CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Emery
I finish the last slide and clasp my hands together to hide their slight trembling.
“And that concludes the presentation,” I say. My heart’s pounding erratically. “I’m happy to answer any questions.”
The room is quiet, and that allows doubt to creep in despite knowing I did a damn good job.
Grant leans back in his chair and fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stares at me. “You’ve done exceptional work here, Dr. Porter,” he finally says, allowing my nerves to ease a bit. “Not just in outcomes, but in leadership. In judgment.”
Coach nods once beside him. “You’ve changed how we think about athlete longevity. About transparency. About accountability. And this program moving forward, once we implement many of these changes you proposed here, will be better because of it.”
Grant turns his attention fully back to me.
“There was a moment this season where your integrity was . . . tested.” His tone is careful.
Deliberate. What does he mean by tested?
Does he know about Lucas and me? Cue more anxiety.
“You handled it with professionalism, discretion, and most importantly, respect for both the player and the organization.”
“Thank you,” I whisper because I feel like I need to say something to fill the awkward silence.
“That matters to us,” Grant continues. “A great deal.” He slides a folder across the table.
“This is the contract we discussed before you were hired. Congratulations, your probationary period is officially over. You’re welcome to have your legal team look it over, of course—but we’re pleased.
Very pleased. We’d like you here long-term. ”
For a moment, I can’t move. Then I reach out and take it, fingers needing to feel the paper contract so I can believe it’s real.
All the heartache with Jared. All the courage it took to pick up and move here. How I had to believe in myself more than ever before.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I won’t let you down.”
“I don’t think you will,” he says, smiling.
Then, because my heart apparently hasn’t been through enough, he says, “There is one more thing.”
“Yes?” Why does that not sound good?
“We’re aware,” Grant says calmly, “that you and Lucas have become . . . close.”
Oh. Shit.
“There are rules about fraternization within this facility,” he continues. “Rules we take seriously.”
I nod.
“However,” he says, “given the fact that Lucas came forward to tell us about your situation himself, and taking into consideration that he said if there was a problem with the two of you working here together that he’d willingly walk away from the team to secure your place here, we’re willing to allow it. ”
My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
“You both bring immense value to the organization and—”
“We expect discretion,” Coach says. “Professionalism. Boundaries.”
“Always,” I say immediately.
Grant extends his hand. “Welcome to the team. Officially. Permanently.”
My hands are shaking as I walk out of the building. My legs are trembling as I drive home, as I process what just happened. What I accomplished. What Lucas was willing to give up for me.
When I walk into the apartment, the lights are low.
Lucas is on the couch.
Naked.
His good arm stretched across the back like he owns the place. Like he owns me.
I bark out a laugh but welcome the sight of him. Jesus, he packs a punch like this. “What are you doing?”
He grins. Lazy. Entirely unapologetic. “Waiting for my girl to get home from her important meeting.”
I emit a disbelieving laugh. “You’re impossible.” I tilt my head and get another look. “And sexy.”
“So,” he says, eyes dragging over me slowly. “How’d it go, Doc?”
I drop my bag and walk straight toward him, fingers unbuttoning my blouse as I go. “I nailed it.”
“Yeah?”
“Grant referenced my integrity, my professionalism, and my knowledge. He then slid the contract across the table. Probation’s over.”
“You’re officially a Rebel now,” he says, his eyes following my hands as they unzip my slacks. “Knew it.”
“And,” I add, stopping between his knees, “you told them about us.”
“I did.” His tongue licks out to wet his lips. “What did he say about it?”
“That they’re okay with it as long as there’s discretion.”
I shrug out of my blouse as he huffs out a laugh.
“This,” he says, gesturing to his naked body, “is probably not what they meant.”
I smile. “Definitely not glasses and heels on a conference table.”
He reaches for me, pulling me gently closer. “But it’ll do.”
I climb into his lap, laughter dissolving into something warmer. Perfect.
“Congratulations, Doc. I’m proud of you.”
My chest tightens. “I love you,” I murmur against his lips a second before I kiss him.
“I love you too,” he says. “And for the record? I like this ending for us.”
I smile against his mouth.
So do I.
Everything feels completed.
Not because it ended.
But because it finally began.