The Crush (66)

My throat went bone-dry as I tried to swallow. “I guess so,” I said lightly. “I don’t really think about it.”

That lie tasted bitter in my mouth. Of course I’d thought about it. But bringing it up during such a tender moment sounded like a great mood killer.

“Whoever you take after,” he said, kissing my shoulder, “you’re beautiful.”

Emmett tightened his arms, unaware of what casual comments like that did to me. How could he know?

“Good night, Adaline,” he murmured.

I said it back to him, but instead of happily fading into sleep with his arms around me, my eyes stayed open for hours. When I did fade into sleep, it was restless and light, my brain stretched tight with a rotating list of things I wished I could change.

One of the things I couldn’t change—especially after that night—was that I was in love with Emmett Ward. And I didn’t know what to do about it.





Adaline



Emmett woke me when it was dark, a gray blanket still dominating the sky, tugging one of his too-large sweatshirts over my head and kissing my sleepy mouth. Blearily, I pulled on some joggers and pushed my feet into slippers.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He handed me a travel mug of coffee and gave me one of those crooked grins that made my heart somersault. “Wanna watch the sunrise with me?”

“Yeah.” I nuzzled into his chest. He was wearing gray sweats and a snug-fitting white T-shirt, and they looked so good on him I just wanted to set him up on a stage with a spotlight and stare for a few hours. “We’re not walking to the clearing, are we?”

“Why?” Emmett grinned. “You don’t like early morning exercise?”

“I don’t like any exercise,” I grumbled. “The only reason I work out is so I can eat the donuts and cupcakes.”

“So you won’t be joining me on my pre-breakfast runs anytime soon?” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I thought you liked getting sweaty with me.”

“Yeah, the fun kind of sweaty.” I quirked an eyebrow. “I will run for food and a good sale, and that’s about it.”

He laughed. “I don’t know. Try running on the beach with me at sunrise, and I’ll see if I can convert you.”

It was the second time he’d made a comment like that. I took a slow sip of my coffee, pondering it. I grabbed a spare blanket from the bed and shuffled down the hallway and yanked open the slider.

Emmett had pushed together the patio furniture into a new configuration, where it was clear of the trees, and we had a wide-open view of the Puget Sound. We could lay down side by side, and I grinned behind my mug of coffee.

“You’re spoiling me,” I said lightly.

“That’s the plan.” He climbed onto the makeshift bed, settling back against the pillows with his arm outstretched so I could nestle into his side. When I curled up against his chest, he tugged a blanket up over us as I shivered.

That was the plan, he said. Like we weren’t actively doing things to make our eventual parting about a million times harder.

We were quiet for a while, the sky in front of us morphing into colors like someone slowly poured out a can of new, vibrant colors over the grayish canvas.

First purple, then pink, then a stunning reddish orange.

A perfect new day might have been unfolding in front of us, but something about it had me feeling a little weepy.

I tried to imagine what it would be like this time to say goodbye to him, knowing we wouldn’t be able to see each other.

I tried to imagine the weeks of training camp, where long days and extra prep moved straight into preseason.

I tried to imagine the start of the regular season, where he’d practically live at the team facilities. Even their days off were spent getting their bodies worked on, watching film, meeting with coaches and coordinators.

Texts going hours unread.

Missed calls and attempts at video calls with a three-hour time difference. By the time I was done and home from my workday, able to talk or give him any amount of uninterrupted focus, he’d be in bed.

The discipline required to play at his level was insane. It didn’t only show in his records or wins. It was in the way he took care of his body and his mind. And all that discipline made it very, very hard to try to start a new relationship.

There would be no first dates or three-hour phone calls because neither of us wanted to hang up. There would be no joint showers or fighting over the blanket.

There would be no cooking dinner together.

No watching him build a little house out of sugar packets or something else equally ridiculous.

There would be no cuddling at sunrise.

The night before, in the middle of all that epically amazing sex, I had the thought that something was about to crack open in my chest.

And it did, right there, lying in his arms because I had one dangerous, terrifying thought.

I’d give up anything to do this every single day.

Nothing about that thought made me feel good. It wasn’t a relief. I didn’t feel at peace as the truth of it seeped through me. My bones went ice cold under my skin. My hands started trembling, and I turned my face into Emmett’s broad chest and fought against a crashing, snarling wave of absolute panic.

It was too big, too much, too soon.

“What are we doing, Emmett?” I whispered.