14. Storm

14

STORM

With four big camera rigs surrounding me and two giant studio lights filling the corners of the room, I walked through what was left of my kitchen and whistled.

I'd always been good at football, but I'd never thought of myself as a particularly good actor.

Right now I had to act more than I ever had before, hamming it up for the TV cameras even though I was restless inside.

"That is some fast work," I said, looking around at my kitchen and keeping a happy face for the show.

Nothing had been sitting right for me all day, though.

Like maybe, for once, I should have controlled myself instead of always having something to prove.

I knew I'd hurt Emmett, and it was all I could think about, even on the first day of demolition in my house. Chase was operating a handheld camera and he tracked after me as I walked through crumbled drywall, looking over the place where kitchen cabinets used to be.

Shawn and Nathan were on the opposite end of the kitchen, smiling and looking like the TV stars they were.

"All it takes is a few sledgehammers, crowbars, and a lot of Led Zeppelin playing in the background," Nathan said.

"Demolition is the best part," Shawn chimed in. "Other than the final product, of course."

The guys had been at work in the kitchen for eight full hours. The half-wall that used to separate it from the dining room was ripped out now, leaving raw concrete beneath. The patch of hardwood that had been badly water damaged was gone, too. The cabinets were history, leaving empty spots where the old blue paint on the walls stopped.

"This morning, I had a run-down kitchen, and now I've got a construction site," I said. "That's what I like to see."

"And that's just day one," Shawn said. "We're going to be back bright and early tomorrow morning to keep the ball rolling."

"Cut!" the director yelled out from the dining room. "Good stuff, guys. That's a very solid wrap on day one."

I'd been looking forward to this day for weeks and weeks, but now that it was here, I'd been waiting for it to end. I breathed out a sigh of relief even as I went over to high-five all of the guys from Fixer Brothers.

"Thank you, guys," I said to all of them. "This really is a dream come true."

But the thought of Emmett from this morning still haunted me. I'd never seen his face look as defeated as it did this morning.

I felt like instead of our usual push-and-pull, I'd broken him.

And that was never what I wanted at all.

Emmett had been in and out of my house all day, checking in but never staying around for long. Shortly after filming had started, he'd told the guys he had to step out and take a Zoom meeting back at his house. He stopped by shortly again in the early afternoon and had a quick conversation with Nathan about the Racks deal, but then he left again while I was filming an interview segment for the TV show.

I hadn't been able to get him alone to say a word to him. He hadn't even looked me in the eye when he'd been in my house.

But now, I realized that I had a quick chance.

"I'll be right back, guys," I told them now. I slipped out the front door and headed over next door to Emmett's.

I rang the doorbell.

Knocked.

And then waited there with my heart pounding for a solid three minutes before I realized he must not be home.

" Fuck ," I whispered softly as I headed back over to my house.

Even if I didn't belong with Emmett, or belong in his world, that didn't mean I wanted to hurt him. It was the opposite of what I wanted. The whole reason I'd gotten so upset the other night when he'd talked about his boss was that I knew Emmett deserved better treatment.

Somewhere along the way, I'd started giving a damn about him , even if he didn't give a damn about me.

And once I cared, I was all in. Our paths may never cross again after this TV show was filmed, but that didn't matter. I would never mince my words or be anything but honest with Emmett, but I'd never purposely hurt him.

The camera crew was packing up their equipment in their van when I got home. I felt like I had a mountain of guilt on my shoulders.

I had to make this right.

"Tiring, isn't it?" Nathan said as he headed outside, carrying a thick plastic box full of tools toward his own construction van.

"More than I even realized," I said. "I don't know how filming interviews for the camera is more exhausting than professional football, but it is."

Nathan laughed. "Bullshit."

"Okay, fine, it's not more exhausting than a game," I said. "But it's pretty far up there."

"You did great, by the way."

I smiled. "Um, Nathan, you don't happen to know where Emmett might be, do you?"

"He's been in and out all day," Nathan said and I gave him a hand hoisting his tool box into the side of the van.

I know he's been in and out all day, I thought. Not like I've been hyper-aware of it, or anything.

"I wanted to chat with him about something."

"Oh!" Nathan said, snapping his fingers. "Right. He took a meeting with a rep from Racks down at our office. It was supposed to happen in a few days, but they said they wanted to push the meeting sooner, for some reason. Should be about done with it by now, if you wanted to head to the town center."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If the execs from Racks suddenly wanted a meeting pushed to today, it definitely could have had something to do with my post last night.

Companies didn't usually like it when celebrities posted bad things about them, and I'd gone ahead and done exactly that.

"I hate to jet, but I really do need to talk to Emmett," I said. "Are you guys okay wrapping up here?"

He gave me a little salute. "All good," he said, but he furrowed his brow. "Is everything all right, with Emmett?"

"It'll be okay," I said, hoping it wasn't a lie. "Just need to talk with him."

I was in the Bronco within another ten seconds, zooming down the roads toward the center of Jade River. I hit Spruce Street and beelined for the Fixer Brothers main office, pulling into the lot and seeing the red Porsche parked there, too.

Inside the office, I found Sawyer, the Fixer Brothers' landscaping guy.

"Hey, Sawyer. Any chance you've seen a fancy looking guy in a suit?" I asked him.

"Emmett?"

"Yes sir."

Sawyer rolled up the blueprint he'd just printed out. "He actually just left. Said he was gonna take a walk to clear his mind," Sawyer said. He bit his lip as he turned to me. "He didn't seem happy. The meeting with the Racks people didn't go great, or something. He didn't tell me the details."

Double fuck.

"Thanks, Sawyer," I said, waving to him and already heading for the doors. I jogged out onto Spruce Street, my eyes immediately scanning the tree-lined road for Emmett's suit.

It was chilly out, and I'd left the house in nothing but a white T-shirt and shorts. I noticed with a bitter irony that today was exactly the type that Emmett must love: the fall leaves were in their full glory now, red and gold and yellow on every tree that wasn't a green pine.

I jogged through the crunchy leaves on the stone sidewalks, looking for any man in a suit. I saw nothing other than the usual slight bustle of the area. A mom herding her three kids toward the park, all of them wearing little plaid scarves. A guy walking his huge Labrador. Squirrels jetting back and forth across the sidewalk, rustling up the leaves.

My heart sank as I reached the end of the town center without finding him.

I doubled back, worry gnawing at me.

I'd made so many mistakes in life, but I rarely regretted any of them. I always had to move forward. Had to do my best. I always had plenty to be happy about, even if I'd disappointed someone.

But disappointing Emmett felt different. The look on his face this morning—the sheer defeat, after so many attempts to rise to my level—had made me feel like I'd done something wrong, for the first time in a long time.

I didn't want Emmett to feel that way. I didn't want to spar with him if I was really just kicking him when he was down. And I sure as fuck didn't want to truly hurt him.

I'd almost given up when I finally caught sight of a suit. I ran over past a group of people, looping around and getting closer.

It was Emmett. He was on a bench in a little grass patch at the edge of the small river that went through town.

My shoes crunched on leaves that had fallen onto the grass patch.

He looked up at me like he couldn't really believe I was there.

"Storm," he said.

I breathed in deep. "I don't know what happened with the guys from Racks, but I can smooth it over," I said. "I'll pay them anything. Say on social media that they're the best company ever, or something. I don't care. Whatever happened, I can make it right. What was the meeting about?"

Emmett looked at me with a faraway expression, like he was elsewhere.

"The meeting was to let me know that they've decided to go in another direction," Emmett said, furrowing his brow as he looked away.

I couldn't have heard him right.

" What? "

"They're not going to be working with the Fixer Brothers. I couldn't make the deal happen."

My heart sank like a stone.

No.

No fucking way.

"No," I finally said out loud, then repeated louder. "No. I'm going to make it right."

Emmett shook his head, looking out over the rippling water of the river. "It wasn't your fault, Storm. When I asked about your picture, they didn't even know what I was referring to."

My eyes went wide. "They hadn't seen my post?"

"Nope," Emmett said. "They said it came down to potential, and financials. That they are going forward with another client. My colleague suspects it's Gwyneth Paltrow, or someone of that level of fame."

"Emmett," I said, sitting down on the bench next to him and wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

A breeze blew through the air, shuddering all the leaves around us.

I had never even considered this was a possibility.

Hell, I'd only been so brazen about Racks with Emmett because I'd been so sure they would go forward with the Fixer Brothers deal. I'd thought it was a sure shot.

"They're fucking crazy for not going with you and the Fixer Brothers," I said, and I meant every word of it. "They're going to be the biggest name in home renovations and decor within the next couple of years, and the Racks people are going to regret the fucking day they dropped this deal."

Emmett was motionless as I hugged him. I pulled away, trying to look him in the eye, but he just kept looking down at the water's edge.

"I thought I could make anything happen," he said.

"You still can," I said. "Emmett, I am so sorry for posting the photo last night. For not doing my research, even if it wasn't the reason they dropped the deal."

He waved a hand through the air. "It's done. No use dwelling."

"It's still the truth, though," I said. I shifted on the bench. "And I am sorry. I don't usually talk about this out loud, but… I act out sometimes."

Emmett gave me a look. My muscles were all tensed up, but I couldn't stop fidgeting with the fabric of my shorts, the arm of the bench, anything I could find to distract me.

My mind felt like it was somehow both blank and racing, all at the same time.

"I know, I know, it isn't news to you," I said. "But I don't just do it because I enjoy chaos, or something. I guess I act out when I feel like I'm nothing . When I feel like I don't belong somewhere. And around you, I felt like I didn't matter."

Emmett looked like he had finally come back down to Earth for a moment, furrowing his brow at me.

"Like you don't matter?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused. "It's exactly the opposite. It's like you're the center of everyone's universe, Storm. Everyone's favorite football star, social media star, soon to be TV star. How could you possibly feel like you don't matter?"

The air felt colder all of a sudden. My skin tingled in the cold, and memory flooded me.

Every fall, dreading going back to school.

This same feeling in the air, when everyone around me thought I was worthless. When I felt like I wanted to disappear.

I swallowed, my throat tight.

"Because I think I've always felt like I don't matter," I said quietly.

Emmett's eyes locked with mine, and in that brief moment, it was as if the realities of the world seemed to melt away.

For a moment I wasn't thinking about the deal falling through, or our pasts, or how everything had changed so fast.

How could Emmett look in my eyes with so much understanding and acceptance? Even after everything that had happened between us, and even though he was the kind of person I was programmed to expect hatred from? We didn't belong in the same world, let alone the same park bench.

But here we were.

I moved before I could let myself second-guess anything. I leaned in and kissed him, because it was the only way I knew how to show what I was feeling in the moment.

I kissed him sweetly, letting my lips linger on his, feeling his warmth and nothing else. My hand came to rest gently on his thigh, another beacon of warmth in the chill.

"Well, you matter," he said as he pulled back, resting his forehead on mine. "To so many people. And you certainly matter to me, no matter how much I've fought trying to admit it."

His hands cupped the sides of my face and I pulled in a slow breath, taking in his warm vanilla scent that was now starting to feel familiar. My shoulders relaxed.

I wanted everything to be this simple, all of the time. Nothing had to matter when it felt this good to be close to another person.

I didn't give a fuck if I was straight or gay or bisexual or anything in between.

I just wanted him near me. All of the fucking time, recently. Even when I'd been mad at him, or even when I'd felt like I didn't belong.

"Why's it so hard to admit it?" I murmured, leaning in to press a kiss below his ear. He sighed against me, and I felt my cock thicken under my shorts.

"Because what's the purpose in admitting I'm drawn to someone like you?" Emmett said softly.

I hummed, rubbing my palm along his thigh. "Someone like me? A dickhead athlete?"

He puffed out a breath. I wanted to kiss his sweet lips again but I also wanted to hear what he had to say, so I resisted. I leaned back, looking in his jewel-like eyes.

"Someone who only sees money when you look at me," he said finally, worry flashing across his expression. "It's only ever been trouble, for me. You think it's all I care about, and it hurts."

I shook my head, scooting closer toward him so that our legs touched. "No," I said. "Maybe at first, when all I saw was the Porsche leaving on weekdays and the Ferrari on weekends. I will admit, I judged you before I knew you, with that."

"Right."

I swallowed. "But I can tell when someone works from pure greed. And you don't do that, Emmett. I don't think I've seen you do it once."

"Then why were you so hell-bent against the Racks deal? My promotion?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out how to explain my thought processes to him. I wanted him to know. I wanted to be able to tell him the full, honest truth, because he deserved that. I let my hand move back and forth against his thigh, because apparently I couldn't stop touching him, now.

"I really did think they were a bad company, first of all," I said. "I know I should have done more research. God, I know that now. But it's also more than that."

He looked at me expectantly.

Fuck it.

If I was going to be honest, I was going to go all the way.

I pulled in a breath. "Emmett, it seems like you were pinning all your happiness onto this one deal. This one promotion."

He froze, his eyes locked on mine.

"Maybe."

"But… that's not how happiness works."

He shook his head, looking off toward the river. "I knew it was what I needed to get Lux Marketing to where I want it to go. Not just for me. To honor my dad."

I was quiet for a moment. We were laying it all down on the line, so I was going to give Emmett everything.

"I'm going to tell you something I've never told a soul before," I said. "And I don't really like talking about it. So can I have your promise you won't repeat it?"

He nodded. "Of course."

I shifted on the bench, pausing for a moment. I looked down at the leaf-mottled grass in front of us, then back up at Emmett. I reached up to run my fingertips through his soft hair, breathing deep.

"I never knew my dad," I finally said. "Mom said he left when I wasn't even two years old, and she always told me that he wasn't too great of a guy, and we were better off without him. But…"

My chest felt heavy. Fuck. I was actually uncomfortable, but at the same time, I wanted Emmett to know. I didn't know why, but I felt like I wanted him to know me. I wanted to be closer to him mentally, now, not just physically.

"But," I continued, "Mom always said that he was a football fan. Just like me. And in my dumbass mind, I believed that when I went pro—if I became famous—my dad would reach out."

Emmett breathed deeply, watching me close and nodding, hanging on my words. I realized idly that Emmett was a really, really good listener, and it was probably how he was usually able to make friends with anyone.

"Did he ever reach out, when you finally went pro?" he asked, hesitation in his voice.

"He actually did," I finally said.

Emmett looked shocked.

My discomfort rose to a pitch, like a thundercloud finally about to break.

I spoke quickly now, wanting to get it all out. "We had lunch together. My dad pounded beers. And by the end, he had asked me for money four separate times. Seemed like he wanted funds to get some vacation timeshare, and other funds to start up some car rental company that he couldn't even tell me much about. Our waiter had been wearing a rainbow armband for pride, and as we walked out of the restaurant, my dad called him a slur. Within earshot."

"Christ, I'm so sorry," Emmett said. His eyes scanned my face like he was trying to figure out how to put his thoughts into words. "I can't even imagine it. Waiting a lifetime to meet your dad, and then…"

"So I punched him," I said bluntly, sitting up a little straighter. "It was dumb, and I never should have done it. It was one of my first bad headlines in the media, a few years back. Police called as Storm Rosling gets physical outside a sandwich shop , or something stupid like that. Nobody had any idea of the details. What actually happened that day."

Emmett leaned in to wrap his arms around me, holding me tightly. I heaved out a heavy sigh, feeling like I'd just unburdened myself of years of pain that I'd never shared with anyone before. Not even my mom.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"All of that's just to say, I don't think it's good to pin your happiness on one goal," I said, leaning back again. "Sure as fuck didn't work for me. And I feel like my heart got ripped out when you told me the Racks deal was off."

There was a silence between us for a while, and the sound of the dried leaves blowing along the ground filled the air.

"I'm glad you came and found me here," Emmett said after a while.

"Really? Because as I was walking up to you I half thought you might try to fight me right then and there."

He smiled. "I'd be stupid to try to fight you, and we both know it."

"Nah. You could take me. For a little while."

He paused for a moment. "I just really needed to talk to someone after the day I had."

"Tell me about it. Shit, today was not my day," I said, trying to ease the tension but probably failing.

He looked up at me, his eyes surprisingly clear and bright.

"What do you usually do on a day where you feel like shit?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Club? Party? Go get a tattoo?"

Emmett puffed out a laugh. "Maybe I should go get a tattoo. Bunch of big roses above my ass, or something."

"Hey, it would be kind of hot," I admitted. "To be honest, after a shitty day I usually take a bubble bath."

Emmett's eyebrows raised. "A bubble bath? For a big, strong, masculine athlete like you?"

"Hey, fuck off, man," I protested. "Bubble baths are for anyone. Sometimes mine are even pink and rose-scented."

"I'm kidding," Emmett said, and the gentle smile on his face lit me up inside. "I love baths, too. God, I haven't taken one in so long."

I leaned back, looking up at the sky. It was rapidly greying, like it might rain again tonight.

"I can't even take one right now. The master bathroom is one of the most fucked up places in my house. Can't wait until it's renovated and I get my jacuzzi tub."

"You know, I have a pretty nice jacuzzi tub," Emmett said.

I met his gaze.

"Is that right?"

He nodded. "It was one of the most luxurious things I wanted in my house," he said. "It's got a lot of jets. It's comfy as hell. And it's huge."

"You trying to make me jealous, Fancy Pants?"

"I'm trying to offer you my tub, fucker," he said, giving my arm a shove. "It's the least I can do."

Something stirred in my chest.

Goddamn, I do not deserve you, Emmett Waycott.

As a friend, or as anything else.

Two thoughts were at war in my mind. I'd told Emmett almost everything now, and he knew about my past. Knew I'd grown up in trailers, knew how people had treated me as a kid.

He knew that even my own father hadn't wanted me.

But I also knew that Emmett was still right here with me, being himself, even after everything that had happened. Being kind to me. No matter how much my instinct was to believe he just felt sorry for me… I wanted to believe it was something else.

That just maybe, he might actually see me for me.

Not gutter trash. Not a dumb hothead football player. Not worthless .

I cleared my throat, trying to center myself in my body again and act normal and snarky. "Careful what you offer, because I'm starting to get freezing out here, and a cozy bath sounds like heaven on Earth right now."

Emmett stood up, reaching out his hand to me to pull me up. "Come over, then, already."