Page 94 of Fumbling for Perfection

“Fuck, man.” I close my eyes and wince. “Don’t even go there.”

“And thank you to Walter Bankes for coming too.”

Dec snorts. “FuckingWalter. You da man.”

I’ll cut her some slack since she’s not a sports reporter and has no clue who I am.

“Who wants our very own Boston Revolutions players to get the 5K started this morning?”

The crowd erupts and Dec moans. “She’s a clinger, man. Don’t make me go up there.”

Thousands of pairs of eyes are focused on us, and it would be rude and embarrassing for the team if we denied her request. I hate that the attention isn’t on Riley and her organization anymore.

The crowd starts chanting for us, and we reluctantly work our way through the throngs of runners to the stage. They’re all decked out in costumes, having the time of their lives. I glance at Riley, who has a frozen smile on her face. To anyone else, it looks real. Genuine. But I’ve been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a real Margaret Riley smile. Granted, if I called her by her full name, the smile would surely disappear.

When we reach the podium, Rebecca holds the microphone out to Dec. He stares at it like it’s made of vipers. I’m not big on public speaking, but for Riley, I’ll do just about anything. I take the microphone and clear my throat.

I look out among the crowd, most of whom have their cell phones out taking pictures and videos. While I don’t like the attention being on me, on us, this morning, I can use it to my advantage. Or rather, to Riley’s.

“Morning, Boston.” They go fucking ecstatic, like I gave the most inspirational, moving speech.

“You all know why you’re here today, right?”

They cheer, but I doubt many do. The Channel 8 camera is rolling, and if we’re live, I want to make sure all of Boston and its surrounding cities know about Riley and Boston Strong.

“We’re here today for you.” I point to the grouping of boys and girls wearing special Boston Strong shirts that single them out as past, present, and future recipients of Boston Strong programs and scholarships.

“These kids are why we’re here. If it weren’t for Riley, the owner and visionary for Boston Strong, we wouldn’t be here today. And if it weren’t for all of you and the amazing sponsors, these children wouldn’t have the physical therapy, specialized athletic training that only the wealthy can afford, or scholarships to help them reach their dreams.”

I wait for the cheers and applause to die down and cast Riley a quick look. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, and she stares at me with gratitude.

“She makes sure our children, the future of our city, our state, our country, our future professional athletes, doctors, lawyers, electricians, contractors, and teachers, have an equal opportunity to do what they love to do. Many of these children come from families that don’t have insurance to pay for physical therapy. None of them have extra funds lying around to pay for advanced athletic training. Boston Strong supports as many kids as they can financially to help them reach their dreams. Your donations mean they can help even more.”

I hold out my arm for Riley and beckon her to me with my hand. Her eyes grow wide, but she reluctantly crosses the stage to me. I put my hand on her shoulder in a friendly manner, not around her waist, claiming her in front of this city like I want.

“This woman works tirelessly around the clock, three hundred sixty-five days a year, wearing every hat a small business and non-profit organization needs so she doesn’t have to hire out and spend money that could be used to support another child. Let’s give her and the other hundred volunteers here today a round of applause.”

I wait while the crowd claps and cheers.

“Thank you for supporting my favorite Boston charity. While the 5K raises the bulk of the scholarship money, they need donations year-round. You can trust that one hundred percent of your donations go towards the kids and not to payroll. I’ve sat in on a meeting with the organization’s accountant—who works pro bono, by the way. Riley even found a way to save money there.”

I glance up at the countdown clock and realize I talked way too long. There’s only sixty-five seconds to warm up.

“I’m gonna pass off the mic to my friend Dec now and let him get you guys warmed up. Good luck, Boston!”

I step to the side, bringing Riley with me, and keep my eyes on Dec and my hands in my pockets, or I’m afraid I’ll do something crazy like grab her ass and haul her into my chest and kiss the hell out of her pink lips that have been trapped between her teeth for the past five minutes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RILEY

My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my throat is hoarse from cheering and talking all day long. I can’t believe Walker showed up this morning to volunteer.

I can’t believe the words he spoke to the crowd and to the news.

I can’t believe how much he’s listened to me over the months talking about Boston Strong. He spoke like a representative of the organization. Like he worked with us.

And I can’t believe he left shortly after and I didn’t get to kiss him goodbye. My phone vibrated non stop in my pocket, but I never had a second to check it. My head coordinators and I communicated through walkie talkies. It was the only way to prioritize emergencies and not be overwhelmed or distracted with outside issues.

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