When he gives me a hopeful grin, it somehow feels like my world might not implode.
Not today anyway.
“Rarely. Maybe because I’ve never wanted to fight so hard for something I know is right.”
Breaking eye contact, I gaze through the windshield, blossoms now building on the hood of Emmett’s Aston.
“Dad wanted me to move out of my apartment, and I think I might need to. The chances of me finding a job before overdue bills start piling up are slim to zero.”
Emmett shakes his head in my peripheral vision. “No. I gifted that money, and I don’t want it back.”
“Dad said that he spent the last of it hiring an emergency moving company.”
Emmett’s jaw tics. “He told me the same thing, but I don’t believe him. How much did he transfer into your checking account?”
I fuckinghatethis conversation. “Pretty much all of it. But I don’t want to use what’s left of it to live on. I want to stand on my own.”
Emmett’s drawn-out exhale fills the car with his scent. “I know that this means nothing to you, but I’ve got more money than I can spend. Even if you accept it as a gift from a friend, I want you to take it and use it to fund the next however long you need with Blake before you find a job. The money is yours, and I’m not willing to bend on that, Bill.”
With one finger under my chin, he tilts my head to look at him. A playful expression I wasn’t expecting flushes Emmett’s prominent cheeks with color.
“And one day, when you’re a kick-ass lawyer and earning stacks of cash on the daily, you can take me out for steak and buy your retired hockey boyfriend a priceless bottle of Italian Pinot.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
EMMETT
Game three was … not my finest hour.
Still, it was enough to maintain a shutout and keep Jessie Callaghan at bay.
“Nice game, Richards.”
It’s rare for opposing players to shake hands and even less so for them to acknowledge their rivals after a loss, but I take the hand Callaghan has offered as we glide out of the rink.
“Thanks, man,” I reply, eager to get a shower, finish up press duties, and head home, where I’ll wallow a little longer over not having contact with Billie in days.
Reaching the tunnel, I set my stick back in its holder, finding Callaghan again when I turn on my skates and make for the locker room.
“The Blades have come a long way since Coach Morgan took over,” he comments, still showing no signs of moving.
Other than when he reamed out Freeman earlier this season, I’ve only interacted with Jessie a few times over the years. One of my clearest memories was when he was going through a deep battle with alcohol addiction, successfully hiding itseffects beneath incredible talent. This guy is one of those players that comes along every few generations, and his legacy is bound to hang around long after photographs of action shots have faded.
“He’s worked wonders with the team,” I agree, memories of when we lifted the Cup last season lining the tunnel walls around us.
Pulling off his helmet, Jessie runs a hand through his dirty-blond hair as teammates waltz past us. Jack gives me a big smile on his way to the locker room.
“This is obviously none of my business, but I have to ask …” He motions to his face. “I haven’t seen you get into it on the ice with anyone over the past few days, so what’s the score with the bruising and cuts?”
At first, everyone thought that Jessie’s past was a bunch of rumors, fueled by press reports looking for headlines to sell news stories. I don’t think anyone involved with the league or in the wider general public could comprehend or even want to acknowledge the level of abuse the news outlets were purporting about his father. That was, until Callaghan came forward and set up a charity, specifically centered around supporting victims of domestic abuse. He and his wife, Mia, work tirelessly throughout the year, organizing fundraisers across the US.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that when this guy sets his sights on unexplained bruising, he wants to know the answers. Even when his team has just suffered a humiliating three to zero loss.
Pulling off my gloves, I rest a bare palm on his shoulder, appreciating the kind of person he is. “I’m fine, buddy. It was a family feud that I’m trying to keep …”
My eyes travel down the tunnel as Coach’s ominous figure stands at the end. He motions for me to join him as soon as possible right before he steps inside his office.
I set my attention back on Jessie. “It’s just something I’d rather not talk about.”
