Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EMMETT
If I thought the conversation I had with Billie earlier tonight was torturous, I didn’t even scratch the surface.
Watching Billie sink more drinks than I know she can handle, all while I have no control—or right—to stop her, feels like a disaster waiting to happen. And one I can only blame on myself.
Nudging me in the ribs, Sawyer takes an opportunity to speak with me when Billie, Darcy, and Kate all head for the restroom.
“I know I’ve only met Billie a couple of times, but is she okay? She looks … I don’t know …” He trails off, following my line of vision as she catches her hip on a nearby table, completely misjudging her spatial awareness.
That’s going to bruise.
“Upset?” I finish for him, figuring that’s the emotion Sawyer was looking for.
He rolls his lips together, picking up his pint and taking a pull. “Maybe, yeah. It feels like she’s drinking to deal with something, and given that she hasn’t set her eyes on you once, a part of me can’t help but wonder if her demeanor is to do with you.”
Guilt swarms my insides. Sawyer joined our group after we all left the players’ lounge so he wouldn’t have witnessed me and Billie sneaking into the back bar.
“I took some advice from Archer.”
He looks horrified on my behalf. “Jesus, really?”
If I didn’t feel so shitty, I’d probably laugh at my goalie’s expense. Let’s just say, he doesn’t normally carry the flag for making the best decisions.
I watch the bubbles pop in my soda. “It was the right thing to do and also what you told me needed to happen all those weeks ago.”
“You put distance between you both.” His statement hits like he punched through my chest cavity.
After I swallow for a second time, successfully forcing rising bile down my throat, all I can manage is a tight nod.
Sawyer folds his arms over his chest, eyes still trained toward the restroom. “How did she take it?”
I release a humorless chuckle. “I think you’re witnessing that.”
He looks at me then, green eyes full of questions. “And what about you? I mean, you said it was the right action to take, but your face didn’t match your words. It still doesn’t.”
Sometimes, I resent how perceptive my friends can be.
When Archer warned me about keeping a good poker face, I was certain that I could pull it off.
Tonight, I’m failing miserably, and each time I set eyes on Billie as she attempts to engage in conversation with the rest of the girls, all I want is for her to look at me.
I miss her eyes, even though she’s been sitting opposite me for most of the night.
I miss her smile because the one she’s been wearing isn’t real.
I miss the sound of her laughter, even when she’s trying to goad me over being old.
There have been multiple occasions tonight where Billie could’ve joined in with the boys’ banter and revealed some pretty embarrassing truths about my past—like the time I thought LOL in a text was an acronym for lots of love and I sent it in the Quinn-Richards group chat, only to realize that it was not, in fact, an appropriate response to her dog passing away.
“Call me a genius”—Sawyer’s deep voice saves me from an emotional spiral—“but I’d hazard a guess that your conversation with Billie isn’t quite finished.”
I shrug because what the fuck else am I supposed to do? “She’s mad at me tonight. The best I can hope for is that she’ll let me drive her home, and when she’s had some time to cool off, she’ll see why I had to do what I did.”
“Stop talking bullshit, Emmett.” Sawyer is straight out of the blocks with his accusation, and I feel called out. “You know as well as I do that you’ll be taking her back to your place tonight.”
I flush like a little fucking schoolgirl.
Only Archer knows about her catching me jerking off in the shower, although with the way I’m so transparent these days, I’m almost certain Sawyer doesn’t need the backstory.
When Darcy emerges from the restroom alone, making a beeline straight toward me, I know this has something to do with Billie.
We might be celebrating a win against our oldest rivals, the Seattle Scorpions, and while I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol all night, my stomach roils like I’ve sunk ten shots in a row.
Darcy approaches me, hovering her head over my shoulder.
“Billie needs to go home. She’s only had three glasses of wine, and I thought that was okay, but …
” Darcy’s worried eyes tell me all I need to know—she’s either reached her capacity with booze or lost control over her emotions. Even worse, both.
I spin in my chair, grabbing my jacket from the back as I stand. Next, I snag Billie’s coat and purse from the back of her seat, following Darcy so I can go get my girl and take her back to the safety of my place.
My instincts over Billie being mad at me were spot on.
The whole drive home, she barely said a word, gazing out the passenger window of my Jaguar E-Type, hands twisting in her lap. Every time we hit a stoplight, I wanted to reach out and take her hand in mine, interlacing our fingers like I’d done more times than I should.
The elevator pings, and the doors open to my penthouse, yet Billie doesn’t move from her position against the back wall.
I hold the doors, head falling between my shoulders. She looks beautiful tonight, hair styled into a braid by Darcy at the game, an oversize blue Blades sweatshirt hanging over the edge of her shoulder.
It doesn’t serve me to look at her as often as I do. Regardless, I can’t help taking her in one more time.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask the same question I repeated twice in the car, each time earning a, “Don’t bother,” response.
She isn’t being petulant, like you’d expect from a person her age when they didn’t get their way, and none of Billie’s upset is for attention. The dark circles around her tired eyes tell me that she’s reached the limit of what she can handle.
And you know what? I don’t fucking blame her. A lesser person—like me—would’ve broken down way before she has, and even now, I can sense she’s battling to retain control of her emotions.
For the first time all night, she gives me full eye contact, and I feel that shit in every nerve ending.
“No, it’s okay.” She wraps her arms around her middle, and I step back into the elevator, bracing a hand on either side of her on the brass railing behind her ass.
She gazes up at me. “You’re probably exhausted from the game and then tonight. The last thing you want to do is get back in the car and drive me across town.”
Even when she’s hurting, her instinct is always about others.
That thought pulls my left hand from the railing, and I plant it on the side of her face.
Closing her eyes, she leans into my touch. Whenever our bodies connect, it’s like there’s a silent moment, where we both wonder if it’ll be for the last time.
“The only thing I want is for you to be happy. Driving you across town so you’re where you want to be tonight is the minimum I would do for you.”
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as her palm finds my hip, and I step forward until there’s no more distance between us. Something I vowed to ensure there was plenty of only a few hours earlier.
I’m a fool for this woman, each bad decision I make pulling me straight back into her orbit.
“What would make you happy, Billie?”
She ducks her head, but I bring her eyes back to mine with the softest finger under her chin.
When she finally whispers, “To be near you,” I know there isn’t anywhere else she’s sleeping tonight than in my penthouse—specifically, my bed.
When I wrap my hands underneath her ass, she releases a soft squeal, and I carry her into my bedroom, laying her down on top of the duvet.
She gazes up at me as I take a step back, scrubbing a palm over my mouth to center myself. Every warning and desperate battle to stay away—none of it holds any weight as I observe the way Billie looks sprawled out on my bed, a vision even better than I’ve pictured a thousand times over.
“I can’t touch you tonight.” My voice feels foreign and mainly because I hate the words that I’m speaking. Keeping my hands to myself though is exactly what I should be doing, so I’ll settle for the warmth of her body next to mine.
I pop the first couple of buttons on my dress shirt, but the tension between us doesn’t echo the declaration I just made. It feels like I’m taking Billie to bed so I can slide inside her and stay there all night, and by the way she’s looking at me, I know that’s exactly what she wants.
“I don’t have any pajamas.”
Pulling off my shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket next to my dresser, I open a drawer and pull out a white Blades training shirt. This one is too big even for me, so it’ll drown Billie’s petite frame.
She climbs off the bed and takes it from me, eyes raking over my skin. This isn’t the first time she’s seen me without a shirt, but it is, without question, the first time she’s appreciated my naked chest in this way.
Pausing over my tattoo, dainty fingers trace the ink etched into my left pec; she must not have seen it when I was in the shower. Understandable, given that my hard cock was also on display.
“When did you get the tattoo?”
At the feel of her touch, I want to snatch that training top from her hand and demand that she sleep naked.
“And what does it mean?” she tags on.
I close my eyes, trying to get a grip on myself, along with the raging boner fighting against the zipper on my pants.
“I got it in the offseason. Figured it was time to get some ink, and Tommy recommended an artist.”
She twists her lips in thought. “A rising sun normally means a new beginning. Considering when you had this done, I guess that meaning tracks.”
When she drops her hand and heads for the bathroom, I wait until the door closes behind her before releasing a long-drawn-out sigh.
“Hands to your-fucking-self, Emmett.”