Dammit, he hadn’t wanted her to drop in on his world so soon again. Yet, one of the reasons he’d returned to Willowbrook was her. If his suspicions about Emma and their breakup were true, Drew had every right to be pissed at her for risking her life and the life of their unborn child when she’d taken off on his Ducati.
The clues had been subtle. She hadn’t drank the red wine, and she’d worn boots beneath her fancy dress. Emma wouldn’t have passed up wine for water or heels for boots. Not at a party.
Shit, if only he’d used a condom like she’d asked the night he’d snuck her into his hotel room. She’d said she might’ve thrown up some of her BC pills when she had been sick, that maybe the antibiotics messed with her sensitive stomach. As always, Emma played it safe. Too bad safe hadn’t been on his mind when she’d stripped off her clothes, revealing a lacy get-up. A month had been too long away from her.
“What time is it?” He zoned in on any topic, even something as mundane as the hour, just to get the image of her in a red, lace-trimmed bra and thong out of his mind.
“It’s after six.”
He’d slept all afternoon and into the evening. The intensity of his workouts wore him out. No wonder his wrists throbbed.
“I went through your cupboards,” she continued. “There’s hardly any food in there or in your fridge. Drew Hazard, how the hell are you still upright?” She stood with her hands on her hips.
He wouldn’t be mothered by her. Shoving his clenched hands into the mattress, he tried to sit up. A sharp pain cut into his wrists and shot to the tips of his fingers. Gritting his teeth, he fell back onto the pillows.
She rushed forward, intending to help. A low growl from him had her hesitating for a fraction of a second before she climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. A look of determination crossed her face before a fierce glare replaced it. Mess with anyone Emma cared about and the hidden fighter in her came out full force.
“We might not be together anymore, but I won’t stand by and let you hurt.”
Yet on the night she’d crashed his party, he’d hurt her with his words. On his back, Drew shielded himself from her with an arm over his eyes.
Since the accident, he’d blamed Emma for his broken wrists. Deep inside, he realized it wasn’t her fault. He deserved the broken bones for the crass comment he’d made to her. No man should talk to a woman like that unless it was in bed and she’d asked to be talked dirty to.
Lifting his arm, he snuck a peek at her. Long, brown hair fell over her shoulders in thick waves. Inquisitive, amber eyes scrutinized him as though she could see into his soul. He zoned in on her lips. Whether full on his mouth or their fullness wrapped around his cock . . .
He tamped down the groan ready to slip out of him. Damn, Emma gave great head.
Aware of her unawareness of where his thoughts wandered, he watched her dark, arched brows meet in the middle. Whatever she was thinking about, she was thinking too hard. And that meant something big was gonna happen.
“I’ll be back. We’ll talk after we get food and pain meds in you.”
She left, and he closed his eyes. Minutes passed. She was right about his empty fridge and cupboard. He’d only planned to stay for a week.
The day he got into Willowbrook, he’d been too chicken-shit to confront Emma about the truth. The possibility of her being pregnant with his child had scared him while the thought of her keeping such a secret from him had Drew chucking his stash of footballs at the trees. Crazy mad and insanely scared out of his mind, he did the one thing he shouldn’t have done. He called his friends, Lucas and Rhys.
Over shots of tequila, Drew told them what had happened at the party. Well, everything except for Emma’s risky proposition of him. Sure, the three of them ran their mouths off about their respective girlfriends. Guys needed to vent, too. However, what went on between the sheets was off-limits.
What had those two nut-jobs advised him to do that his PR guy hadn’t touched on? Oh yeah, he remembered now. One word. Grovel. He opened his eyes and stared at the empty doorway.
Two nights ago, he’d gone to Emma’s place to do just that. Ask for her forgiveness for being such a damn jerk. Instead, Drew had caught her leaning into some guy inside the guy’s truck as though they were ready to swap spit.
If what he suspected of Emma were true, Drew vowed to himself he’d play a big part in his child’s life. No way would he let some other guy raise his child.
Careful of his casts and swollen fingers, he struggled out of his jacket then tossed it toward Emma’s chair. The jacket missed the chair and landed on the wood floor with a swish. Great. His throw couldn’t even connect with a nonmoving object. Maybe while Emma was at work, he’d practice throwing with Lucas again.
A noise at the door had him shifting his attention. Emma stood in the doorway with a tray in her hands. His gaze hung on the familiarity of her face before straying to her lips. He swore in his dreams, he felt their softness against his mouth.
“I have pizza, fried chicken, buffalo wings, and cheese sticks.” She cracked a wide smile, the kind you see on the face of a woman crooking her finger to come closer before she took a big bite out of you.
“Hungry some, Em?”
She shrugged. “Pizza place had everything. I couldn’t decide for you so I got a variety.”
She was looking out for him, like she’d always done. Expected, predictable . . . safe. “Good enough for me.” He honed in on her belly. The oversized shirt she wore made it hard to see whether she had a baby bump or not. He patted the spot on the bed in front of him. “Come eat with me.”
She dove right into the food. Healthy, he understood, but fried, greasy foods? Nah, that wasn’t Emma.
When he’d suspected her of being pregnant, he’d gone online and put in the night they might’ve made their little guy or girl. She’d be four months pregnant.
Would their kid look like Emma with her dark hair and soft, amber eyes? Drew hoped so. He considered himself an ugly son of a bitch.
Having too much pride to ask her for help, he used his swollen fingers to grab a piece of pizza. Since the accident, the swelling had gotten better. Then a week ago, it’d gotten worse after he’d been chucking footballs at the trees.
Today . . . He gritted his teeth in pain and took the medications she’d given him. He’d chucked more footballs to a very accommodating Lucas Montaine. Damn, that guy would’ve made a great wide receiver.
Next to him, Emma stayed quiet. Her silence cut into him. With him, she ran her mouth off about everything under the sun. Something was wrong, and Drew had an idea what those wrongs were—Tess, and the key to Emma’s heart. Maybe that’s why he had thrown the key at her father’s grave marker. He’d known she would find it.
“Why’d you come back?” she finally said. “I figured once you moved, you’d sell this place.”
This place. Their place. An ache settled in his chest. Yeah, why did he hang onto a house that held loads of memories of her?
He shrugged. “I wanted to keep my safe haven.”
What he told her was partially true. Here, the folks left him alone, and he understood why. Emma. They loved Emma too much to reveal their secret relationship to the world. And they had loved and protected her more after her mother’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.
The other half of why he kept the house, he didn’t want to acknowledge. Otherwise, he’d want to return to what Emma meant to him—familiar, stable . . . safe.
When he’d offered her a ride that rainy game day, he hadn’t realized she’d be a girl then a woman who would keep him grounded as he went from high school and college quarterback to Super Bowl champ.
After six years of knowing one another, their time together had become predictable. With Tess it was the unexpected—new people, different places, and amped-up parties, one right after the other. Tess had the time and the money. However, in the back of his mind, he understood a different truth. At the age of nineteen and coming from old money, Tess didn’t
have the responsibility Emma had.
Emma . . . shit, Emma worked hard to get where she was at. She’d put herself through college, gotten a degree in geology, and now had a job she liked—educator with the Red Cross.
He shoved more pizza into his mouth. Even her career choice had been predictable and safe. For shit’s sake, Emma went to businesses and gave spiels on how to prepare for disasters. Drew didn’t think Emma had a risk-taking bone in her body.
Yet, three weeks ago, Emma had crashed his party and his ride. His ride. He gnawed on a fried chicken leg before ripping off a thick piece with his teeth. He chewed slowly this time. Otherwise, he was afraid he’d be a jerk again and call her out for keeping secrets. Not just about the pregnancy but her riding. She had handled his Ducati like an experienced rider rather than the passive passenger she’d been when they’d taken his Kawasaki for a drive.
He swallowed the dry piece of chicken, past the lump in his throat. Since the day she’d asked him to keep their relationship a secret, he had suspected something bad had happened. Back then, he hadn’t pushed her. He’d loved her too much and had thought with time, she’d give him the reason.
Time. Four years.
On his flight here, he’d mulled over their relationship and had come to a realization. Emma hadn’t trusted him, Drew Hazard, badass quarterback, to keep her safe. Safe. He was beginning to like that word.
Right then and there, he vowed to do the one thing he believed he was lacking in regard to Emma. He’d keep her safe. Safe from what scared the hell out of her—the public limelight.
As to their unborn child . . . the easy thing to do would be to outright ask her if she was pregnant. Yet, he wasn’t willing to let Emma off the hook so easily. The jackass side of him wanted to see her squirm with discomfort for withholding the truth from him while a big part of him needed Emma to trust him enough to be forthcoming.
Otherwise, what kind of future could they have together if there wasn’t trust? He grabbed a napkin off the tray and wiped the grease off his fingers before he threw the napkin back onto the tray.
He’d hold to his word and do the one thing that went against what his mind screamed at him not to do. He would break Emma Lombardi’s heart.
Chapter Eight
Emma’s attention strayed to the emptiness around his neck, where the key to her heart used to be. There were so many questions she wanted to ask: Where is your girlfriend? Why’d you leave the key and chain where I’d find it? Why do I love and miss you so much I hurt?
Yet, she didn’t. Forget her and Drew. Chance needed their help.
“Drew?” She traced Chance’s name on top of the covers.
“Hmm?” He swiped a napkin across his mouth then set the crumpled mess on top of his plate.
“I have a favor to ask. First, you didn’t really answer my question. Why are you keeping to yourself?” She stopped her tracing. He’d said Willowbrook was his safe haven. He wasn’t giving her the full truth. “I thought you’d be home celebrating your win.”
“Jones instructed I lay low. Between the broken bones, the partying, and my . . .” He cleared his throat. “My altercation with the paparazzi, he figured I needed a quiet place to think. I completely agreed.”
Ironic. Since getting picked in the NFL draft right out of college, Drew had wanted to shine. Now that his time had arrived, his people had told him to take a back seat. It must be hard. Laying low was definitely not the Drew Hazard way.
Feeling a sudden impulse to comfort him, she reached out and caressed the side of his unshaven face. Rough yet soft, an alluring mix of boyish charm and hunky sexiness. Her fingers lingered a little too long, and he turned into her touch.
Wanting to do more than touch his face, she let her hand fall to her side. Though she didn’t feel sorry for him for the fallout of his partying and run-in with the paparazzi, she was proud of him for taking Jones’ advice.
Drew tended to do the opposite of what he’d been told. When she’d asked him about the craziness of his thinking, he’d rationalized it to her by saying: “If I did everything I’d been told to do, I’d never make mistakes and get the chance to do things right the next time around.” She’d cried bullshit and he’d laughed hard at her teasing before he picked her up, swung her in his arms, then kissed her so deeply her body tingled from head to toe.
Ah, the good old days. Now, she didn’t know what they’d had back when. Not with the doubt in her mind as to whether his heart had ever been truly in their relationship.
“Tell me about this favor of yours,” he said.
A favor, the reason she’d offered to help Eve and Asa. Emma’s job was to prepare people for disasters, to help them be safe. Drew was in Willowbrook to lay low from the media.
Get him into the gala, and news of his generosity would spread, drawing the paparazzi’s attention to their small town. No one’s personal business, including Emma’s secret, would be safe. Safe. She was starting to get really tired of that word.
“Do you remember Sandy’s boy, Chance?”
He nodded. “Yeah, a kid this tall,” he motioned with his casted hand, “with curly hair and big, bright eyes, right?”
She smiled. “Yep, that’s him.” Her smile faltered. “He’s got leukemia. Eve’s throwing a big party for him to raise money. There’s an auction, win a date night with a hunk.” She flushed as his eyes strayed to her lips and stayed rooted there. “We want you in the auction,” she stammered.
God why did her body feel as though it was on fire? It couldn’t be because Drew was looking at her with that I-want-to-do-you-against-the-wall stare of his, was it? She wanted to fan her face. It must be the pregnancy hormones because right now she also wanted to cry.
“Sweetheart—”
She shook her head and started to get off the bed. Though his wrists and part of his hands were casted, he somehow grabbed hold of her and set her on his lap.
He chucked her under the chin. “Spill the beans, love.” His gaze lingered on her lips. She swallowed down the urge to press her mouth to his. Tess.
“You shouldn’t call me that. We’ve broken up.” She tried to scramble off his lap.
He held her tight.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said next to her ear, “and I’ll try to make it right.”
Why did he say such tender words to her, words that broke her heart? And how could she explain her reasons for keeping his public life out of their private piece of heaven without coming off as downright selfish and scared?
Squaring her shoulders, she inched back so she could see his face. She would start with the truth, all of it. If she’d done that over the years rather than giving him excuses, they might still be together. Maybe she would’ve learned to live and be happy in both their worlds.
“I want you in the gala. It’ll help Chance. With the publicity and all . . .” She shrugged. “But I’m scared of the attention too.”
At the word scared, Drew tightened his hold on her. She held still, liking the feel of his strong arms around her too much to move. Yet . . .
“Drew, you have a girlfriend.”
One question at a time.
“Which girlfriend are you talking about?” he said with a serious expression on his face.
She gripped the front of his shirt. “How many girlfriends are there?”
Taking her by surprise, he leaned in and nipped her bottom lip. “There’s always been one, Miss Lombardi.” His words whispered across her lips, like a light breeze over still waters, the tenderness in them breaking her heart.
Wary, she let go of his shirt and scooted off his lap to sit in front of him on the bed. He was up to no good. This was the side of him she hadn’t seen since he’d been drafted. He gave her his full attention, rather than be distracted by the football stats or plays in his head. Or of the places he had to jet off to for either a game or an endorsement shoot. Football, football, football. She’d really wanted to tell Drew to take his football and shove it where the sun didn’t sh
ine.
Instead, she had stayed silent, letting her annoyance and frustration with everything football fester into resentment. Obviously, keeping quiet hadn’t been healthy for their relationship. But, she’d change that.
Talking about the hard stuff wasn’t safe, made her uncomfortable. However, for Chance, and for her and Drew’s unborn baby, safe had to be tossed out the window.
“I’ll skip the auction and give you a check,” he offered.
The old Emma would’ve said, “Hell yeah, baby, sign it, and I’ll write in the dollar amount.” The new Emma thought differently. What he’d proposed was the easy and safe way out.
“Do the auction. The town and Chance will love you more for it. And it’ll do your partying reputation some good.”
He shoved the tray of food away. “Sorry, Em. I can’t have any more run-ins with the media.”
“Even for a little boy with cancer?”
He sighed. “Yes. You’re gonna have to find a different guy for the job.”
This morning, she’d made Chance and his family a premature promise that she’d bring a shining star to the gala. Emma didn’t go back on her word. She opened her mouth. Warning bells rang loud in her head. She ignored them.
“Fine. I have the perfect guy for the job.”
“And who, might I ask, is this perfect guy?”
Warning bells was an understatement. The heat in his words spoke of a four alarm fire.
Chapter Nine
Drew waited for Emma’s answer with his jaw clenched. He could’ve accused her of baiting him into feeling an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time—jealousy. However, that dark emotion had already festered in him since he’d seen her in that guy’s truck.
Seconds stretched into minutes. After six years with her, he understood the reason behind her silence. Uncomfortable topics made Emma feel unsafe. He cared that she felt secure around him. However, he was tired of her avoidance and excuses. And he wanted to find out more about this perfect guy.
“Someone you don’t know,” she finally said, surprising him. “He’s an old friend from college.”
What If (Willowbrook Book 2) Page 4
