Page 133 of Faking the Shot

“I cannot believe you, Zac,” his mom continued. “How can you think that what we believe, what I believe, is not enough?”

Because he suspected his parents didn’t know the difference yet between religion and relationship. One was like Ainsley’s show kiss, the other involved the heart. Not that he had a hope of explaining that right now. Too much else was going down for them to truly hear.

“Leave the boy alone,” his dad growled. “He’s happy. Isn’t that enough?”

“Are you happy?” his mom asked anxiously. “You can’t be. Not with Ainsley dumping you like that.”

Happywasn’t quite right. Peace-filled fit better. “Like I said, I’m more at peace now than I have been for a long time.”

“You do seem different,” his mom murmured.

“And after years of doing things my own way, I’m kind of enjoying doing things differently. Like God’s way.”

“You mean with all this stuff about love?”

“Yep. It’s not easy, but it’s good. And that’s making me a better man, so I can be the best man for a wife one day.”

“Wow.”

He smiled at his dad. The husband for a wife who wanted a man to husband her.

Please, God.

* * *

“Oh my goodness,I can’t believe it. Just look at you.”

Ainsley smothered a smile at Rosie’s histrionics as she fondled the sharp edge to her blunt cut. “It looks pretty awesome, doesn’t it?”

Rosie groaned as Mal shook his head. She’d guessed this conference call wasn’t going to be easy, but hadn’t counted on them starting with her hair.

“I saw the latest images,” Rosie said. “You know they’ll keep pasting your head onto those bodies no matter what you do.”

“That’s not why I got my hair cut,” she said stiffly.

“But why? Why did you do this? You know there’s a clause in your contract that you can’t cut your hair.”

“I forgot about that clause. But I can wear a wig. Besides, my hair is going to a charity that makes wigs for cancer patients, so that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she added, goading them to agree.

But by their silence, it didn’t seem they did.

“What is wrong with you, Ainsley?” Mal eventually complained. “Why do you keep making poor choices?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your hair. The strip club. And now this.”

“Now what?”

Mal held up his phone, but she couldn’t see. “I’m sorry, that’s really blurry. What is it a picture of?”

“It’s a picture of someone who looks like you. Exiting a well-known entertainment reporter’s apartment very late at night.”

Well, there was only one of those. “Do you mean Emmett’s apartment?”

His chin dipped.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand why you would ask me that.”

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