“Homier,” he confirms, lips pressed together to stifle his amusement.
I snag a couple of Gatorades from the fridge and hand one to Sawyer.
He twists the cap off and downs half the bottle before moving over to the black leather couch that was already here when I moved in. When we separated, I let Maria keep all the decor, opting for a clean break away from everything. Truthfully, I haven’t hung a single picture because I don’t have any, other than a frame of my parents on their wedding day. When Dad passed away and my brother, Beau, and I emptied their house in Rochester, that was the only item I wanted to keep.
Like Sawyer, I’m not especially close to my brother, and following my parents’ deaths, Beau has only gotten more distant, having moved to Florida with his family, while I stayed in New York, where we had been born and bred. Maybe our similaritiesare why my former teammate and I get along so well—we’re both grumpy as fuck defensemen with difficult families. Although Sawyer’s now happily married to Collins after the death of his late wife, Sophie.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s eating at you?” he asks from the couch as he grabs the TV remote from my coffee table and flicks to a random channel.
“Just make yourself at home.” I wave a hand in front of me and push off the counter, taking a seat next to him on the couch.
Of all the fucking programs to land on, it has to be the moviePretty Woman.
Jesus, Billie could be a more petite, younger version of Julia Roberts.
“Collins’s favorite movie.” He points the remote at the screen.
That doesn’t surprise me; his pink-haired biker-chick wife is obsessed with the ’80s.
Sawyer briefly glances at me, pulling a deep breath into his lungs and releasing it slowly. “It will get easier—you know that, don’t you? Right now, all you know is a life with Maria as your wife. You will build a new one.”
Elbows braced on my knees, I lean forward and eye him carefully. Sawyer knows what he’s talking about; the guy has dealt with more grief than most. And that’s exactly what a divorce causes—grief.
“Will it though?” I drop my head between my shoulders, knowing he’s right but struggling to let his reassurance sink in.
“Yeah,” he simply replies. “It will. Having the divorce finalized is the closure you need. Up until that point, you were concentrating on legal paperwork and getting yourself set up in a new place. Now that it’s all sorted, your mind has the time to wander, and that’s when shit gets really difficult. It was the same for me when Sophie died. Once her funeral was done and people started going back to their everyday lives, that’s when reality really hit.”
I remember it well. Sawyer was a fucking wreck, curling in onhimself and shutting everyone and everything out. While I know that Maria hasn’t died, I’m still determined not to isolate myself. That shit doesn’t do anyone any good.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind.” I speak after maybe thirty seconds, thumbs pressing into the bridge of my nose. I hesitate for a second before the words explode from me like a shaken-up soda bottle. “I’m even crushing on my best friend’s daughter, convinced that she finds me attractive.” I tag on a dark laugh because, Jesus, it sounded way more fucked up out loud than it had in my head.
When Sawyer doesn’t reply, I finally lift my gaze to look at him, cringe tightening every muscle in my jaw.
I can’t believe I just admitted that, even to him.
He pauses the movie, remote falling into his lap.
“Wait. Are you talking about Billie? As in Scott’s daughter?”
I just nod my head, speech stolen by firsthand embarrassment. Like many of my older teammates, Sawyer has met Scott and Billie a few times—granted, it was several years ago.
I cringe harder at what he must be thinking.
“Emmett, that’s?—”
I hold up a hand to cut off whatever Sawyer was about to say. I don’t want to hear it.
“She turned twenty-one today, so I stopped by to drop off a gift, and … yeah.” I push a hand through my hair, slapping it against a thigh in frustration. “We hadn’t seen each other in years, and things were beyond awkward between us. Billie grew up, and I?—”
“Grew in a different way?” Sawyer finishes my sentence, one cocky brow raised.
I point a finger at him. “Not funny.”
I can tell that he wants to fall over laughing, and honestly, I’d welcome the break in the tension if the roof of my mouth wasn’t still burning like a motherfucker.
“She’s my best friend’s daughter. The girl Maria and I used to take out for ice cream and went on vacation with.” My head isback between my shoulders as I release a maniacal groan. “We used to play ultimate frisbee on the beach.”
“Shit.” Sawyer winces.
