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 hereyes 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 andwalks 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 themtogether. I need a distraction. So, I go to the bar and drink. And drinksome 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.
