rebels Book 2)
Chapter 33

“What do you think of this?” Morgan asks as she brings the camera over to Rosie, to make sure that she doesn’t move from her seated position, so that if she’s happy with the angle, we can re-record from the same place.

Rosie takes a look at the camera as Morgan plays the clip back and says, “It’s fine. I don’t know why I even care about showing the other side of my face.” She sounds like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Because you’ve been through hell,” I say, “and you don’t need to be reminded of it. We can show the world what a badass you are, without having to dredge up your past.”

I want her to know that part of what makes her strong is how much she’s endured and overcome, but that’s not the only reason she’s amazing.

Rosie takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah, but would this testimonial be more powerful if I talked about my past? That way, people would know what you helped me overcome to achieve what I did.”

I hear the side door open in the kitchen, and glance over to see Colt walking through it before I say, “You overcame that. You did the work. I just gave you a little guidance.”

Rosie shakes her head. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” I ask.

“Your worth.”

Tears spring to my eyes and my nose waters, and I have to sniff and look away before I start crying. When Morgan first suggested developing some sort of school-to-career pipeline to help more women enter the trades, I never could have imagined the women I’d meet. Rosie was the first woman to accept the offer of mentorship, and while we’ve been able to help a dozen more women too, Rosie will always hold a special place in my heart. As apparently, I do in hers.

Colt steps up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me to him so my back is against his chest as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “She really doesn’t,” he says. “But if we keep working on her, maybe we can convince her.”

A smile spreads across Rosie’s face. “And who are you?”

“I’m Colt, Jules’s fiancé.” He lets me go as he leans forward and holds his arm out to shake her hand, and even as I glance over at them, I’m still in shock. He’s introduced me to his family and friends back home as his fiancée, and to his teammates and their wives and girlfriends too . . . but it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him introduce himself as my fiancé. And I’m trying really hard not to read too much into it, but the pride I heard in his voice keeps me teary-eyed.

Rosie’s eyebrows are practically at her hairline as she shakes his hand, then looks at me. “You got engaged and didn’t even say anything? Where’s the ring?”

“I don’t usually wear it during the week because I don’t want anything to happen to it at work.” And, you know, because we’re not really engaged.

“The woman wanted a silicone ring,” Colt tells Rosie. “And I insisted on something a bit more . . . traditional.” He reaches into his pocket. “It’s funny, though, because I just picked this up for you today.”

He holds out his hand and in his palm rests a silicone ring made up of small gold dots linked together. I had no idea they made silicone rings in anything other than plain bands. “It’s actually . . . beautiful.”

He looks down at me with his lips quirked up slightly in a knowing smile. “It reminded me of the gold disk on the necklace you always wear.” Instinctively, I reach up and run the disk with the stars between my thumb and forefinger, and then Colt takes my hand and slides the ring onto my finger. “That’s better.”

“Alright,” Rosie says, her voice overly loud. We both turn to look at her, where she’s sitting with Morgan still standing next to her, fanning her face. “Now I’m about to cry because you two are too cute. So before I go and ruin my mascara, can we film this video?”

We all laugh, and then Colt says, “Okay if I stay?”

I’m about to tell him that it’s better if we have some privacy for this, when Rosie says, “Of course you can.”

When Morgan begins recording, Rosie shocks the hell out of me by starting out talking about her abusive ex-boyfriend and how she escaped that situation, all so she could give her daughter a better life.

She explains how isolating electrical school felt because there were only three women in the entire program, and how hard it had been to build connections with her classmates or see herself being successful in that field.

“And then, one day, they announced a guest speaker. It was an optional thing, after classes were already over, and I almost didn’t go because it meant I’d have to pay for an extra hour of babysitting, and Lord knows I didn’t have the money for that. But something told me I needed to be there.”

My throat tightens, and Colt wraps his arm around my abdomen, pulling me back against him again.

“And there was this woman, all blonde and looking like Construction Barbie, talking about how we needed more women in the trades, and how she was organizing a mentoring program to connect women in trade school with women already working in the field. At that point, I was almost ready to give up on this path. I could have just dismissed her, thinking that her experience and mine were too different. What could this woman, who looked and talked like she was some rich girl from the city, possibly know about helping a woman like me? As it turns out”—Rosie turns to face the camera, moving her long hair back over her shoulder so the jagged, raised scar along her cheek is clearly visible—“everything. See, one of the things Jules taught me is that some of us wear our scars on the outside . . .” She points at her own face. “But some people wear their scars on the inside and use their pain to help others.”

Her eyes flick to mine, and she notes the tears streaming down my face before she looks directly at the camera. “I’m so glad I didn’t let my initial assumptions, based on nothing more than outward appearance, dissuade me. Because this mentoring program . . . it saved me. Not only did it provide the guidance and support I needed to figure out how to make it through electrical school, but it’s also helped me line up the work experience I need before I can sit for my exam and get my journeyman license. Now that I’m working and have a steady income, it’s the first time in my life I feel like I can breathe. I have absolutely no doubt that the day I earn that license is the day I fully break the cycle of poverty and abuse I was born into. And I’m equally certain that without this mentoring program, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

I’m pressing my fist into my lips so hard I can taste blood, but it’s the only thing preventing my sob from escaping. I knew we’d helped Rosie, and a dozen other women like her, but I honestly didn’t know how much. And it kills me that we have a waiting list and can’t help more people until we get the funding to expand the program.

At this point, Rosie breaks down crying, and I don’t even think about it before I step out of Colt’s arms so that I can cross the room and wrap her in my embrace. “You healed me too . . . I hope you know that. You showed me what true strength looks like.”

A million thoughts are running through my mind at this point—thoughts of gratitude for the privilege that’s allowed me to do this work, and sadness for the women who have walked this path before me all alone. But none of the thoughts are screaming louder for my attention than the one that says, “You need donors NOW.” At a minimum, we need to hire someone to run the nonprofit—to recruit and coordinate the mentors and mentees, to handle all the administrative stuff that I simply don’t have time for.

I think back to how both Jameson and Colt have offered donations. I said no, initially, because of my pride. Because I didn’t want the mentoring program to succeed based on relatives donating, I wanted it to succeed because other people in the industry saw the need and recognized how we met it.

But does it really matter where the money comes from, if it helps us do the work we need to do? And once the foundation is in place, maybe that will free me and Audrey up to look for other donors.

Rosie pulls back, saying she needs a minute to collect herself, and she’s going to step outside. I point her toward the sliding glass door off the living room that leads to the tiny backyard, and she steps through.

“Wow,” Morgan says. “That was . . . powerful.”

I wipe my face and turn toward her and Colt, who stands slightly behind her where I left him. “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to get so emotional.”

“I think that’s how you know the work is worth it,” Morgan says. She glances at me and then over her shoulder at Colt. “You know, I think I need a minute too. I’m going to take a quick walk.” She turns and heads out the front door, leaving us alone in the living room.

Tenderness lines his features as he gazes at me with what I can only describe as some combination of love and pride. “I hope you know how amazing you are.”

I wipe under my eyes again, hoping I’ve gotten most of the streaked mascara off my cheeks. “Remember when you offered to donate? I hope you have your checkbook ready,” I say.

He steps up close and wraps his arms around me. “There’s no one I’d rather invest in than you.”

“So,” Morgan says as she takes a sip of her drink and eyes our friends where they sit around the table now littered with drinks and appetizers. “Since Jules isn’t telling you what happened this afternoon, I guess I will.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, shooting her a look.

“Like hell it wasn’t,” she says, then shares the story of filming Rosie’s testimonial, beginning with Colt giving me a new ring and ending with Rosie and me sobbing in each other’s arms.

“Holy crap,” Audrey says. “I can’t believe I missed that. The one day I have an offsite meeting?” She’d been at the house of our next clients, reviewing their renovation plans so we can order the necessary materials once they’re approved.

“You missed the best part,” I tell Morgan as I reach into my purse for the check, then hold it up in front of me with two hands.

“How many zeros is that?” Audrey asks, snatching the check from my fingers. She looks at it, then up at me. “Are you for real?”

“Are you going to tell us what it says, or just tease us?” Lauren asks.

“It’s a donation, from Colt, for a hundred thousand dollars.” Audrey’s voice is full of awe.

Lauren turns toward me. “Have you talked to your brother about that?” It sounds an awful lot like, You’re going to be in so much trouble when your dad gets home.

“No, why?”

Lauren sighs. “Because I was telling Jackson and Nate about your nonprofit when we were visiting them at Blackstone last week . . . and Jameson mentioned that he’d wanted to invest, and you wouldn’t let him because you didn’t want handouts from family. Is Colt not family?”

I’m sure my face reddens, because suddenly my mind is reeling with images from our shower this morning. He very clearly doesn’t see me like a little sister anymore.

“I came to a really important realization when Rosie was talking today,” I say quickly, trying to get those thoughts of Colt out of my head. I tell them about my epiphany that maybe all we need is a bit of starter money from whoever wants to donate it, regardless of why they’re donating, to let us start growing the program.

“I wish you’d talked to me about that.” My sister sounds hurt. “I mean, I know this program is really your baby, but so far, we’ve made all the big decisions together.”

“Audrey,” I say, looking over at her. “I’m so sorry, I was just so excited at the prospect of helping more women, and you’ve said all along that it shouldn’t matter who donates, so I thought I was doing what you would have wanted me to.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. You’re right. I’m just being . . .” she trails off and looks away before glancing back. “I don’t even know. It’s just weird, like you have this other person now that you go to before me, and I’m used to being that person who helps you make decisions. Now you have Colt.”

I give her a small smile. “I know exactly how you feel.”

She tugs at her necklace, and I see now how we both do the same thing when we’re worried or uncomfortable. It’s like the small reminder of our mother, who gave us our necklaces, soothes us. “Is this how it felt when Drew and I got together?”

“Yeah, especially once you moved out.”

Reaching across the table, she squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s natural that things will change . . .”

“Yeah, I guess I just didn’t see this coming with Colt.”

Morgan sighs. “You should have seen them together today. He is so far gone over her.”

“So, is this not fake anymore?” Audrey asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. It sure as hell doesn’t feel fake. “Things are definitely . . . shifting.”

“What’s that even mean?” Lauren asks, her brow furrowing with what looks like concern.

“It means we’re figuring it out.”

“Please tell me you’re at least getting laid,” Morgan says. She clearly has no idea about my status as a virgin because I’ve never told anyone but Audrey, and now Colt.

“Not exactly,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. “But . . . things are definitely heating up.”

“I really don’t want to know this.” Lauren makes a sing-song voice as she playfully covers her ears. Then she drops her hands and says, more seriously, “Because when Jameson asks me if I think anything is actually going on between you two, I want to be able to say that I don’t know.”

“Well, since I haven’t actually given you any details, you can say that you don’t know anything.” I laugh to myself, because this reminds me so much of when Drew first came back into Audrey’s life, and Audrey refused to give Lauren any details because she wanted her to have “plausible deniability” if Jameson asked her any questions.

The waiter comes over then to see if we want another round of drinks or more food, and after we order, the conversation turns toward Lauren’s upcoming bridal shower. She’d insisted she didn’t want one, as there was absolutely nothing she and Jameson needed.

Honestly, I think she’s still just traumatized by memories of the bridal shower her ex-mother-in-law threw for her in Park City, before she married her first husband, Josh. Lauren knew almost no one there, except her mother and sister who had flown out, and her mother-in-law had made her feel like the whole event, which she’d insisted on throwing, was an enormous imposition.

So it felt like a small victory when Lauren finally agreed to let us have a small brunch as long as there were no “silly wedding games.” As we chat about the upcoming event, I’m relieved that the conversation doesn’t come back around to Colt and me.

But as if he knew I was thinking about him, my phone buzzes with a text.

Colt

What time will you be home tonight?

Jules

Not sure, why? Miss me already?

I don’t know where Colt went once we were done filming Rosie’s testimonial. He’d said he “had something to take care of,” kissed my forehead, told me he’d see me when I got home from dinner with my friends tonight, before heading out the door.

Colt

You know it.

Jules

We just ordered another round of drinks.

Colt

Let me know if you need me to come walk you home.

Jules

LOL, you really DO miss me, don’t you?

Why does that realization tug at my heart so much? I told myself that I didn’t have to worry about falling for Colt, because there was no way he’d ever fall for me. But if he has, what’s stopping me from falling, too?

Colt

Like I’d miss breathing if there was no air.