Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Jeremy
L ater that night, I’m restocking the liquor bottles on the glass shelves behind the bar at Fireside, the South Side bar Ben and I opened together right after college. While I spend most days at the office of the foundation I run, my nights are usually spent right here, with Ben.
Ben and I met during freshman year at the University of Pittsburgh. Because I went straight from Juniors to the NHL, I was years older than everyone in the class, fresh off a career-ending injury, and deep into my destructive, drink all the alcohol, fuck all the women, mad at the entire world phase.
Ben saw past all of that.
He sat down next to me in my first college class, introduced himself, and asked if I wanted to go to lunch with him afterwards. Then he introduced me to his roommate Jordan, and the three of us became an unlikely trio. The hometown city boy, the future surgeon, and me—the washed-up former athlete so broken even his own parents didn’t want to keep him.
When Ben found out I didn’t have a family of my own, he offered me his. I spent weekends and holidays and summer vacations with the Parkers. Ben treated me like a brother and his parents, Rachel and Steven, treated me like one of their own, with no hesitation and no questions asked. I never knew what a real family looked like until Ben sat down next to me in that classroom on my first day of college. They are the best people in the world, and I didn’t feel worthy of them. I still don’t.
Even all these years later, I still sometimes find myself wondering when they’ll realize I’m not worth it and walk away. Like my parents did. Like every foster family I ever had did. Like my teammates did once it was clear that my injury would permanently end my playing days. My head knows it’s a ridiculous train of thought, but the life I had before I met Ben and his family leaves the kinds of scars that are bone deep and don’t fade with time.
Like they do every time I ruminate over how screwed up I am, my thoughts turn to Emma. Although, they haven’t really strayed far from her since I ran into her on the trail this morning. I didn’t know she was a runner, but it makes perfect sense—the solitary sport suits her. With her spandex shorts and sports bra and swinging red ponytail, she looked like an ad straight out of a running magazine. The way her ass moved in those tight shorts had my dick standing up and paying attention, but I willed it to calm the fuck down because for the first time in years, we had an actual conversation about something that didn’t involve business. For the time it took to run a couple of miles, it was like eight years ago had never happened. We were just two friends out on an early morning trail run. I wanted that run to last forever. When my knee started to ache around the time we lapsed into silence, I ignored it and kept running next to her.
I’ve never been a fan of silence. When it’s quiet, my thoughts roar. But this morning, they didn’t. In the stillness of the early morning, with Emma running next to me, my brain was calm in a way it rarely is. As we ran, I had the fleeting thought that I’d rather be quiet with her than loud with anyone else, and it turns out it actually wasn’t so fleeting because I can’t get it out of my head. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with that when she rarely gives me the time of day, and I wouldn’t know what to do with her if she did.
When the run was over, I didn’t want to leave her. I had to hold myself back from asking her what she was doing all day and begging her to let me tag along. I don’t know what possessed me to reach out and tip her chin up in the most boyfriendy move of all time, but, well, I did. It was like my hand had a mind of its own, and all it wanted to do was touch her.
And the date she’s on, what the fuck is that all about? As far as I know, Emma rarely dates. At least, I’ve never heard about her dating, and she’s never brought a guy around as long as I’ve known her. But tonight, she’s on a date with a guy who has the douchiest name I’ve ever heard. Thad Windsor, Jesus Christ. That sure as fuck doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who’s having a beer and watching a baseball game with Ben, Jordan, Asher, and me.
Thinking about Emma bringing any guy around, especially one with a name that sounds like the alphabetical equivalent of a polo shirt with a popped collar, has me slamming a tequila bottle down on the shelf harder than is strictly necessary.
“That bottle wrong you in some way?”
I turn, looking straight into Ben’s smirking face.
I shrug, going for casual. “Just thinking.”
“Dude, I’ve known you for almost thirteen years. Just thinking may sometimes turn you into a broody asshole, but it doesn’t generally lead to property damage.”
I scoff and try to change the subject away from my little show of jealousy masked as temper. Fuck. I’m jealous. Of a man named Thad.
“I’m never a broody asshole.”
Lies .
Ben’s eyes soften. “Not that you’ll show anyone. You tend to cover it with jokes and self-deprecating humor. Most people may not be able to see beyond that, but I can.”
I know he can, but even he doesn’t know how deep my insecurities go. If he did, he would be worried that he hasn’t done enough to make me feel like our friendship is strong enough to stick. Ben is just that kind of guy. And he has done more than enough. It’s my head that’s messed up.
As I ruminate on that, Ben slaps me with a bar towel. “But don’t change the subject. Because you’re not brooding right now. That was temper. So, what gives?”
“Did you know Emma runs?” I blurt it out and immediately regret it. Thunder booms outside, shaking the building, as if the weather is agreeing with me that I am, in fact, an idiot.
“Sure, she runs the Frick Park trails every evening. Everyone knows that. I assumed you knew because the trails are your favorite place.”
“I didn’t.” And fuck if that doesn’t irritate the shit out of me. I want to know everything about her.
Ben gives me an appraising look. “But you do now?”
Shit .
“Yeah.”
“And how did you find out this information?”
“I saw her there. She did her run in the morning today, so I ran into her.”
“I’ll never understand your need to run at the crack of fucking dawn when you could be sleeping.”
I always tell him it’s because I love the morning. In actuality, it’s because I love to run, and morning is the only time of day I can guarantee my knee will carry me for six or so miles. Later in the day, my leg is usually too tired to run any kind of distance. So, since my injury, I’ve trained myself to be a morning person.
“It’s the best time of day. You know, for us non-lazy people.”
Ben lets that pitch sail right by, staying laser focused on our conversation. “So, what happened when you ran into her?”
“Nothing,” I say casually. “We just ran together for a bit.”
“Uh, the girl you like who will barely give you the time of day unless you’re talking about work ran with you? Voluntarily? That doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“I don’t like her,” I say, too quickly.
What I don’t say is that like is the wrong word. I don’t know what the right word is, but it’s miles more complicated than simple like.
Ben gives me an unimpressed look. “Tell it to someone who doesn’t know you. You’ve liked that girl for years and she likes you too. If you would just pull your head out of your ass and actually talk to her about it, you could finally figure each other out.”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
Ben gives me a serious look. “So uncomplicate it. Life’s too fucking short not to tell people how you feel.”
“Says the guy who waited eleven years to tell Hallie he was in love with her.”
“Exactly. And if I had told her sooner, maybe we could have had more time. I could have a hundred years with Hallie, and it would still never be enough. So, what’s holding you back?”
For a second, I consider telling him everything. Just flaying myself open and telling my best friend what happened eight years ago, and how guilty I feel, and how I live every day of my life worried that nothing is permanent and the people closest to me will leave and how the reason I paper over my brooding with humor and cheer is because I think it makes me more likable and I want everyone to like me because if they do, then they won’t leave. But that’s not a conversation I’m ready to have with Ben. Not now, and maybe not ever. I consider how to respond to him, but he speaks again before I figure it out.
“Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it, and that’s okay. But I also know that you’ve been hiding something about you and Emma for a long time. Years, I think. And if you ever do want to talk about it, you know you can talk to me.”
I swallow around the emotion clogging my throat. “I know. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It comes with the friendship territory.”
Ben speaks with the confidence of someone who has always been secure in his friendships. As well as he knows me, he’ll never understand what those small gestures of friendship mean to someone who never really had them until much later in life.
“Anyway, Hallie is out of town at a conference and the weather sucks.” Ben gestures to the window where I see the rain coming down in sheets. “Want to stay up at the loft with me tonight?”
The loft above the bar is where Ben lived from the time we opened Fireside right after college until last year when he moved into Hallie’s house. It mostly sits empty now except when Ben and Hallie crash there occasionally after a late night at the bar. But tonight, staying in the guest room and not walking to my car in the pouring rain sounds excellent.
“Will you make me coffee and breakfast like you make for Hallie?”
“Make your own damn breakfast,” Ben says with narrowed eyes. He talks a good game, but I know he’ll be at the stove in the morning. At the coffee maker too. He’s a natural born caretaker and can’t help himself. It works in my favor because he’s a fucking good cook and breakfast is his specialty.
“So that’s a yes to omelets? Just pretend I’m Hallie since I know if she was here, you’d be standing at that stove bright and early.”
“Fuck off. It’s a yes. But if you want some weird flavored creamer in your coffee in the morning, you’ll have to get it yourself. I don’t make dessert coffee.”
“Bet you would if Hallie wanted it,” I mumble, well used to defending my penchant for overly sweet coffee and seasonal creamer flavors.
“There are a lot of things I would do for Hallie that I would balk at doing for you.”
I snort out a laugh. “I’ll just bet. Crashing upstairs sounds great.”
My phone rings then, and I pull it out of my pocket, glancing at the display. I assume it’s spam. The only people who call me are standing right in front of me, on call at the hospital, or in Colorado visiting family.
Only it’s not spam. It’s Emma.
I fumble the phone in my haste to answer. Ben looks at me strangely.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I barely even hear him, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Ems, what’s up?”
“Jeremy, can you come get me?” My spine snaps straight at Emma’s trembling whisper. I’m used to the quiet voice she uses around me when we’re around our friends, and the authoritative lawyer voice she uses when we’re talking about the foundation, but I’ve never heard this voice before. This voice is scared. This voice has me grabbing my keys from behind the bar and walking towards the back door before I even register I’m moving, my brain immediately conjuring ten different scenarios that would make her call me to pick her up from a date, each worse than the last.
I glance back at Ben, gesturing towards the door, and he nods.
“Text me and let me know she’s okay.”
I wave in assent and turn my attention back to Emma.
“I’m already on my way Ems; can you tell me where you are?” I walk out of the bar into the pouring rain, grateful that I parked in the alley right outside the back door.
I slide into my car and start the engine as she says, “I’m at Pour, the new wine bar on Penn Avenue.”
“Okay, I can be there in ten minutes. Are you safe, sweetheart?”
“Yeah.” She sniffs. “I’m in the bathroom. I was about to leave to go home but then the storm started, and I can’t…I mean I don’t…” She takes a ragged breath. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know who else to call.”
I take a deep breath, relieved that this seems to be about the storm and not any of the other terrible things I’m now thinking about.
“You never have to be sorry, Ems. I’m happy you called. You can always call. I’m already in my car.”
“Thanks, Jeremy. Can you…” She breaks off, hesitating before she speaks again, her voice even quieter. “Can you come in and get me when you get here? The thunder is really loud and it’s raining so hard, and I don’t want to walk outside by myself. I hate storms.”
My heart squeezes at the vulnerability in her voice, and I wonder briefly what this is all about but keep my focus on Emma. I don’t often feel like I can be what anyone needs, but right now, in this moment, I can do this for her.
“Of course I can, Ems. Just hang on. I’ll be there soon.”