Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
FINN
My townhouse was close to feeling like an actual home.
I had wandered into her bathroom for some aspirin, only to find Emily’s shampoo in the shower. Her toothbrush set up beside the sink.
By all bachelor logic, I should have hated the intrusion. I didn’t.
She didn’t seem to mind the setup, either, moving around the place with easy confidence.
So I couldn’t quite understand why I had a hefty dose of guilt chewing on my conscience.
Okay, fine, I knew.
Because this wasn’t her home. This was an adult babysitting gig, and she was managing it while rebuilding her entire life from scratch.
Which was exactly why I needed to heal up and get my act together, starting with early PT.
Dr. Evans, the team’s head doc, arrived with Trent, which should have been my first clue the day was going to hell.
“I specifically told you not to start without me,” Trent scolded.
“But I’m doing great,” I promised from my spot on the mat.
The first show-off rep was fine. The next sent a specific, unhelpful message from my groin to the rest of my body about exactly where the injury lived. I gasped, freezing mid-motion.
Trent just stood there, spectacularly unimpressed.
“Nailed it,” he deadpanned.
“You need to listen to Trent,” Dr. Evans said, kneeling and helping me to the sofa.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
They both stared like they weren’t quite sure what to do with me. Not new. I got that a lot.
“Today I get the doc and the PT. Didn’t realize I’d upgraded to the VIP torture package.” My voice wavered just enough to kill the punchline.
“I got image results. We’re doing this here,” Evans said, setting up at the dining table. “Not the facility. Fewer eyes and ears.”
“You mean fewer sports reporters waiting outside and wanting to know the status of my dick?” Now, the delivery on that one was perfection.
“Yep,” Dr. Evans agreed, monotone. “Trent can do his thing, then we’ll talk.”
Trent did his thing. I did my best to do mine. And when the session was done, Dr. Evans pulled the recent images up on his tablet and walked me through them.
“The inflammation has reduced significantly,” he said, pointing to a spot that made no sense to me.
“That’s the good part. The nerve irritation we’ve been seeing is strictly from compression.
That swelling was putting pressure on the area, but there’s no actual damage to the nerve itself.
As the swelling drops, the irritation resolves. Structurally, everything is intact.”
“You said that’s the good part. Does that mean there’s a not-good part?” I asked, cautiously.
“The follow-up scans did show some micro-tearing in the surrounding muscle tissue we weren’t seeing earlier. The primary nerve is intact, but those tears could create friction or scar tissue later. For most patients it resolves with time and treatment. We’ll know more in about six weeks.”
“Six weeks burns the rest of the regular season,” I said.
He nodded. “You’re done for this season. That part isn’t a maybe.”
Done. Not benched. Not day-to-day. Done.
I froze. “And the rest of it? What if it doesn’t resolve?”
“Range of motion declines. Speed, too. In some cases, there’s persistent discomfort. But those are all maybes. This whole situation is still fixable.” He didn’t look away. “We’re not ruling out a return next season. That’s still my goal for you.”
We were ruling out a return next season?
Since when was that even a conversation? Since when did someone sit in a room with my file open and think, yeah, he might be done?
And why did he talk about this like it was only a job? No. Playing the game was the only version of myself I reliably understood.
He shut my file. “On a practical note, given the data, you’re cleared for sexual activity, provided pain stops the play.”
My career was hanging in the balance, but at least I could still get laid. A hell of a consolation prize.
I nodded. Took in the information the way I watched game film—all the coverage gaps I couldn’t fix from the couch.
“We’ll reassess in a few weeks. Keep doing what Trent tells you.” Dr. Evans clapped me on the back.
“Even when he says only three reps?” I asked.
“Especially then.”
Was it me or did Trent smirk?
Dr. Evans started packing up his tablet.
Most patients. I turned the phrase over, looking for a way in, a foothold, something. There wasn’t one.
Trent headed for the door when the keypad buzzed.
That buzz? That was my get-me-out-of-my-spiral Emily. My favorite distraction.
I looked up, an easy smile ready, but it died on my lips when Elliott stalked in the room. Right, he also had a code for the keypad. He was also supposed to be in Florida, not in my living room.
Elliott didn’t bother with a hello.
He walked straight in with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. His expression stayed tight with irritation even as he gave me a once-over to ensure I was actively breathing and alive.
“Guys, this is my agent, Elliott. Elliott, this is Trent. He makes me cry. You already know Dr. Evans.”
Elliott nodded their direction in greeting and set his leather messenger bag by the door. “I’ve been leaving messages, Finn.”
That was fair. I hadn’t exactly been answering his calls, but—
“I texted you back,” I argued.
Mostly one-liners and proof of life, but still. It wasn’t nothing.
He took in the couch situation, the half-eaten granola bar on the end table.
“You were gone and you were busy,” I continued. “Also, hey, man. How you doing? So great you stopped by. Want a beer?”
“Finn can’t have beer,” Dr. Evans said. “Not yet.”
“But he can.” I gestured to Elliott. “Unless he also took a direct hit?”
“Finn. Focus. I was in Florida, not on Mars. And I am not too busy for you… you’re my client.” His gaze caught mine and drop-kicked me right where it counted. “And you’re my friend.”
That was my cue to stop feeling feelings and act like…well…myself.
“Relax there, agent man, I’ve been busy.” I offered him a lazy, hopefully infuriating grin. “Turns out recovering from a busted groin takes up a lot of time. Who knew?”
He was not amused. He catalogued me with the eye of an agent who smelled bullshit.
I didn’t like it, but I squirmed.
He went to sit in the armchair next to the couch, and paused, eyeing the wicker laundry bin Emily stashed there on her way out that morning.
Without a word, he lifted it, clearly intending to set it on the floor.
And then he froze.
Nestled among my sad gray sweats was a scrap of navy-blue lace. Definitely a bra. Definitely Emily’s.
Elliott’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. The professional concern on his face curdled into a fresh, potent new flavor of pissed off.
“Don’t worry, dude, it’s your sister’s bra,” I assured.
Trent choked on his own spit, coughing up a storm.
I glanced over to him and said, “Emily staying here was Elliott’s idea. She gets to have clean clothes, too.”
Elliott set the bin down with a deliberate, rattling thud.
Before he could launch into the lecture I had zero interest in hearing, I cut him off—
“By the way, you were right. Emily staying here is a great idea. She’s been really helpful.”
Also, she left me little notes around the house, but he didn’t need to know that just that morning she had left a plate of little chocolates in the fridge with my name on the Post-it.
Or that I studied the way she made a loop on the top of her F’s way longer than necessary.
I’d been doing that more lately.
Staring at nothing just because she’d been there first.
Standing in rooms she’d recently left for no reason other than they still held her scent and I didn’t want it to go to waste.
“On that note, we’re heading out,” Dr. Evans announced. “Taylor, we’ll be touching base.”
They took off and Elliott stood, heading to the kitchen. “I’m gonna grab a Coke, you want something?”
“Nah, I’m—”
The front door opened again. Emily walked in first, the person I’d actually been waiting for. Angela was right behind her, sliding her sunglasses onto the top of her head like she’d been mid-conversation in the driveway and wasn’t done yet.
“You finished PT early, Finn?” Emily asked, but she didn’t wait for a response.
She didn’t look up as she came in, instead she started talking as she closed the door.
“That’s excellent, because I told my mom I quit my job.
Huge blow-up. She’s so mad at me. But if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like you to come with me to see the shop soon.
The loan is moving on the building. I got my apartment ready to be listed. Everything is actually happening.”
Our eyes met, and just like that, the room was empty. Then Elliott cleared his throat.
“Hey, Em. Elliott’s here.” I glanced pointedly to where her brother stood near the kitchen.
Emily steepled her hands in front of her lips, seemingly trying to figure out how to put the words back inside.
But that wasn’t going to happen because they were out there in the middle of the room just waiting for a response.
Elliott seemed to be in some kind of shock. But his attention had snagged on Angela and stayed there a beat too long before he caught himself and redirected it back to his sister.
“Hey, big brother.” She rallied, pulling back and smoothing her hands along her shirt. “Glad to see you’re back in town. We’ve had a lot of things happen while you were gone.”
“I was only gone for a few weeks,” he said, eyes wide. Then his attention swung to Angela. “You knew about all of this?”
Angela crossed her arms. “Literally found out today, Elliott.”
Something about the way she said his name made his eyes warm. Not a lot, but I caught it.
Huh.
“I mean, last night, technically. But within the last twenty-four,” she finished.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe don’t leave town for that long again. Shit really hits the fan around here when you’re not managing it.” I patted the cushion next to me. “Em, come sit and tell me all about your mom.”
“Why’d you quit your job?” Elliott asked, frowning. “When did you quit your job?”
I settled in because this was going to take a minute.
These two both went to law school, which meant they both argued for a living and that made for good entertainment. But it wasn’t sitcom length, that was for damn sure. This was more of an old-school movie that required an intermission and heavy snacks.
“It’s recent. And, as for the reason why?
” She closed her eyes, steadied herself.
“The other partners care more about profit than what’s right and I refused to take down a good guy trying to save lives.
They said I had to. I said no. That’s why I quit.
” She traced her finger along the edge of the TV stand as she said the last part.
“It’s a good thing,” I assured. “Emily actually smiles now. I was starting to forget she had teeth.”
Elliott cleared his throat. “Then it sounds like you made the right call.”
“She totally did,” Angela agreed.
“Mom does not agree.” Emily pressed her lips into a thin line.
“Emily. You do what you need to do. You’re the only one who has to live with yourself,” Elliott said like maybe he wasn’t actually talking about Emily.
Huh, that was weird. I’d need to dig into that more when I had the guy alone again.
“After I quit,” she said, the words stalling only briefly. “A bunch of other people walked out, too. It was extra dramatic since I gave a very convincing speech.”
“You didn’t mention there was a speech. I wanna hear it.” I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face if I tried.
“And, Elliott, I sort of, maybe… also bought a building,” she added. “Go me.”
His eyebrows shot right up. “You bought a building?”
“For my chocolate shop.”
“What chocolate shop?” Elliott asked, totally confused.
“Told ya, man. Don’t leave town again. Shit gets wild.” I shifted toward Emily and bit back a wince.
“It’s just a storefront,” she said, inching my direction. “A very empty, very dusty, very much mine-when-the-loan-comes-through storefront.”
She glanced to me and she didn’t need me to defuse the humor. She needed an anchor. I let my own smile fade, giving her all the sincerity I had.
This was real. This mattered.
“It’s going to come through,” I said, my voice softer than before. “I’m proud of you. We’re proud of you. Aren’t we Elliott?”
“I’m always proud of her. She’s Emily,” Elliott said, though he didn’t sound totally convinced, the words he used were solid.
She dropped beside me on the sofa, leaning back into the cushions.
“This is… a lot. The job. The… building.” He gestured vaguely, as if the concept was too much to be contained in the room. “The chocolate.” He said the last word like it was a foreign object he’d just found in his sandwich.
He looked to Angela with that soft puppy look again. Damn, I’d been so caught up with my dick, I hadn’t realized Elliott might have crap going down, too.
“Change can be good,” Angela assured.
“And Emily’s already making it happen.” I draped my arm around her back and pulled her into my side like we sat this way all the time.
And, hoo boy, the way Elliott’s glare practically burned my hand indicated very clearly how much he did not like me touching his sister.
Angela, for her part, watched the whole thing while visibly stockpiling opinions she was choosing not to share.
I kept my arm parked exactly where it was. Because it was just a friendly, purely platonic appendage touching my friendly, purely platonic friend.
I almost believed myself.