“Mom!”
Kate’s eyes flare wide as she registers her son’s voice.
Turning on her heel, she taps him on the shoulder. He’s taller than the average seven-year-old and he gets his stature from his dad.
“Take that back,” he demands, hands propped on his hips, attitude flowing from him—that part of his personality I’m almost certain originates from his mom.
She reaches down, pinching one of his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. “But look at you now, my love. The best-looking boy in Brooklyn.”
He rolls his eyes, a pink flush accentuating his dark hair. “That’s what Carly said in class the other day.”
I chuckle while Kate scolds her son for kissing girls two years older than him.
“Hey, Bill.” Dad’s hand lands on my shoulder. “I’m going to head home in a second.”
My stomach drops. He’ll need me to drive us both, and I haven’t had a chance to speak with Emmett.
Balancing himself on one crutch, Dad thumbs over his shoulder toward the Blades goalie, Archer. He’s standing by the exit, arms folded across his chest, and randomly, he’s looking pretty pleased with himself.
“Archer is going to give me a ride back home so you can stay out with everyone.” Warmth creases around the corners of his eyes. “You haven’t had a night away from Blake since she was born, and I want you to have a chance at making friends. Mom and I will drop Blake back at your place in the morning.”
I shake my head at him, panic swelling in my gut. “She can’t be without me for a whole night. How is she going to feed? What if she cries for me and I’m not there?”
Like he anticipated this exact reaction, he just smiles wider. “We still have a ton of your expressed milk in the freezer, and Blake is used to taking a bottle.”
My head continues shaking, but he nods his at the same time. “Yes, Billie. You need to start living your life, and Emmett will make sure you get home safely.”
When my eyes connect with Emmett’s, he’s already making his way over to us.
Excitement sparks inside me, the fizz of his presence intensifying with every step he takes toward us.
“I want you to call me the second she cries or even looks like she might need me,” I tell him, still really unsure over his plan.
Dad’s already backing toward Archer, giving me a thumbs-up and a confident smile as he leaves.
And then I’m face-to-face with Emmett, anxiety swirling inside me for a whole different reason when I take in the way that he’s looking at me.
“Have you got a second to talk?”
My mouth runs dry, throat scratchy. “What’s the matter?”
When Archer and Dad exit the players’ lounge, Emmettpoints toward a random door set at the back of the room. “In there, we can talk in private.”
With the whole group deep in conversation, no one notices or questions us when we reach the door and enter into a darkened room.
Emmett flicks on a light to reveal a second bar area before closing the door behind him.
It feels cold in here, or maybe that’s a feeling of dread as Emmett comes to stand in front of me. I might be young, but I know the look of someone when they’re about to tell you something you likely don’t want to know. Tucker wore a similar expression when he told me that he was backing out of the rental property we were supposed to be moving into.
“You don’t need to say anything.” I get there first, determined not to hear what he’s about to say.
He links his fingers through mine, and I look away, staring blindly at the empty high stools set around a closed-off bar.
“Look at me, Billie.” His voice is steeped in turmoil, reflecting the emotions charging through me.
“I’m not ready to look at you,” I volley back, swallowing my upset. “And I don’t want to hear whatever it is you’re going to tell me.”
“Billie.”
