The Locker Room(85)

Standing next to Cora, my breath heavy in my chest, I scan the faces of the guys walking in as the kids cheer. Lindsay walks up next to me and gently nudges my shoulder, letting me know she’s here for me.

Three guys, and they’re men I don’t know.

Thank. Fuck.

From the side of her mouth, Lindsay says, “See, relief pitchers and second-string, so you have nothing to worry about.”

She’s right, I have nothing to worry about. I relax and put on a smile rather than the tense crazy look I’m sure I was holding. We watch as the kids clap and cheer, some reaching out for high fives. The guys are great with the kids, looking larger than life in their jerseys and finely tailored jeans.

“Miss Ealson, we want to formally thank you for showing interest in our program,” one of the ladies says, and for the life of me I can’t remember her name.

“Oh, please, don’t thank me. This was all Cora. She applied and made this happen.” I pull Cora next to me just as a flash of white comes trotting through the door.

And my heart stops beating.

Pushing his hand through his hair, looking like he just ran from the parking lot to the library, Knox saddles up next to his teammates and mutters, “Sorry, I got held up.”

The kids scream in excitement, calling out to Knox who plasters on his charming smile and waves to all of them.

Frozen in place, unable to breathe, my heart pounding in my throat, I stare and watch as his eyes scan the library slowly, taking it all in until he makes eye contact with me.

And that’s when every ounce of composure and strength shatters.

From one shocked look.

Fuck.





Chapter Thirty-Two





KNOX





“What’s up, Roark?” I say into my phone. My agent has the worst timing ever. “I have a library event to get to.”

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to quickly discuss your upcoming contract. They want eight years for two hundred sixty million.”

“You know I don’t care about this shit.” I drag my hand through my hair. “I seriously hate all of this. Can’t you just figure it out and let me know when all is said and done?”

He chuckles before saying, “I think you’re the first player to ever say that.”

“I want to play ball in Chicago, that’s all. I want the Bobcats to be the only team I play for, so can you make that happen?”

“Aye,” he says in his Irish lilt. “It’s why you hired me. I’ll hit you up when we have the final offer.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up, pocket my phone, and quickly exit my car. I’m late, I know I am, but I also didn’t want to have that conversation in public, nor could I ignore it.

I jog to the front office and am quickly waved in by the staff and directed to the library. The education initiative the team has taken on became a program I really wanted to get involved in. Over the last few years, during our off-season, I finished my degree and earned my master’s in education. It’s been a long time coming, but what it means is if anything happens to me on the field, I have a backup plan.

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.