Chapter 22 Joelle #2
Joelle: Also, if you want to play through it and it tears and you have to have surgery, are you telling me you're not going to hate sitting on the sofa watching your team take home the cup and you're not part of it?
Emmett: I won't need surgery.
This man is infuriating.
Joelle: I’m telling you that you will, especially if you don't rest it.
Emmett: One game won't make a difference.
I pace the small bathroom, phone clutched in my hand. Three steps one way. Three steps back.
Joelle: If one game won’t make a difference then you can rest. Ice. Anti-inflammatories. Physical therapy. Give the ligaments time to heal. You can play again on Friday. I'm not saying you're out the entire week. Just one fucking game.
Emmett: Every game matters.
Joelle: But your health matters more if you want to play one more fucking game.
Emmett: Easy for you to say. You're not the one letting your team down.
That comment hits differently, thawing my frozen heart for a nanosecond.
Joelle: If you play and hurt yourself and you’re out for the rest of the season that is letting your team down more than one game.
Emmett: Tell that to the guys when we lose Friday.
Joelle: Do you think the team is only good because of you?
Emmett: No.
Joelle: Then have faith that they will fight as if you are right there on the ice with them.
Emmett: Of course I have faith in my team.
Joelle: Oh. You're worried that if you aren't there, some young guy will outshine you and take your spot.
Emmett: No.
Joelle: Experience over youth can always win. But only if that experience is healthy.
Emmett: You are infuriating.
Joelle: Right back at you.
Emmett: Fine. I'll sit out. Only because I don't want to be out all season, but this is fucking bullshit.
Joelle: Noted.
Emmett: Have a good night.
Joelle: Rest up, Captain.
I set my phone down on the bathroom counter with more force than necessary.
The screen goes dark, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My hair is still damp, tangled. My face is flushed, whether from the hot shower or the argument, I'm not sure.
But he agreed. Finally. It took way too much effort to get him there.
I take a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the racing of my heart.
It doesn't work. I open the bathroom door, the cooler air from the apartment hits my heated skin, and I go and get dressed.
Collette's on the couch, two glasses of deep red wine already poured on the coffee table. She looks up when I emerge, takes one look at my face, and pats the cushion beside her.
"Are you okay?"
I drop onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the soft cushions enveloping me.
"Emmett just messaged me."
She hands me a glass, the wine almost black in the dim lighting.
"Emmett?"
I take a long sip and let the wine burn down my throat. It's good. Rich and smooth.
"Coach benched him for the next game, and he's pissed."
Collette's eyebrows shoot up. "You gave him your number?"
I shake my head. "No. Felix gave it to him." I take another drink. Bigger this time. "I've just been arguing over text about why he needs to rest his shoulder. All the things that I told him face-to-face."
"And?"
"And he finally got it through his thick skull that I was right." I lean my head back against the couch. "But only after I basically had to spell out that if he tears it completely, he'll be watching from the couch while his team takes home the cup without him."
"So, you won." She chuckles
"It doesn't feel like winning." I sigh. "It feels like I had to drag him kicking and screaming to common sense. He fought me every step of the way."
Collette sips her wine, watching me over the rim of her glass. "Is this some kind of foreplay with you two?"
Heat floods my face. "What? No."
"Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like sexual tension disguised as a medical dispute."
"It's not. He's being reckless with his health. That's it."
"Uh-huh." Collette's tone is absolutely dripping with disbelief. "And that's why you're sitting here, all flushed and worked up. After spending time texting him."
"I'm flushed from the hot shower," I argue.
Collette just gives me a side eye, not believing me.
Damn her. I take another gulp of wine, avoiding her eyes. "He's stubborn. It's frustrating."
"You've dealt with stubborn athletes before."
My chest tightens. "This is different."
"Why?" she pushes.
Because two days ago, he had his fingers inside me, and I came apart on his couch. Because every time I close my eyes, I see him on that treatment table. All hard muscle and defiant green eyes. And I want to strangle him and kiss him in equal measure.
"Because he's our brothers' teammate." That sounds better.
This makes Collette laugh. "That's a good one. You can lie to yourself all you want. But don't lie to me." Her voice is gentle but firm. "I know what happened between you two. I was there, remember? When you came home from his apartment looking thoroughly ... disheveled."
My face burns hotter. "That was a mistake."
"Was it?"
"Yes." The word comes out too quickly.
"Then why are you so upset that he's not listening to you?"
"Because ..." The words catch in my throat. I stare down at my wine, watching the dark liquid swirl in the glass.
"Because you care about him," Collette adds.
I look up at her, her expression is knowing but not judgmental. Just my sister, seeing right through me like she always does.
"Lettie, I can't ..." My voice cracks. "I can't care about him. Not like that. He's my brothers' teammate. It's completely inappropriate and ..."
"It's okay. Things are complicated between the two of you right now. But it won't always be like that."
"You think?" I ask, sounding hopeful.
"Yes. Look, obviously that night in London together was incredible.
You've both been thinking about it ever since.
But you never actually thought you would see each other again.
So, you probably put that night in a box in your head.
May have even blown it up into something more than it was.
Romanticized it even. And then boom. You run into each other again.
But this time you are six degrees of separation.
Not only that, but you are also now neighbors and colleagues.
" Maybe she's right. "You both have all this pent-up tension between you, and it's not just sexual.
You both don't know how to deal with seeing each other again. "
This is true. "So, what do I do?"
Collette leans back against the couch. "You figure out what you want. Not what you think you should want."
I give her a look. That doesn't help me at all.
"What do you want?" she asks.
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
And she's right. I do know. I just don't want to admit it. "It doesn't matter. Nothing can ever happen."
"Nothing's impossible. Just complicated." Collette refills both our glasses. "Stop pretending there's nothing there. All this resistance is just making you both miserable."
"I'm not miserable." She raises an eyebrow. "I'm confused, not miserable."
"Give yourself permission to feel whatever you're feeling. You don't have to act on it. Just stop beating yourself up for caring about him."
Maybe she's right. Yes, nothing can happen between us.
But what has happened isn't the end of the world either.
I just can't let anything else happen between us.
I have a job to do, so does he. We can maintain a professional relationship, but we can also have a friendship.
It might take time but we could get there.
He's friends with my brothers. We are neighbors. It's not like I can get away from him.
I lean my head on her shoulder. "When did you get so smart?"
"I'm not. I'm just good at observing other people's disasters." She yawns. "I'm going to bed. It's been a long night."
"Night, Lettie."
"Night. Get some sleep and stop beating yourself up."
She's right. I down the last of my wine.
Tomorrow, a new Jo.