Because of my education background, I told the front office I wanted to be involved in this program as much as possible. And giving back to libraries, that involves a more personal desire.
The school is a little rundown, but full of colorful paintings and decorations made from paper, strung and hung on the walls. There’s a bulletin board dedicated to the Bobcats that’s super cool. Baseballs made by the students out of construction paper and red-colored macaroni hang in the dedicated space along with a giant thank you.
I find Cameron and step up next to him. “Sorry, I got held up.”
“No problem, they’re just starting,” he says as the children start to cheer and go slightly crazy. Some of them bouncing on their butts in excitement.
I bend slightly and start waving at them, loving their joyful faces. When I get a chance to finally focus on a family, I want a big one. I’m still relatively young in my major league career, so I have some time before I settle down.
Scanning the room, I take in the meek surroundings, noticing the tear in the carpets and the worn-out furniture. The walls are colorful with decorations, and fake plants are scattered about, but you can tell the money we’re donating today will really help out.
My eyes roll over the school staff and I swear, I’m seeing things. I blink a few times before focusing my eyes again, but they’re still showing me the same blast from the past.
Emory?
Is that really her?
No fucking way.
Her hair is much blonder, shorter, but those eyes, those goddamn fuckable lips, and those luscious tits . . . it’s her.
And from the shocked look on her face, she wasn’t expecting to see me here.
That makes two of us.
Emory Ealson. In Chicago? For how fucking long? Is that still her name? Is she married?
A glance at her left ring finger tells me there isn’t a change of last name, at least not yet.
A gauntlet of emotions passes through me in a matter of seconds. Shock, anger . . . desire.
Fuck, she looks so damn good, even better than I remember.
After she left without saying goodbye, I tried to keep my distance. I turned off all notifications from following her on social media, not wanting to see what she was doing, or who she was doing. I tried to make that solid break. It took some time, but after a few years, I was able to move past what we had, at least that’s what I tried to convince myself. From the way my heart is about to beat out of my chest, I’m going to guess I didn’t sever those feelings. I buried them.
Vanessa, who’s in charge of the education initiative, starts her speech, something about the Bobcats stepping in to promote education and sports, but nothing registers as I continue to stare at Emory. Her eyes flicker away, her face burning red, her avoidance obvious.
But I don’t let up. I keep my eyes on her the entire time. When we’re handing over the check, when the principal makes a speech about where the funds will be going, my eyes stay directly on her.
She doesn’t pay me the same regard though. She’s doing everything in her power to avoid looking at me, even staring at those red heels of hers that make her legs look incredibly long.
“Can we get a picture with everyone?”
Vanessa motions with her hands for the staff and players to gather together behind the big check, but instead of joining, Emory takes a step back, pushing her way behind the desks where she pretends to look at some paperwork.
“Miss Ealson,” Vanessa calls out. Emory’s last name plunges a sword into my chest. All the times I called her Ealson. The way I teased her, made her laugh, threatened her with kisses while using her last name. Fuck. “Please, come join us.”
Emory looks up, but waves her hand in dismissal, not saying a word, but trying to put on a good show. When Vanessa probes again, Emory shakes her off once more. It isn’t until the principal asks her to join that Emory gives in and stands next to . . . what the fuck is Lindsay doing here?
When I catch her eyes, she looks guilty and . . . excited at the same time. Does Dottie still live in Chicago too? What the hell is going on?
Anger boils at the base of my spine. Have they been here since college? And they never once reached out? It’s not like playing for the Bobcats is a goddamn secret. My face is plastered all over Chicago.
What the fuck happened to friends always?
Trying not to lose my goddamn cool, I put on a smile for the camera, read a story to the children, shake some hands, and spend a little time with the kids before they head to lunch. Vanessa dismisses us, but instead of leaving like my teammates, I stand in place, waiting to see if she’ll approach me, if she’ll come up and say hi, if she’ll look at me one more goddamn time. When she doesn’t, I have no other choice but to call her out on this bullshit.
Chapter Thirty-Three
EMORY
Never in my life have I had a panic attack, but I’m almost positive I’m about to have one. I can barely breathe—only short intakes of air are piercing my lungs. My throat is so emotionally tight I can barely speak, and every single inch of my body is shaking with nerves.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t ever supposed to see him again. I’ve made it a priority to avoid him at all costs, but here he is, in the flesh, never taking his eyes off me.
After the event is over, I turn to Cora and whisper in her ear, my voice barely audible over my pounding heart. “I . . . I need”—I choke on my words, tears starting to flood my eyes—“I need to get out of here.”
“Go.” She touches my arm. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Thank you,” I mouth, because my voice has stopped working.
Without looking back, I bolt to the tiny office Cora and I share—mainly used to get away for a few seconds and have a bite to eat.
I shut the office door and lean against the wall. The moment I squeeze my eyes shut, tears stream down my cheeks and a sob slips past my lips. I slide down the wall, my hand covering my mouth to muffle my cries.
This is exactly why I avoided seeing him, because despite the time apart, everything is too raw.
Seeing him, standing there in his jersey, looking sexier than ever, it took everything inside me not to break down and cry for the loss of what we had, what our future could have been if circumstances were different. I might have ended things with Knox, trying to ensure he gave his future his all, but my heart never broke up with him. My heart never let go of him.
Squatting against the wall, I try to regain my composure, taking deep breaths and willing myself to pull it together, and then the door opens. I glance up, expecting Cora, but in place of my good friend is the man I’m still very much in love with.
I spring up to stand and quickly wipe away my tears as he shuts the door behind him.
His cologne, fresh and clean, fills the small space, followed by his ripped and sculpted body. He’s bigger than he was in college, thicker, more of a man, which is saying something since Knox was already physically in top form.
“Wh-what are you doing in here?” I ask as he stares me down, his eyes stealing any strength I have left, which is pretty much none.
His jaw works to the side before he says, “I see old habits don’t die hard, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, taking a step back, needing some space from the powerful presence in front of me.
“Leaving without saying goodbye.” It’s a well-deserved jab, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt . . . bad.
“I . . . didn’t think—”
“How long have you lived here?” He folds his arms across his brawny chest, his pecs thick and defined beneath his jersey.
No hi. No how are you. No, wow, I haven’t seen you in a while. He’s skipped past all pleasantries, strapped on a load of anger, and he’s going right for it.
Nerves bounce around in my stomach, twisting and churning. I’ve dreamt of those eyes, but instead of sharp brows hanging over them, they were full of love. I’ve dreamt of those lips, but
instead of a thin line of irritation, they were pressed against mine. And I’ve dreamt of those arms, but instead of folded and closed off, they were wrapped around my body, holding me tightly against him.
I can’t seem to breathe around him, or find my words for that matter. It’s too much—the memories, the way he smells, the hard look in his eyes. There’s so much anger, so much unsaid between us. The wound I created never truly healed. That’s evident right now.
“Are you going to answer me?” he growls. “How long have you lived here?”
I swallow hard, my hands twisting together in front of me, palms sweaty, nerves shot. “I . . . uh.” Tears fall down my cheek. “Since college.”
“Since—” He sucks in a sharp breath and spins around, pushing his hand through his hair as if he can’t possibly believe it. Finally, when he faces me again, he speaks through gritted teeth. “You’ve lived here since fucking college and you didn’t tell me?”
“You had your own life. I didn’t want to mess that up.”
“You were my life, Emory. Fuck!” He pulls on the back of his neck with both hands and looks to the ceiling. More tears stream down my face. “I can’t believe you’ve been here all along, knowing I’m a goddamn phone call away, and never connected with me. What happened to friends forever? What happened to staying in touch?”
“It goes both ways,” I say on a sob.
“Yeah, it sure fucking does. Which means the minute you knew I was called up to the majors you should have let me know where you were.”
“You were with Mia.”
“Fuck Mia. She was nothing compared to you. Goddamn, Emory, don’t you realize how you fucking destroyed me in college? How breaking us up . . . don’t you know how much that killed me? You were the girl I wanted, the person I wanted by my side, for life. And you took that away and then hid it from me. You’ve been under my fucking nose this entire time and never said a goddamn word. Is it because you really want nothing to do with me? Did you mean more to me, than I did to you?”
I suck in a sob and try to steady my breathing, but my voice comes out choppy and hoarse. “If that were the case, do you think I’d be this upset?”
“I don’t know.” He throws his hands out to the side. “Maybe you’re embarrassed you got caught.”
“If that’s what you really think, you don’t know me at all.”
“Yeah, apparently I don’t,” he whispers-shouts, probably realizing we’re only a door away from a bunch of people. “The girl I knew would never have hidden herself away from me. She was feisty, strong, sure of what we had together. I don’t know who I’m looking at right now.”
How can he possibly see anything but love and desire for him? How can he see me shiver with emotion under his stare and think it’s anything but the all-consuming love I still have for him?
Mustering enough courage to speak my mind, I say, “The girl you’re staring at right now isn’t embarrassed she got caught, nor is she as lifeless as you’re depicting.” I point to my chest, my shirt wet from the tears that won’t stop. “This girl is full of life, full of hurt . . . full of regret. A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about the decision I made in college.” A sob escapes me. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what we used to have, the bond we shared. And although it was my decision to end things, I wouldn’t have changed what I did because you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” I wipe away a tear. “Starting shortstop for the Chicago Bobcats.”
“I could have done that with you, Em.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Knox. You couldn’t have, and I’m not rehashing my decision with you. What I did was right for both of us.”
“It was right for you,” he snaps. “It was what you wanted, and you didn’t give me a goddamn chance to discuss it with you. You made your decision and then we both had to abide by it. It wasn’t fucking fair.”
“You wouldn’t have made the right decision.”
“And who decided what the right decision was? You?” I don’t know how to answer that, but he doesn’t give me a chance. “Color me stupid, but when you’re in a committed relationship, you usually make decisions together, not one-sided conclusions. But then again, that’s what our entire relationship was, wasn’t it? You making demands, and me fucking bending so I could get a moment of your time.”
“That’s not how it was,” I shoot back. How did we get in this moment? So angry at each other? “I was protecting my heart.”
“Because another shithead hurt you. You punished me for his past behaviors the minute we started dating. You never gave me a goddamn chance.”
“That’s not true,” I say, my voice rising, hating that he still can’t see the reasons behind everything I did. “I was protecting my heart because the minute I met you, I knew you’d ruin me in the best way possible. Everything about you—from your personality, to your commanding eyes, to your sweet, yet teasing voice—I knew any man who came after you would never compare.”
“And yet, you still broke us up.”
“I protected you.” I push my hand against his chest, moving forward into his space. “I protected you from my weak heart. Do you really think I wanted to break up with you? I fucking loved you, Knox. You were the man who pieced me back together and showed me my worth.”
His eyes narrow, his chest heaves, and his hands pulse in and out at his sides, anger rolling off him in waves.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to say those words in anger,” he says, his jaw so tight his mouth barely moves when he talks. “We’ve never said them to each other and you choose now to say them, eight years later, when it doesn’t matter?”
“If it doesn’t matter, then why do you care? If none of this matters to you, why are you in here? Are you just trying to hurt me? Because if you are, job well done.”
“I’m hurting you?” He points to his chest. “Do you realize what I had to do to try to get over you? I almost lost my starting position. Coach often threatened to bench me because I couldn’t get my head out of my ass. My entire first year in the minors consisted of me struggling mentally, because I was hung up on you. You think you helped me? That you protected me? No, you took away the one thing that kept me sane. And I’m still damaged from it. I still think about you and dream about you.” He takes a step forward, closing the space between us, the air around us shrinking. “I still wonder about what it would be like to have your lips all over my body, to eat your pussy until you scream, to be buried so deep inside you I’d never want to leave.”
Hands shaking, I keep them firmly linked together, the temptation to reach for him too strong.
“But you don’t have those same feelings, the same thoughts, do you, Em? Because this relationship we had, I was always all in when you had one foot out.”
I grind my teeth together. “Stop insulting me.” I push my fingers against his chest. “Stop treating my feelings as meaningless.” I poke him again, but this time he clamps his hand over my fingers, sending a bolt of lust straight up my arm as he drags me closer to him. “Stop—” I suck in a deep breath when his other hand wraps around my waist.
“Stop what? Pushing you to admit the truth, that breaking up with me was the worst decision of your life?”
Because he stands at least a foot taller than I am, I glance up into his smoldering eyes as they search mine. The usual light pools of blue I memorized in my head are a dark, stormier color, casting a sense of warning over me. His face is sharper, his grip stronger, his voice deeper as he demands answers from me.
“Just admit it, Em.”
“Why? So you can tell yourself you were right?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I say while pushing him away, but he snags my wrist and spins me around so I’m pressed against the wall of the tiny office. His hand presses into my hips as his gaze roams my body, the heat between us crackling like fire embers, ready to ignite into something bigger.
“If you won’t admit to it, then tell me this . . . do you st
ill have feelings for me?”
He moves his head closer, stilling the air around us as his heavenly scent spins and twists my stomach into knots. After eight years of barely any contact, of trying to avoid seeing this man, it’s as if his presence has unlocked a flood of emotions, and I’m slowly drowning in them, one breath at a time.
His question hangs between us as I try to comprehend what to say. Do I still have feelings for him? The truth is, I never lost them. Always in the back of my mind, in the back of my heart, I carried a gauntlet of feelings for this man. And no matter who I dated or how hard I tried to forget, he was always a part of my life, a piece of who I am.
“If I did . . . what would you do? Laugh in my face, tell me I told you so, and storm out of this room?”
If I didn’t think his eyes could narrow more, I was wrong.
“If you really think this is a trap to prove you wrong, you’re widely off base.” His grip tightens. “This isn’t a trap. This is a test.”
“A test?” I ask as his hips press against mine. I suck in a sharp breath as my body instantly melts into his, my wobbly legs barely holding me up. “What kind of test?”
His hands move up my arms, over my shoulders, to my neck where his calloused and rough fingers grip my jaw. Eyes intent on mine, electricity bouncing between us. The old flame that burned bright in college reigniting.
“This kind of test,” he says right before angling my mouth up and pressing his lips against mine. It’s a soft peck at first, as if he’s making sure I’m not about to run, but when I hold still, he deepens the kiss and the hold he has on me.
Soft, yet different, with a sense of desperation I’ve never felt from him before, his lips carefully move across mine before his tongue parts my lips and dives forward. My hands slink around his neck. My body presses into his. Flashbacks of our time together hit me square in the chest.
The Locker Room Page 26
