Chapter 8
The second she walks into the room, the air changes. My body hums with electricity, my pulse kicks up. My head turns without conscious thought as I find her across the room. Wiping sweaty palms on my pants, I draw in a breath to compose myself. I can’t look away if I tried. Her back is to me.
Her exposed back.
There is a bow tied at the base of her neck, then nothing but the smooth expanse of her bronze skin until the black dress begins again at her lower back.
It’s revealing, accentuating her luscious curves, but staying elegant enough to match the black-tie attire.
Miller’s hand rests at the small of her back.
My palm itches to replace his.
My other hand is clenched in a fist, wanting to deck my co-captain for touching her. As the rookie on the team, I really had no choice but to show up to this event, which the rest of the team was already attending to support Miller.
What I didn’t sign up for was watching the woman I couldn’t get out of my mind with another man all night without a stiff drink.
Crossing to the bar, I order a whiskey neat and drain it in one gulp as I watch them move across the room.
His hand hovers over her back as Miller introduces her to everyone they speak to.
Through it all, he’s touching her in some way.
She beams up at him as he talks to a group of people.
When she reaches around to clasp his hand behind her back, I slam the empty glass on the bar and order a second drink.
I’ve just reached for the double pour when I feel someone beside me.
“You really think getting drunk is a good look, Rook.” Fields orders a beer for himself and a wine for his wife.
“Just having a drink, Cap. Didn’t know that was against the rules. There’s an open bar.” I take a heavy sip of the whiskey. We have three more games before the All-Star break officially starts, but I’m ready for the time off while the veterans and Coach go to Atlanta.
He hums, disapprovingly. Tipping my chin toward Miller and Bree huddled together by the head table, I ask, “What’s their story?”
“Not mine to tell,” he evades my question. “Why do you care?” He folds his arms over his chest and stares me down.
“Just curious. They look pretty cozy.” I try to shrug it off. The last thing I need is Fields to catch on that I want his friend’s girl.
Miller knows I’m the guy she stayed with at the beach, even if we’ve never acknowledged it out loud, but from what I can tell, he hasn’t shared that with Fields. Which can only mean he and Bree share something deeper if he’s keeping secrets from his best friend.
He picks up the drinks and eyes me once more. “Don’t concern yourself with Gabs. She’s the team’s lawyer and not there for your entertainment. Got it?” He gives me his best guard dog stare and walks off to find his wife.
I had hoped our conversations and my being on my best behavior the past month would’ve changed the lingering playboy persona from the minor leagues, but it seems not.
Leaning my elbows against the bar, I continue to watch Bree with Miller.
She gives his forearm another squeeze and then her eyes find mine.
She steals my breath. The high halter of her dress covers her throat, but I don’t miss the way she swallows as her eyes track over my suit.
My eyes refuse to leave her as she says something to Miller and slowly makes her way over to the bar.
Taking a slow sip of my whiskey, I let the smokey flavor coat my tongue as she gets close enough to touch.
The floral scent of her perfume hits my nose when she takes the spot beside me.
I can feel her looking at me out of the corner of her eye while taking a glass of champagne from the bartender.
“Should you be drinking?” she finally breaks our standoff before taking a sip.
“I didn’t see ‘no drinking’ in all that paperwork you made me sign, Princess.” I face her, crowding her space and catching the small clench of her jaw. I love seeing the ice in her eyes as she gets riled up.
“Gabrielle, oh, it’s so good to see you, my dear.” An older woman breaks our stare down.
“Mrs. Miller, I’m so happy to see you too.” Bree hugs the woman tightly. “I was wondering where you were.”
“Getting pulled every which way. You know how it is during these things.” The older woman responds. “Who’s this fine fellow?” she asks, sharing a look with Bree.
“This is Chase Bennett. The Troubadours’ rookie shortstop.”
“Oh, yes.” She holds her hand out. “Annabelle Miller.”
“This is Miller’s mother. The event tonight is in her daughter’s honor.” I knew from the name of the charity it had ties to Miller’s family and learned their mission was to help cancer patients but didn’t realize his sister was the reason for the charity in the first place.
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” I’ve been lucky to never experience the loss of a close relative in my life. I can only imagine how hard it was for her to lose her daughter.
“Thank you, dear. It was a tough time. But we’ve turned our loss into something good. That’s why we’re here tonight.” She smiles, knowingly. “Gabby, can you help me by the stage with something? Then we should take our seats.”
“Absolutely.” Bree hooks her arm through Mrs. Miller’s and walks off without so much as a backward glance. I feel like an ass for pushing Bree’s buttons. I wonder if she knew Miller’s sister and that’s why they’re so close. Did she lose someone too?
Throwing back the rest of my drink, I order a third to quiet my roaring thoughts. It’s not smart, but if I have to sit here and watch Bree interact with Miller and his family all night as if she’s one of them, I need the alcohol.
Less than an hour later, I’m seated at a table in the back with some of the team watching the video montage of all the accomplishments the Miller Foundation has made in the past few years.
Bree moves closer to Miller at the head table, her arm falls to his leg and she lays her head on his shoulder as the video switches to a young woman in her mid-twenties.
It’s obviously Amanda Miller. She has the same eyes and wide smile as her brother.
In the video, she’s receiving chemotherapy but still seems full of life while talking about her hopes and dreams of helping people in the same position she’s in.
It’s admirable and a sucker punch all at once knowing she isn’t here to see her dream come true.
Her name appears on the screen with a vibrant picture of her surrounded by her family as the video ends.
The room is quiet for a second aside from the faint sounds of sniffling as the weight of the moment settles on the crowd.
Then applause breaks out around the room, honoring the Millers.
Their dedication. Their loss. The honoring of Amanda’s dreams even when she’s gone.
I stand, clapping my hands, but can’t take my eyes off Bree and Miller.
They cling to each other. His head is down. She’s whispering in his ear.
My restraint snaps. I can’t watch this anymore. Finishing off my fourth glass of whiskey, I bolt from the room while everyone is still standing. She won’t notice I’m not here anymore. She’s too consumed with him.
After I leave the venue, I go straight to a bar downtown near my condo.
I don’t want to go home and think of Bree with Miller.
I don’t want to think about them together.
I need a distraction. So, I go to the bar and drink.
And drink some more. Now, it’s midnight and I’m drunk.
The small voice in my subconscious gets louder by the minute, reminding of the promise I made to Coach to keep my head down and behave.
Standing from the barstool, I wobble on my feet but manage to keep myself upright. The bartender offers me a salute, already closing out my tab. When I get in the Uber, the driver tries to verify my address, but I don’t want to go home.
“Bree’s. I need to go to Gabrielle’s,” I say to him. I can’t sleep until I know if they are together.
“Do you have an address?” Shit, I need her address. I know she lives near Fields, and he invited me to a cookout at their house last week. I didn’t go but I didn’t delete the address. Pulling it up, I show the driver who puts it into his GPS.
The car starts moving and I lean my head back, closing my eyes. I need to sober up before I get there. I also need to figure out a plan. This is an epically stupid idea. How will I even know which house is hers?
About twenty minutes later, the driver pulls up in front of a white brick house.
I see Fields’ truck in the drive. No lights are on in the house.
Good news for me. Thanking the driver, I get out of the car and wait until he pulls away before surveying the area.
Something draws me to the right. The lights are on in the house two doors down.
There’s a gate blocking the driveway and a fenced in front yard.
The last name on the mailbox reads “Pierson.”
Jackpot.
I need to talk to her about that. It’s not safe to have her name plastered out there for people to see.
Approaching the front door, I blow into my hand.
Shit, my breath smells like alcohol. I really should’ve thought this through.
It’s too late to go back now. Lifting my hand to knock on the door, I stop myself before it meets the wood and consider how scared she might be if someone knocked on her door in the middle of the night.
Instead, I take my phone out and text her, thankful I stole a business card with her number on it when I was in her office.
ME
Are you home?
The bubbles start then stop. Start. Then stop. I catch sight of her silhouette hovering in the room.
brEE
Who is this?
ME
It’s Chase. Open your door.
brEE
What do you mean open my door? It’s the middle of the night.
ME
I’m outside. Open your door, Princess.
The lock disengages and my blue-eyed ice queen appears in the doorway.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she whisper-shouts.
“There she is.” I smile, dreamily. Apparently, I didn’t sober up as much as I thought I did on the ride over.
“How did you even get my address?” She looks outside to make sure I’m alone.
“Resourceful,” I shrug. “Are you going to let me in?”
She reluctantly moves to the side to let me inside then closes the door and locks it again. When she turns to me, I rock back on my heels with my hands in my pockets.
“Hi.”
She sniffs the air, leaning towards me. “Jesus, are you drunk?”
I hold my hand up, parting my index finger and thumb. “Little bit.”
“Unbelievable.” She walks past me and further into the open concept living area and kitchen.
I take a minute to survey the room. It’s mostly white with wood accents, creating a comfortable, inviting atmosphere.
There are stairs to the left leading up to the second floor before the living room starts.
A large sectional couch sits in the center of the room facing a mounted television above the fireplace.
On the opposite side of the area is the kitchen with a wide stone island and barstool tucked under one side.
Beyond that is a dining room overlooking the fenced-in backyard.
Following Bree into the kitchen, she takes a glass from the cabinet, fills it with water from the door in the refrigerator, and wordlessly slides it to me across the island.
My drunk brain didn’t think about what I’d say when I got here, so I take a drink to buy myself time and stare at her.
Her face is free of makeup. Her hair is still in whatever hair style it was in earlier, though it looks messier now, making me wonder if Miller’s hands were the cause.
“Why are you here?” she says at the same time I ask, “Is he here?”
“What? Who?” Her confusion should make me feel better, but in my drunken state I double down.
“Miller.”
“If he were here, do you think I would have been the one to answer the door?” She tilts her head to the side with the question. Is she suggesting she wouldn’t have answered the door at all? Or that he would have?
“Are you together?”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “I’m not doing this right now.”
“Just tell me.” She grabs a bottle of ibuprofen from the cabinet and places it beside the glass of water without another word. Then she turns the kitchen light out and starts to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” I grab her arm, stopping her.
“There are blankets in the ottoman and toothbrushes in the cabinet in the bathroom.” She points to both respectively. “I’m going to bed. Alone. You can sleep on the couch.” The sound of her bedroom door closing upstairs is the last thing I hear as I stand alone in her living room.
I drink the water, take the pills, and brush my teeth to rid myself of the alcohol taste.
Back in the kitchen, I remove my suit jacket and fold it along with the button down before placing them on a barstool.
Leaving my pants on, I turn the rest of the lights off and settle onto the couch.
The blanket smells like her and I can’t help my deep inhale of her scent.
It’s the closest I’ve gotten to her since our night together, and a longing for more ignites in my chest.
She may not have answered me about if she and Miller are together, but I still smile to myself as I drift off to sleep.
Because he’s not here.
And she didn’t kick me out.