Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EMMETT
Me
Morning, Mama.
Billie
We need to talk about this nickname …
Morning, BTW.
Me
Is it … a problem?
Billie
Only if you stop using it.
Me
I knew you’d like it. It fits you perfectly, given all you ever do these days is boss me around.
Billie
Hasn’t that always been the case?
Me
True. Although that reminds me … Messi is still the better soccer player, FYI. Don’t think that I’ve let that debate die.
Billie
Ridiculous. Ronaldo proved himself in the Premier League—aka the best soccer league in the world.
Me
Oh, Billie. Twenty-one and legally old enough to drink, yet you still have so much to learn. Maybe you should come over to my place so we can watch a soccer game.
Billie
Just like old times. Should we invite my dad too?
Me
That would be a great idea … if my last text wasn’t an excuse to get you alone again.
Billie
Really? Wow. I’m slow on the uptake. What kind of alone time do you have in mind?
Sitting up in bed, I reach under the duvet, hand dipping beneath my boxer briefs.
Yep, already as hard as stone.
Me
Would you like a picture?
Billie
As much as I would like to say yes, I’m out for an early breakfast with Mom. Might be a bit risky …
You’ll have to describe what you have in mind.
Me
You know, I always had you down as a good girl.
Billie
No, you didn’t.
Laughter erupts from my chest, and I palm my dick, closing my eyes so I can picture Billie next to me in bed, just as she was a couple of mornings ago.
Me
Well, if we did watch a soccer game, it would likely be an early morning kickoff. I guess it would work out best if you stayed over the night before.
Billie
For sure. Trying to get across town first thing would be a nightmare.
Me
To make it even more convenient, we should probably watch it on the flat screen in my bedroom.
Billie
Your bed definitely offers the best seats in the house, without a doubt.
Me
Almost. My lap is generally better …
I drag a fist up my dick, and my fingers squeeze around my phone. I’m already close, unmistakable pressure building at the base of my spine.
Billie
I can get a bit warm in bed.
Me
Probably best if you’re naked then, no?
Billie
You also, given that I tend to run hot.
Me
So fucking hot.
When Scott fills the screen, I want to toss the phone across the bedroom, my hard-on completely gone, heart racing for an entirely different reason. I’m fucking mortified.
“Hello?” I answer before I’m ready, voice raspy, almost like I was about to engage his daughter in phone sex …
“Tell me that you aren’t still in bed?”
I rest my head against the headboard, blowing out a deep breath.
“Had a late practice and …” I push back the duvet, my knee just as swollen as it was when I climbed into bed last night. “I needed to get some extra rest.”
Street noise filters down the phone.
“Well, I’m sorry to cut your rehabilitation short, but would you mind buzzing me in? I’m about to enter your building.”
I bolt up in bed, wondering what arrangements I’ve forgotten this time.
“I need to talk with you,” Scott continues. “Or more like ask you for another favor.”
Five minutes later, I’ve thrown on some clothes, and I have a worried Scott sitting opposite me in the living area.
Reminding me of his daughter, he casts his eyes around my stark penthouse. “My voice actually echoes in here; it’s that empty.”
Reaching out, he picks up the coffee I made him and takes a couple of sips.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, assuming that’s why he needs another favor.
His previously concerned expression turns more apprehensive, although it doesn’t need to. He should know that I’ll always have his back, even though I’m not being fully truthful with him at present.
“It’s Billie.”
At the mention of her name, full-body trembles set in. I sit forward, bracing my elbows on my knees to try and suppress any signs of anxiety.
Shit. What the fuck does he know?
My voice is hoarse, borderline strained when I respond, “What about her?”
Gaze falling to his hands and with a crutch leaning against the wall next to him, he looks like a broken man. Or at least one carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“You know I wouldn’t come to you if I had an alternative.” When he brings his eyes back to mine, I can immediately tell what he’s going to ask. “The money you loaned to us—”
“Gifted,” I clarify. “The money I gifted to you.”
He clears his throat, an awkward atmosphere settling in the room. “Well, yeah, that money. It’s running out faster than I anticipated.”
He scrubs a hand over his mouth, struggling to ask me the question.
I decide to step in and make this as easy as I can.
“How much more do Billie and Blake need?” By mentioning their names, I know I’m separating Scott and Freya from the equation.
This money isn’t for them, and that’s the only reason why he’s sitting in front of me right now.
It’s the only reason why he brought their financial woes up in the bar that night.
Trouble is, back then, nothing was happening between me and his daughter, and circumstances were very different.
Back then, I wasn’t walking a moral tightrope, and therefore giving him money felt like the act of a good friend helping an even better man and his family in a time of need.
Now, all that has shifted, and while I’d be still giving the money with all the best intentions, I know if Scott knew the full truth, then he wouldn’t accept another dime.
And that’s exactly why I can’t come clean despite knowing it’s the right thing to do.
Billie and Blake trump everything, and I’m not about to see a friend sell his assets—or worse, run up debt to fund the essentials for his family.
We both know that Tucker is paying the bare minimum toward Blake’s upkeep, and like hell is Billie moving back home to save money.
That’s if she could break out of the lease.
“Give me a number,” I press.
More silence.
“I wouldn’t be here if I could get back to work. The sick pay is minimal, and Freya is struggling to pick up more hours—”
“How much does Billie need?” I repeat my earlier question in a soft, almost-coaxing tone.
“She’s talking about searching for a job, and I can’t have her—”
“No fucking way,” I cut him off again, voice filled with emotions any family friend shouldn’t really be feeling.
Thankfully, Scott is too caught up in his own emotions to pay any notice to mine or the way the trembles in my hands only increase.
“Forty would probably be enough,” is all he says, pain penetrating his words.
I sit back on the couch, studying him carefully. “Are you sure?”
He nods once, and I decide not to press. This is killing us both as it is, and we share the same priority—Billie and Blake.
“I would secretly sell Shelby if I didn’t think you would find out and be mad at me.”
I arch a brow at him. Scott is absolutely right; I would be mad at him for doing that. Shelby has been in his family for years.
“If you sold her, I’d buy her back, no matter what price the new owner demanded.”
Scott just shrugs. “I’m here because I’ll do anything for my girls.”
Same, buddy. Same.
“When do you need the money?”
“As soon as you have it.” He scuffs the floor with his sneaker. “I really appreciate this, Emmett. My family owes you so much.”
His gratitude slams into me like a lead weight.
“How about by tomorrow?”
“That would be awesome. And I know Billie and Freya would be really thankful, too, if they knew.”
All I can do is subtly nod. There are no appropriate words for this moment, and I refuse to feed him any more bullshit.
I tip my chin at his crutch, knowing the sooner he can be back on his feet, the better. Like his daughter, Scott’s happiness relies on his independence. “How much longer until you can get back to work?”
Another shrug. “Two more weeks, and I’ll be able to start taking steps without an aid. But it’ll be at least eight before I can undertake light duties at work.”
I roll my lips together. Things between us feel strange—or maybe that’s my guilt showing. We haven’t been spending as much time together as usual, and I’m acutely aware of it. That said, he’s been housebound, and I’ve been actively avoiding him where I can.
Like the fantastic friend that I am.
“You really did a number on yourself, huh?”
When his gaze drops to my knee, I know exactly what response is coming.
“Others might not have noticed, but I could see the way you moved on the ice during the Scorpions game. Are you sure that you’ve got another season in you after this one?”
I fold my arms across my chest, and my reply is defensive. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to the NHL yet.”
I can see that he understands, even if I’m not sure he agrees. “And what about after pro hockey? Have you thought much about your life then?” His gaze roves my home. “You need to start building a life for yourself outside of the arena, Emmett.”
If I thought that the atmosphere was awkward before, it had nothing on how it feels now.
“Maybe it’s time to reconsider dating.” He clears his throat. “I’m guessing you already know that Maria’s seeing someone.”
Three months ago, that kind of news would’ve sent me into an emotional spiral. Today, all I feel is genuinely pleased for my ex-wife.
“I didn’t, but good for her.”
Without even thinking about it, I rise to my feet, shoving my hands into my pockets.
Scott follows suit, reaching out for his crutch.
“It was good to see you, man,” I tell him, eager to bring this exchange to an end. “And don’t worry about the money; I’ll get everything transferred to you ASAP.”
He reaches out, setting a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good man, Emmett. We’re blessed to have you in our lives.”
The words I’m involved with your daughter are right there, screaming to be released into the open. Every time Scott praises me for being a good friend, the struggle to make eye contact with him increases.
I clamp my mouth shut—for Billie, for Blake, and for the sake of the money I know they desperately need. When Billie and I finally tell Scott and Freya about us, it has to be at the right time, even if I know that the perfect moment likely doesn’t exist.