Chapter 29
ROMAN
For the first time in years, the team is still loitering in the clubhouse when I decide to head out.
After a win of nine to four, the energy in here is the most electric it’s been since we were in Toronto.
There’s a spark of approval flaming to life in my chest when Rhys Casey passes me with a light pat on the arm.
He’s not the only player who notices my presence and offers congratulations or supportive touches.
While a bit awkward for me, I accept their efforts and offer some of my own.
They’re the ones who won the game, after all. The only job I had was sitting back and making a few background decisions.
“Woah, is there a pig in the sky or something?” Wesley teases from the chair he’s melting into.
Beside him, Finn’s got his phone pressed to his ear and a sloppy grin on his face. I ignore the deep ache of what I know better not be jealousy when I hear him promise Aubrey that he’ll be grabbing her from her place as soon as he’s finished here.
The ease with which he says that while looking so pleased with himself has images of Brielle instantly attacking my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about her sparse fridge and the damn pink pots and pans that looked brand new, as if she’d never even used them before.
It took all my effort not to linger and cook what I could for her to have throughout the week once we’d finished eating and I’d made her come twice on my tongue.
Not to mention the mess of her apartment.
Fuck, she’s unorganized.
Little bits of fabric were thrown all over the place, and I stepped on at least three buttons that were decorating her floor.
The back of my shirt was covered in sequins by the time I got home and peeled it off.
There’s still a sparkling spot on my carpet that I couldn’t make myself vacuum up.
Not two nights ago when I first noticed, or this morning when I left it once again before heading to the stadium.
As a certified clean freak, that doesn’t happen. Nothing that’s been going on in the last few weeks is usual for me.
“Watch it, Wes. You’re going to make him go back into hiding,” Beck says.
I blink, zoning back in to see him swat the back of Wesley’s head. The closing pitcher winks at me in a way that screams I know something you don’t. Whatever it is, I really don’t care. It’s better for everyone if I never learn the thoughts that run wildly through that guy’s head.
Especially when I’ve been feeling this misplaced aggression toward him lately. It has me carrying on through the clubhouse, needing to leave as soon as possible.
“Got a hot date or something, Rome?” he pokes, forcing me to stop with a scowl.
Wesley snaps his fingers while saying, “Oh shit, here we go!”
“I doubt Coach wants to gossip with you like a bunch of teenage boys,” Jett subtly scolds the duo.
When I look at him, he offers me a nod, as if he’s more aware of my emotions than I’d have thought. It makes sense, I guess. He’s the most responsible one on the entire team. I’d assume that comes from becoming a father at such a young age, let alone a single one.
I feel a bit of admiration toward him for that.
“What do you say, Rome? Got time for a quick beer at the bar with us? I promise we can behave well enough,” Wesley rambles, pushing to his feet.
“I’m good.”
Brielle’s brother blinks twice before recovering with a laugh. “Suit yourself. You’ll regret that choice when we fly out on Sunday and you’re lacking fun memories to daydream about.”
My gut tightens. The reminder of leaving again in two days pulls an unexpected response from me.
Dread.
Suddenly, not only do I want to call Brielle just to hear her voice, but I also want to see her.
Heading home early was supposed to leave me the opportunity to maybe give her a call or respond to one of the three texts she’s sent me today, but now, I want to bypass all of the responsible things I should do and show up at her place instead.
Evie’s at the studio tonight. She’s been there all week, really. I saw her for lunch today, but it wasn’t the same as sitting down and having dinner together far too late at night.
I expected to feel lonelier with her absence, not grateful for the opportunity to fill my night with Brielle instead.
The reminder of what we spoke about the other night makes an appearance as I stare at Wes. “Ask me next time.”
“For real?”
“Yes.”
There are dimples when he grins at me. “You got it.”
I dip my chin and give my players one last glance before leaving.
Petal’s long gone by the time I unlock the shop door and slip inside.
The containers of food I busied myself with cooking earlier and stored away for Evie tonight weigh heavily in my hands.
Only one of the two lights is on in the main space, keeping it dim.
I double-check that the door’s locked behind me before making for the stairs and following the sound of music.
The higher I get, the louder it becomes, until I can make out each individual word being sung and the out-of-pitch voice carrying alongside them.
I pause outside Evie’s studio and stretch my neck, hoping to free the tension from it enough that I can concentrate on my niece for the next couple of hours. She knows I’m on my way and most likely only seconds away, but I still need to take a minute.
Every street I passed on my way here was a reminder that I was heading in the wrong direction.
There’s no one that I love as much as my niece, so why does it feel like I made a mistake by coming here? I shouldn’t want to be showing up at another woman’s door. This is the only place where I should be spending my time.
Yet no matter how much I tell myself exactly that, I still want to fill my night with a messy apartment and the taste of Brielle’s lips. Fuck. She’s so full of light and excitement and this intoxicating spirit that I want nothing more than to sink into. It’s as terrifying as it is beautiful.
Brielle’s a siren on the shore of the last piece of land on Earth, and I’m nothing more than a famished sailor who thought I was going to die alone at sea. She doesn’t so much as need to open her mouth, and I’m diving into the water with my heart already in my hands.
I slam my fist against the studio door before I can change my mind. Soon enough, Evie’s pulling it open and waving me inside.
“Please tell me there’s meatballs in those containers,” she pleads.
Lifting the containers, I shake them a bit. “Of course there are.”
“You’re the best.”
Evie snags the food from me and carries it over to the small circular table she thrifted last week.
The chairs are mismatched from two separate dining sets, with one painted a deep blue and another an unstained wood that wobbles on the back left leg.
I frown at them, already prepared to offer to buy her something better when she interrupts my train of thought.
“I can smell the judgment coming off of you right now, Uncle. Not everything needs to be perfectly aesthetic. This is an artistic space.”
Dropping a hand to the back of the chair in the worst condition, I give it a shake and watch it nearly topple over. “What happens when one of the legs snaps off while you’re sitting on it? You could break your arm. “
“Then I’ll go to the emergency room and get a cast. You need to relax.”
She snaps the lid off the first container and shoves it into the microwave. The quiet beeps fill the studio before I speak over them.
“You don’t need to be frugal.”
“It isn’t about money. I’m trying to be independent while also expressing myself. That’s what Brielle does, and I doubt you’ve ever given her a lecture on her spending habits.”
I’m sure the comment isn’t meant to be jarring, but it stuns me long enough that my silence has become noticeable. The microwave beeps, and Evie swaps the containers before shutting the door and glancing over her shoulder at me.
“You haven’t, have you? Please tell me you didn’t go all Dad on her,” she groans, disappointment painting her features.
“I didn’t lecture her about anything. The two of you aren’t comparable here. Your situations are very different.”
Yeah, that’s a decent enough cover. Though I still feel like shit for covering my ass instead of telling her that I’m usually too busy kissing Brielle to lecture her on what she does with her money. Not that I would do that if I weren’t kissing her.
It’s not my job.
Maybe if I tell myself that enough times, I’ll believe it.
Evie turns on her heel and folds her arms over the flopping shoulder buckle of her denim overalls. “Even so, just don’t. I like her and would prefer if you didn’t come off like an overprotective father and scare her away.”
“I don’t plan on scaring her off, Evie,” I say firmly, unable to hide the bite in the words. Nor behaving like a father to her.
She hears it loud and clear and whistles low and long. “Are you hangry?”
I laugh under my breath, slowly relaxing. “A little.”
“Let’s eat, then.”
I let her lead and stand back to observe as she serves the food up on the brown biodegradable plates she made a very big deal of purchasing before moving into the studio.
Matching forks get stabbed into the meatballs and pasta before she’s setting our meals on the table and plopping into the wonky chair.
Only once I’m sure she isn’t going to go crashing to the floor do I join her.
“See? You were overreacting,” she states cheerfully.
The chair is testy with my weight when I sit opposite her, but it doesn’t immediately collapse beneath me. I release a breath and nod before grabbing my wooden fork.
“Take the win this time.”
“If it makes you feel better, I have three new shoots scheduled for next week, and I’ll take some of the money I get and replace the chairs.”
My brows jump. “Three?”
“Yep!” Her face lights up as she swirls her fork in the spaghetti. “Aubrey got me a shoot with one of her coworkers, and Brielle found me two new clients who both want boudoir photos.”
“That’s great, Evie.”
My mind instantly wanders to who exactly Brielle’s sent her way. Are they in the same industry as she is? Why didn’t she mention this to me?
I scowl down at my food, already knowing neither of those questions is one that I should expect answers to. Not when I’ve done nothing to make her mine, and sure as shit not when I still haven’t come clean about After Hours.
“Okay, your mouth is saying one thing, but your face is saying another.”
I instantly fix my expression. “I mean it, Evie. I’m happy for you. This is what you want, right?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
“Good. I want you to do and get everything you want in life. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You’ve made that possible, you know?” she asks, voice growing soft.
“Hardly. You were already a headstrong, independent woman when you came to live with me. There are a thousand things I failed at and wish I’d known how to do better for you. What you accomplish now is because of who you are and have always been.”
My niece lowers her fork before reaching for my tattooed hand and rubbing her thumb across the back of it a single time. “You finished the job Mom started when you didn’t have to. That’s all that matters to me.”
I clear my throat when it tightens. Emotions I don’t enjoy feeling claw their way into my head and bring a stinging sensation to the backs of my eyes. Repeating the motion, I try to cough and nod before busying myself with my dinner.
The first bite tastes like sawdust. I force a second and a third. Evie doesn’t add anything else to the conversation, and I’m grateful for that. One more word is all it would take for me to burst into tears.
So, yeah, I’ll take the silence instead.