Chapter Thirteen
Missed Calls
Ethan
6 years later
I step off the private jet, the late-night chill of the city biting at my skin as I tug my hoodie tighter. The flash of cameras in the distance sets my teeth on edge, but I keep my head down and push forward, my duffel slung over one shoulder. My PR guy keeps telling me to smile more, to give them something they can print, but tonight, I just don’t have it in me.
It’s been six years since I walked off that college field and straight into the NFL. Six years of packed stadiums, endorsement deals, and the kind of life I used to dream about. And yet, every time the crowd roars or a reporter shoves a mic in my face, I can’t help the feeling that something’s missing. Like I left a part of myself behind a long time ago.
Back at my apartment, I scroll aimlessly through my phone, the soft glow of the screen the only light in the room. I should be sleeping—I’ve got practice in the morning and a game this weekend—but instead, I’m here, staring at her name in the search bar. Emma Blackwood.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen before I finally hit enter. Her profile pops up—she’s smiling in her profile picture, holding a book in her hands, the kind of smile that used to make my chest tighten. The kind of smile I haven’t seen in person in years. She looks beautiful.
She doesn’t post much, but every now and then, there’s a picture: her at a book signing, a cup of coffee on a wooden table, the sun streaming through a window. It’s like looking at fragments of her life, pieces I’ll never fit together. I scroll further, catching glimpses of her world—places she’s traveled, people she’s met—but it all feels so far away. Like she’s living on a different planet.
My phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me out of the trance. It’s a text from Natalie, one of the women my agent introduced me to at an event last week. I stare at it for a second before locking the screen without replying.
It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her—she’s gorgeous, funny, and exactly the kind of person I should want to spend time with. But every time I try, every time I even think about letting someone in, my mind drifts back to Emma. To her laugh, to the way she used to nudge me with her shoulder when I made a bad joke, to the nights we’d sit under the stars, talking about everything and nothing.
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that no one else will ever measure up.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table and run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling in my chest. This is stupid. I should be over her by now. Hell, she’s probably moved on—found someone who makes her happy, who doesn’t screw things up the way I did.
But even as I tell myself that, the memory of our last conversation creeps in, uninvited.
“Ethan, this isn’t fair,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re leaving, and I’m supposed to just… what? Pretend like this doesn’t change everything?”
I clenched my jaw, unable to meet her eyes. “It doesn’t have to change anything, Em. We’ll figure it out.”
She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “You don’t get it. You’re going to Portland. You’re chasing your dreams, and I’m just… I’m here. We’re not the same anymore.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. Because deep down, I knew she was right. I was leaving, and no matter how much I wanted to hold onto her, I couldn’t ask her to wait for someone who m ight never come back.
So I let her go.
I scrub a hand over my face, the ache in my chest sharper than it has any right to be after all this time. I glance back at my phone, tempted to send her a message, to say something—anything—but I know better.
She deserves better than me.
With a sigh, I push off the couch and head to bed, hoping sleep will quiet the thoughts spinning in my head. But as I lie there, staring at the ceiling, her face lingers in my mind, the memory of what we had—and what I lost—cutting deeper than ever. I close my eyes, willing myself to think about anything else.
But then, like it always does, my mind drifts back to her.
I close my eyes and it’s hazy at first, but then it’s her—Emma. She’s standing in front of me, her hair loose and wild, tumbling over her shoulders the way I used to love it. Her lips curve into that soft smile that’s burned into my memory, but there’s something different this time. She’s not the Emma I remember from college or high school. She’s grown, confident, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest tighten.
“Miss me?” she whispers, her voice low, teasing.
I can’t stop myself—I reach for her, my hands sliding to her hips, pulling her close. Her body presses against mine, and the warmth of her skin sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
“Every damn day,” I murmur, my voice rough.
Her lips part slightly, and I lean in, capturing her mouth with mine. It’s not soft or tentative; it’s hungry, desperate, like I’m trying to make up for all the time I’ve lost. She gasps against my mouth, her hands sliding up my chest, clutching at my shirt as if she can’t get close enough.
I break the kiss just long enough to look at her, my hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head back. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, my voice low, rough with need.
Her eyes darken, and she leans into me, her lips brushing against my ear. “Then show me, Ethan.”
Those three words undo me.
I lift her off her feet, her legs wrapping around my waist as I back her against the nearest wall. My mouth finds her neck, kissing, biting, leaving marks that I know she’ll feel tomorrow. She moans softly, her nails digging into my shoulders, and it’s the most perfect sound I’ve ever heard.
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” I whisper against her skin, my hands sliding down to her thighs, gripping her like I’ll never let go. “How crazy you make me? How much I want you?”
“Tell me,” she breathes, her voice trembling .
“Every inch of you,” I growl, my lips brushing against hers. “The way you taste, the way you sound when I touch you. I want all of it, Emma. I want all of you.”
She pulls me back into a kiss, her body arching against mine, and it’s everything. Her scent, her touch, the soft sounds she makes—it’s all-consuming. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but lose myself in her.
I move to the bed, laying her down gently, but the way her eyes light up tells me she doesn’t want gentle. She tugs me down, her hands sliding under my shirt, her nails raking across my skin.
“You’ve been driving me insane for years,” I admit, my voice barely more than a growl. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”
Her smile is wicked, and she tilts her hips, pressing against me in a way that makes me curse under my breath. “Then show me,” she says again, her voice challenging, her eyes daring me to lose control.
And I do.
I don’t hold back. My hands roam her body, sliding up under her shirt to the soft skin of her waist, the dip of her back. I tug the shirt over her head, leaving her bare to me except for a thin lace bra that does nothing to hide the curve of her breasts as they spill out of the cups. My mouth is on her before I can stop myself, trailing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, until I’m nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin just above the lace .
Her breath hitches, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer. “Ethan…” she breathes, her voice breaking on my name, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
I slide the straps of her bra down her shoulders, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin. “You’re perfect,” I mutter against her, my hands cupping her, my thumbs teasing her nipples until she’s arching into me, her head falling back against the pillow.
I dip lower, trailing my tongue down her stomach, feeling the way her muscles tense beneath me. My fingers hook into the waistband of her jeans, and I glance up at her, meeting her eyes. “Can I?” I ask, my voice thick with need.
She nods, her lips parted, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
I slide her jeans down her legs, my palms brushing along her thighs, and every inch of her is pulling me deeper under her spell. She’s wearing a pair of black lace panties that leave almost nothing to the imagination, and the sight of her like this—laid out in front of me, flushed and breathless, —is enough to make me lose my mind.
“God, Em,” I groan, running my hands up her thighs, spreading her legs just enough to settle between them. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about this? About you?”
She bites her lip, her cheeks pink, but she doesn’t look away. “Show me,” she says, her voice trembling .
I lean down, pressing my mouth to the inside of her thigh, my fingers tracing lazy circles over the lace. “Every night,” I admit, my voice rough. “Every goddamn night, I think about having you like this. Tasting you. Hearing the way you’ll moan my name when I make you come.”
Her breath catches, and I grin against her skin, sliding the lace down her legs. I press a kiss just above where she’s aching for me, savoring the way she trembles beneath me.
When my mouth finally finds her clit, she cries out, her fingers clutching the sheets. I take my time, learning every reaction, every sound, every movement that drives her wild. Her hips buck against me, her hands tangling in my hair, and it’s everything I’ve always wanted.
“You taste so fucking good,” I groan against her, my grip tightening on her thighs to keep her in place. “I could stay here forever, Em.”
She gasps, her back arching off the bed, and I know she’s close. “Ethan,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “Please…”
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and the sound she makes is enough to push me to the edge. Her body tenses, and then she’s falling apart, her cries filling the room as she shatters beneath me.
I give her a moment to catch her breath, kissing my way back up her body, my hands still caressing her soft, trembling skin. When I meet her eyes, they’re glazed, her lips swollen from biting back her moans.
“I’m not done with you yet,” I whisper, sliding out of my boxers briefs and pressing myself against her. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
Her legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, and as I push into her, the world fades away. It’s just us—Emma and me—finally giving in to everything we’ve held back for years. And it’s better than I ever imagined.
I wake up with a start, my chest heaving, the remnants of the dream still clinging to me. My body is tense, my skin slick with sweat, and my cock hard. All I can think about is her. I can almost feel her in my arms, the sound of her voice, the way she looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I sit up, running a hand through my hair, cursing under my breath. “Damn it,” I mutter, trying to shake off the lingering heat of the dream.
But no matter how hard I try, she’s still there, etched into my brain, a brand I can’t erase.
The next morning, I drag myself out of bed and into the gym. It’s early, and the place is practically empty, just the way I like it. I throw myself into my routine, letting the burn of each rep drown out everything else .
By the time I’m done, sweat dripping down my back, my arms trembling, I feel a little better. But it doesn’t last. It never does.
I hit the showers and then head to practice, where the guys are in full swing, joking and shoving each other around like it’s recess. They’re good guys, all of them, but I’ve always kept a bit of distance. It’s easier that way. Less chance of someone getting too close.
“Yo, Belmont,” one of the rookies calls out, tossing a ball in my direction. “You coming out tonight? Team’s hitting up Jake’s for drinks.”
I catch the ball, spinning it in my hands before tossing it back. “Nah, I’m good. Got an early start tomorrow.”
He shrugs, not pushing it, and I’m grateful. The truth is, I don’t want to spend the night surrounded by people, plastering on a fake smile while my mind’s somewhere else. Somewhere with her.
I’m back on my couch, nursing a beer and flipping through the channels without really watching anything. My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at it, half-hoping it’s her even though I know it won’t be.
It’s Jace.
“Hey, man,” I say, leaning back against the cushions. “What’s up? ”
“Not much,” Jace replies, his tone casual but with an edge of something more. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still good for the wedding next month. You didn’t forget, did you?”
I pause, rubbing the back of my neck. “Of course not,” I lie, realizing I totally forgot about it. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good,” he says, clearly not buying it but letting it slide. “You’re a groomsman, remember? Can’t have the lineup without you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, forcing a grin he can’t see. “I’ll be there. When do you need me?”
“Rehearsal dinner’s the night before, and we’re doing a bachelor thing earlier in the week. I’ll text you the details.” He pauses, his tone shifting slightly. “Oh, and just a heads up, Emma’s a bridesmaid.”
That catches me off guard. “Emma?” repeat the name, the weight of it sinking in harder than I want to admit.
“Yeah. I figured you’d know that, but…” His voice fades at the end, hesitant, as though he’s feeling out my reaction. “Guess it’s been a while since you two caught up, huh?”
I swallow hard, my chest tightening. “Yeah, it has,” I admit, trying to keep my voice even.
“Well, this’ll be a good chance, right?” Jace says lightly, but there’s a note of something else in his voice—curiosity, maybe. “It’ll be good to have everyone together again. Like old times.”
“Yeah,” I say, though the word feels heavier than it should. “Like old times.”
“Alright, man, I’ll let you go. But don’t bail, okay? I’m counting on you.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise, the words leaving a strange ache in my chest.
“Good. See you soon.”
The call ends, but I’m left staring at my phone, Jace’s words lingering.
Emma.
It’s been years since I’ve seen her in person, and just hearing her name stirs up feelings I thought I’d buried for good. Well apparently not too far after that damn dream I had. Running my hand through my hair and down my face, this wedding just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
Home.
It’s been years since I’ve set foot in that town, and part of me wonders what it’ll feel like to be back. Emma’s not there anymore—I know that much from her social media—but the idea of being in the same places we used to share still hits me harder than I want to admit.
I finish my beer and set the bottle on the table, my thoughts drifting back to her as they always do. I tell myself it’s time to let go, to stop torturing myself with what-ifs and could-have-beens. But the thought of seeing her again—after all this time—has my chest tightening.
What if it’s awkward? What if she’s moved on completely? What if she barely even looks at me?
I close my eyes, her face flashing in my mind, and I know the truth: I’m not ready. Not for this, not for her. Not yet.
I shake off the memory, running a hand through my hair again. No matter how far I’ve come, how much I’ve achieved, it all feels empty without her.
And the worst part? Knowing I’ll see her again doesn’t bring relief. It just makes me realize how much I’ve missed her.