The Locker Room(86)
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.