CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Emery
I sit on the floor just inside my doorway, knees pulled to my chest and back pressed against the wall.
Waiting.
The building is quiet except for the subtle hum of neighbors talking and an occasional door shutting outside. Every sound makes my heart stutter—footsteps in the hall that aren’t his, a door closing too hard on the floor below, the elevator dinging down the hall.
I don’t know how long I sit there like this, but it’s long enough for my eyes to burn. Long enough for the tears to come and go until I’m empty and numb. Long enough to know that while my heart feels broken, I know it’s nowhere near what his feels like.
There’s so much more to him than football. I know he won’t even entertain the thought let alone accept it, but it’s real and valid and—
A door closes.
Not mine.
Lucas.
I’m on my feet before I think about it, wiping my face with the heel of my hand like that will erase the evidence of how badly this has wrecked me.
My legs are unsteady as I cross the hall. My fist lifts to knock even though every instinct in my body screams not to do this.
I knock anyway.
The door yanks open.
Lucas stands there looking like something has hollowed him out.
You did this, Emery.
His shoulders are stiff. His eyes are dark and exhausted. He looks angry and wounded and stripped bare in a way I’ve never seen before. No smile. No teasing. No armor.
“Dr. Porter,” he says coldly.
“Don’t,” I say and shake my head. “Don’t do that.”
His eyes hold mine. “Did you need something?” he asks flatly.
“We need to talk.”
He emits a harsh laugh and steps back. “What? So you can crush me again?”
I step inside without waiting for an invitation and shut the door behind me.
Funny how the apartment feels different now. Tense. Heavy. Unwelcome. Almost like it knows what’s about to happen.
“This diagnosis isn’t the end of the world,” I say quietly. It’s probably not the right thing to say, but if I don’t start somewhere, it probably won’t start at all.
“It’s not the end of the world?” There’s that disbelieving chuckle again. “For who? For you or for me?”
“For you.” My voice shakes despite my best effort to keep it steady. “So you can live your life as normally as possible after this.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“Ruin my life? You’re standing in my living room trying to sell me the fact that the results of the scan aren’t the end of the world. I appreciate the attempt, but I call bullshit.”
“I’m trying to save you.” The words feel lame the second they leave my mouth.
“Save me from what?” he snaps. “From being who I am? From making my own goddamn decisions about how I choose to live my life?”
I swallow. “From losing the use of your arm. From chronic pain that might not sound like a big deal now but add in arthritis and old age and it’ll be unbearable. From not being able to hold your own kid someday without hurting.”
“I don’t have kids.”
“But you might. Hell, you have a whole life left waiting for you that you haven’t even lived yet.”
His jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“Emery.” My name sounds so loaded. “You were supposed to fix me. You’re the one who loves fixing broken things.” Anger bleeds through his words. “You said it yourself. So fix this.”
“I do like fixing broken things, Lucas, but I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Guess that makes the incredible Dr. Porter human, huh?”
“Fuck you, Lucas. Fuck. You.” I spit the words out and regret them instantly. “I get you’re angry. I get you’re pissed your body failed you. But don’t kill the goddamn messenger on something you knew was going to happen eventually.”
He stares at me, chest rising and falling, and words weighing heavily between us.
No shouting. No arguing. Just silence . . . and somehow that’s even worse.
“Say something,” I whisper as desperation claws its way out of my chest. “Say fucking anything. Yell at me. Scream at me. Fucking fight me.”
He doesn’t though. He just looks at me like I’ve already taken everything he had left.
“I’m going to keep playing,” he finally says. “With or without your support.”
“You know what you’re risking—”
“I do know. You did your job. You informed me of the consequences. Forgive me if I don’t care.”
“Right now, you don’t, but in five years? Ten? You’ll care.”
“Then I’ll worry about it then.”
“Fucking hell,” I shout. “Why won’t you let me support you—”
“Because if supporting me means standing in front of me and telling me to quit, then I don’t want you anywhere near me,” he explodes, stepping into my space.
“Anywhere near you?” I shout back. “Do you think I wanted to hurt you? To be the one to—”
“Yes!” he shouts back and stuns me.
“Yes? Yes?” The words rip out of me as hurt radiates through me. “If you think I purposely want to hurt the man I love then I guess you don’t know me at all.”
The room goes dead silent.
Lucas freezes, although his shoulders are heaving and the muscle in his jaw ticking. His eyes search my face like he’s trying to figure out if he heard me right.
And he did.
Too bad, I’d never planned for those words to come out. And especially not like that.
“What did you say?” he asks, voice hoarse.
A tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t bother wiping it away.
“Do you think I still want to hurt you? That I’m purposely trying to crush your dreams? I can’t imagine what it feels like to hear those words, but do you know what it’s like to be the one to have to tell you?” I say, eyes welling with tears. “I love you.”
He stares at me like I’ve shattered something inside of him.
Then he’s moving.
His hands are on my face, and his mouth is crashing into mine in a kiss that’s unfettered anger and fear and need. It’s desperate. It’s messy. Like we’re both trying to hold on to something before it disappears.
I kiss him back just as hard, fingers digging into his shirt and heart pounding like it’s trying to break free.
“I don’t know what to do,” he says, lips meeting mine again. “I can’t walk away.” His hands pull my shirt over my head. “I’m so fucking angry, Em.”
I grab his face and pull back so I can meet his eyes. “Use me, Lucas. Use me for what you need right now. I’m here.” I press a kiss to his lips. “I’m here.”