Chapter 4

four

EMMALINE

My heart races as he asks for my number. The spark between us when our hands briefly touch feels just as potent as it did eight years ago. The man who washed away any thought of Grant. I always knew he had an athletic build, but I had him pegged for a basketball player based on his friend group that night. But when he strolls out of the locker room in a suit, with all the swagger, I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is the same guy who rocked my world just days after it shattered. I’ve never met a man with the same eyes until now.

What are the chances? I’ve never looked up my brother’s teammates since he was recently traded. I’ve been busy moving across the country, and it didn’t cross my mind that I would come face to face with him after so many years. The universe is playing a cruel trick on me but making me wonder if it’s fate.

My brother’s eyes shift from the Jets star center to me, then he’s distracted by another teammate. I never told Roman about the epic night. After the game, Roman’s team had a mandatory meeting at his hotel, so I went out on my own, not expecting to connect with a man in all the right ways.

I needed to feel desired, and wow, did I ever. The man I’m staring at made me forget that I was jilted at the altar, cheated on, and my life was blown into smithereens.

“Ahem.” He rubs his fingers over his five o’clock shadow, grabbing my attention when I don’t answer. “I’ve never liked surprises.”

This is one hell of a surprise.

Looking down at Jolie, I say, “I’m sure you two will be a great team.”

He growls as he nods.

Internally, laughter explodes, remembering just how good he is at other things, but when I see the stoic expression on his face, I realize how scared he is. For an athlete of his caliber, fear isn’t something in their wheelhouse. They train their minds to conquer their opponents and exploit their weaknesses.

He extends his hand, and I look at it. Am I supposed to shake hands with a man I’ve had sex with? Dear God, he doesn’t remember. I shake his hand except there’s no shaking. He’s holding my hand, and a strange expression clouds his eyes.

“Have we met before?”

Yes. God, yes.

His eyes pinch, and thankfully, my phone rings, saving me from the embarrassment of saying yeah, I didn’t know your name, and you screwed me and saved me from the depths of despair .

“Hey, Mom.” I cover the receiver and say, “I have to take this.” I wave goodbye to Jolie, and Bryce Wynward, the two-time NHL MVP tucks her into his leg. As I walk away, I feel his gaze burning through my clothes.

“Sorry, Mom. Did you see Roman’s goal?”

“I did. I’m surprised it’s working out so well with Wynward as the center. For some reason, they’ve never liked each other.”

“Well maybe a change is just what we all needed,” I say with a slight uptick in my tone.

“I just can’t believe Penelope cheated on Roman.” Mom expels a deep breath.

“Don’t forget she cheated on me too. Throwing away a friendship and her marriage to Roman, all for that piece of crap Grant.”

Penelope was my best friend, and there was hardly a day we weren’t together. She showered me with comfort for the last seven years, but it turns out, she started sleeping with Grant a few years after she married my brother. She works for a bottled water company that sponsors many of Grant’s athletes, so her job took her to the places with Grant while he was courting a new athlete or signing a contract.

Roman didn’t like it, and the more he asked her not to go, the farther he pushed her away.

You think you know someone, but you only see what others allow you to see.

Roman and I found out about their affair through TMZ last year. A simple act of Penelope and Grant getting out of a car at a fancy Italian restaurant was all it took to blow up my brother’s world. Grant squeezed her ass and kissed her on the neck, and I felt the bile crawling up my throat .

The two people we loved most in the world betrayed us. It makes me never want a relationship again. And my brother is devastated, thinking he would never get divorced. Penelope swore she didn’t mean for it to happen, citing they had been friends since she started dating my brother, and it just grew. I guess they both forgot she was married.

“I should come and help you get settled.”

“Mom, I promise to call you if I need you. You and Dad should enjoy your cruise.”

“Sweetie, I love you, and I know you both will find someone worthy of you.” Mom’s breath feathers against the phone’s microphone. “It’s just heartbreaking. I just don’t understand. The both of you are too trusting.”

She’s right. Roman and I expected our partners in life to be faithful. Never again.

“Love you. I need to get home so I can unpack boxes.”

After she apologizes again, we hang up and head to my new, old house that needs a little more than tender loving care. It needs wallpaper removal, paint. The back porch rails need to be replaced, and a security system put in place.

I find my handmade basket with the plastic liner that has dividers for my moving necessities: box cutter, hammer, nails, masking tape and shipping tape. As I scan the room, I locate the box marked Mementos and slice the tape down the center and open the cardboard flaps. On top is a photo of my family; underneath is a journal.

I’ve missed this.

This journal is where I write down all my feelings about anything, and I reread my fears about moving.

My brother needs me. He has been there for every one of my failures, to pick me up. But I’m scared that he won’t have as much time for me as he did before now that he’s playing hockey in Atlanta. As a professional, he needs to spend time bonding with his teammates, so I’m not sure how much time that will leave for me.

I fear I won’t make any adult friends working for an after-school program to help children that need counseling or just an outlet. Even though this was what I went to school to do, I know I need to make friends, and I don’t want to depend on Roman for my friends like I have in the past. This is scary.

As a counselor myself, I like listing my fears. There’s something about thinking a thought, writing it down, seeing, and reading it that makes it sink in.

What I fear:

Moving to a new city.

Not having a best friend to lean on.

Starting a new job.

Finding a full- time job.

Putting myself out there to find friendships.

Never finding love.

Freaking Scary.

Roman appears in the doorway. “Hey, I brought take out.”

“From where?”

“Local place, but you’ll thank me,” he says.

I can already smell the Italian spices. My mouth waters as he flips the lid on what looks like gnocchi with mushrooms in an Italian cream sauce. He opens the other box filled with lobster ravioli.

I grab two plates, and we share a little of each. But the rustic loaf of bread and the herbed olive oil served with it can’t compare to any other bread I’ve ever had. We’re half Italian, so I consider myself an expert. My dad’s Nona passed down recipes, which prompts me to get up and dig in the box of mementos to find the recipe book.

After I find it, I lay it on the table between us, flipping through, and my brother says, “How are you?”

“Me? How are you?”

He stabs the gnocchi with his fork. The metal hits the plate several times before he scrapes a bite into his mouth. “It’s been eight months, and I’m still in shock. Last weekend, I went out with a few of the guys, and I planned on… you know… getting laid by a puck bunny. But I couldn’t. It’s fucked me up. I’ve been told I’m pretty good looking by women other than Penelope. If I meet someone, do they want me because I’m a starting winger for the Georgia Jets, or do they want to get to know me for me? These are things most of the guys deal with, but it’s new for me. I never had to worry about Penelope’s intentions since we had dated for so long.”

He leans back in the chair and sighs. The hate I’ve been holding onto since Grant walked out on me eight years ago isn’t healthy, but only one person has lessened the blow to my heart and my self-esteem—Bryce Wynward. “I’ll never forgive Grant and Penelope for what they did to us.” I grab his arm and lay my head on it. “You’re a catch, and I guess it will take time for you to realize it.”

“Oh, I realize it, but that doesn’t mean the women have good intentions.” He chuckles as I punch his cocky ass. “So, Wynward asked me for your number in case he needs a sitter. His little girl is adorable,” he says with a hint of sadness. We both thought we would have a family and kids by now. “I hope that’s okay. He’s not the type of guy I want you hanging around. Watching Jolie at a game is one thing, but he goes through women quicker than a mouse goes through a house made of cheese.”

This is why I love my brother. He makes me laugh, and I’m not sure how we could get through life without each other. But we both want more—intimacy, trust, and children. I cackle, “Mouse house?”

I wouldn’t mind being a piece of cheese for Bryce Wynward to nibble on again.