26. Emerson

My body tingled and rage pulsed through every cell of my being. The urge to get on a plane and fly to New York to beat the life out of the man who'd made Gianna sad was intense. Almost as intense as the need to wrap her up in my arms and hold her until she forgot all about the stupid shit the guy said. But I was halfway across the fucking country. And the last thing she needed was for me to go off on a rant. So I focused on her needs. And the first one was a new fucking job.

For years, Chris had nothing but shitty things to say about the douches design firm. Then I witnessed the way every person from the firm behaved at the zoo event. Jake was an ass, of course, and so was his fiancée, but not one person Gianna worked with had congratulated her. Hell, they didn't even speak to her. If, for some reason, this place was the firm of her dreams, then that had to change. If she felt like it was the place where she could make a name for herself, then I'd figure out how to decimate Jake while supporting her dream.

"Why do you work for the douches?" I asked, forcing my voice to sound relaxed.

"It's Doucette, and for the obvious reasons," she snarked, hitting me with that glare that I understood hid her vulnerability. "Money."

That was such a sassy Gi answer. Though the attitude didn't last. It only took a moment for her walls to melt slightly. Chin lowered, she focused on something below the screen and sighed.

"Health insurance. Income stability." She shrugged. "Since I've been in Boston, I've sent my résumé out to dozens of firms, but I haven't gotten a single hit. Even if I get more jobs like Little Fingers, I'd need to bring in at least two projects a month to pay the bills."

That was understandable. "You need to prove to yourself that you can survive on those jobs before you can quit."

One of my worst qualities was that I harped on things. I became single-mindedly focused to an annoying degree. Sometimes it wasn't all bad. It's how I'd gotten so good at baseball so quickly. It became my obsession. Now, though, I had a new obsession, one with big brown eyes and gorgeous curves and a place in my heart I never thought anyone would fill. But she also had a boss who needed to be socially castrated and a talent that she downplayed and dismissed at every turn. And I intended to fix all these things.

"Isn't that what people do before they quit their jobs? Find a new one?" She cocked a brow. That simple response was so very unreactive, so very un-Damiano, that it threw me off. Though maybe it shouldn't have. She wasn't as hotheaded as everyone made her seem.

"Smart, rational people." I cracked my knuckles and took a breath. "Let's look at your résumé when I get back and see how we can make it pop. You deserve a job you love." I forced a smile.

She rolled her eyes. "Not everyone gets a job they love."

That might be true, but no one deserved the way Jake Caderson was treating Gianna.

"Eh, fine. But we're gonna make it happen for you. Don't you know I'm like Micky Mouse? I make all the dreams come true," I assured her with a tease.

Finally, she cracked the smallest smile. It definitely had a you're such a dumbass vibe to it, but it was genuine.

"Well, thanks for…" She pressed her lips together and ducked her head again. "For not freaking out. I needed to feel better. And somehow, you did that."

"I would paint myself blue, hop around like a monkey, or stand on my head if it made your day better."

"I could paint you blue," she teased.

My blood heated at the thought of her brush on my skin. "Don't make promises you don't want me to hold you to."

She smirked. "Who says I don't want you to hold me to them?"

All I could do in response was groan. I was too lost in the fantasy.

"Go play your game, Emerson." She smiled. "Text me after."

I nodded. Of course I'd text her. She didn't have to ask. Eventually, she'd figure that out.

As soon as she ended the call, my smile fell and my body heated again. And not in the way it had when she mentioned painting my body. No, the rage I'd put aside for her still existed in my core, and it flared back to life. I didn't know how to deal with it. Anger and punishment weren't my norm. And I couldn't hide down in the tunnels much longer, or someone would find me.

I'd wanted to hear about Gi's meeting with Dylan, but with my locker right next to Chris's, I couldn't FaceTime her there. So I'd wandered out and down the hall far enough that it was unlikely anybody would stumble upon me. But eventually, someone would notice I was missing from pregame shit and come looking.

I moved back toward the locker room, tucking my phone into my uniform pocket. Pushing through the door, I scanned my teammates until I found the one I needed.

I moved straight to the dark-haired man who was tapping away on his own phone.

"What's up, Bambi?" Asher Price tipped his head up and cocked a brow at me from the folding chair where he sat.

"Zara is a professional fixer, right?" I asked. Supposedly, Asher's wife used to work with athletes, actors, and singers, setting the record straight after bad publicity and stuff like that.

"She backed off once we had kids," he said, frowning, "but she's playing with the idea of working more often."

That's exactly what I'd heard. "So if I needed a truth set free, she might help me?"

That frown of concentration turned into one of concern. "You personally?"

I cleared my throat and shifted slightly so I was closer to him. "Not exactly me."

His eyes widened. "About the Revs?"

Slowly, I shook my head. I had nothing bad to say about a single member of this organization. They had always been great to me. He craned his neck, surveying the room over my shoulder.

When he focused on me again, he was wearing a knowing expression. "About the reason you want to hang at your apartment so much lately?"

It was a backhanded way of asking me whether I was talking about Gianna. The carefully worded question gave him the ability to deny that he knew anything more than that there was a reason I didn't go out lately.

I gave him a clipped nod.

He returned the gesture. "I'll have Zara text you."

I gave him a murmured thanks, then moved back to my locker. I needed my wallet.

"You okay, Bambi?" Chris asked from next to me.

"Yup." I flipped through cards until I found the one I was looking for. White. Embossed. Gold letters. I scanned the number, then plugged it into my phone.

A moment later, a response came through, and the tension in my shoulders eased. Fixing the issues took away some of this throbbing anger. I set my phone on the shelf and sank into my chair, attempting to steer my thoughts to the game. It was no use. Over and over, my mind kept shifting back to Gi.

Was she okay? Or was she sitting by herself, crying again?

Her friends were in New York. She'd left them.

I'd agreed to a fling, but I wanted more. For days, I'd been running through ways I could win her over and get her to see me as a relationship possibility. But even if I got us past this fling and we committed to trying for a real relationship, what would that mean for her? In a year, I could be playing for the Tridents. If I dragged her with me, she'd be stuck in Vancouver. Alone. Even farther from her friends and family. In a country she didn't know.

Boy, was I familiar with that concept. Unease churned in my gut as I tried to block out the thoughts. Now was not the time.

"Hey," Chris said, pulling me from my moment of panic.

I looked up at him hovering over me and blinked.

"You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

With a steadying breath, I cracked my knuckles and went for easy. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Did the team cancel your off days for your sister's thing next week or something? You looked furious a minute ago, and now you look like someone ran over your dog."

"You won't let us get a dog." Deflection. It was a great tool.

He crossed his arms and kept his eyes locked on me. Apparently, the tactic wouldn't work today.

"But no," I assured him. "I'm off after the Metros game next week."

Chris would be pissed on my behalf if the Revs didn't approve my time off for Isabella's graduation. He knew how much that shit mattered to me, and he'd have my back.

Hooking his foot around one leg of the folding chair by his locker, he pulled it closer. Then he dropped into it and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I don't know what, but something is going on." He lifted his head, surveyed the guys who were milling around, ignoring us, then lowered his voice. "You've been weird. Distracted. And the only thing I can come up with is woman drama. But from where I'm standing, it seems like the only woman you've been hanging out with is Gi." He shifted slightly. "So what's up?"

Fuck.

The idea of lying to my best friend just about killed me. But rocking the boat with Chris over something that had an expiration date? Causing issues between him and his sister? Did I really want to do that? I didn't see how Gi and I could be more than a fling. I wouldn't push her into uprooting her life. No matter what, I'd never put her through what I went through.

Maybe it would be easier to start over as an adult. Regardless, the dread that consumed me on my first day of high school in New Jersey still haunted me. The stares, the loneliness. The fear that hit me every time I had to speak, since the teachers insisted I only use a language I wasn't even completely comfortable with.

My accent, although barely noticeable now, had been thick back then. I didn't understand half of the slang terms the other kids used, and I ended up in mostly ESL classes. Taunted for being slow to read. Teased for sounding funny. Fourteen-year-olds were just mean.

Baseball had been my saving grace. And by my senior year, I was almost comfortable. And then, once again, my life flipped.

I'd never regret moving to Triple-A and helping my mom, but starting over again that time was even harder than in high school.

I cracked the knuckles on my other hand. "No problems with Gi. She's easy."

Chris scoffed and roughed a hand down his face. "She's not. But is there something going on between you two?" His lips dropped to a straight line.

Any lie was acid on my tongue, and I was terrible at it. "Between us? Like are we together?" Giving up the idea was so hard. But I had to. "Nah. I mean, she's great." Nerves made my words spew out too fast. "Totally cool chick. But she's headed back to New York. She doesn't need anything derailing her plans." Least of all me. I could enjoy what little time we had together, but that was it. "Not that I have any intention of derailing anything." I'd hold on to the moments, because they would be fleeting. "I just want to support her in stuff." Too fast. I was talking too fast. Like I did when I let anger get the best of me. "Unless it's her boss. That man needs to be hit by a bus." I clenched my teeth to make myself shut up.

Chris snorted. "Hell yeah, he does." Quickly, his expression went serious again. "So what's the deal? You're not yourself."

Was I not? Maybe I wasn't putting enough effort into my forced cheerfulness.

"You don't go out anymore."

That was an odd statement coming from him, though I kept that to myself. "I just agreed to go to the bar tonight."

He frowned, clearly not ready to let this go. "You're currently fully dressed, which is never a thing."

Because I knew I'd have to leave the damn room to call his sister, and I couldn't walk around the hall in boxers.

"I don't even know when the last time you flung yourself at me was."

My eyes widened at that. He was right. "Aw, you miss it." With a painted-on smirk, I jumped up. "Bring it in, man." I leaped over the space and smothered him. He jerked back, pushing his chair onto its back legs.

"Oh, shit." Bosco barked a laugh.

I was attacking him the way I had for years when the chair tilted to one side. It hovered there for one breath, and then we toppled over.

I slammed down, banging my shoulder into the wall of his chest as we crashed in a heap.

"Jesus," he snapped, shoving me off him.

I rolled around on the Roaster's red carpet, laughing.

He tried to glare, but even my grumpy best friend struggled to fight a smile. "How do you always make this shit happen?"

I lay flat on my back, then pushed myself up on my elbows. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Seems like the same old Bambi to me." With a chuckle, Mason reached down and pulled me off the floor.

Coach Wilson stood at the door to the coach's room, shaking his head. "Dumbasses," he muttered before turning and leaving.

Martinez pulled Chris to his feet. "Did you offer him your hand in marriage or something?"

Chris snorted. "No, I told him he was being weird, and his response was to fucking tackle me."

"What can I say? I love being noticed," I joked.

Discreetly, I breathed out a sigh of relief. My antics had successfully ended the conversation about my weirdness. Because this goofball of a guy was who they expected me to be.