I can’t imagine those words hitting harder than they just did, being delivered by the person Emmett loves most in the world.
I can’t tell her how scared I am to like her dad. Or how much I already do. If that’s something I were to ever admit, it’ll be to Emmett himself. But I also don’t think I can express to her just how much hearing her say that means to me.
But what I can say is, “He does deserve to get everything he wants.”
“Who deserves to get everything they want?”
It’s a deep, gravelly voice asking the question. One I’d recognize anywhere. One I haven’t heard all night.
My plan of grabbing a drink and returning to my grandfather is failing miserably.
Miller and I make eye contact, silently asking the other how we’re going to play this off.
“Ido,” she says, covering for me. “Carrying this baby for nine months. Do you know how many restrictions there are during pregnancy? And of course you get to drink a beer.” She gestures to the glass in Emmett’s hand. “I’m going to go give Kai some shit for this. This is all his fault anyway.”
Miller takes off in a faux huff and her dad steals her spot next to me at the bar, eyes locked on her back in confusion.
“What was that all about?”
“Oh, you know Miller.”
Miller, who loves her dad enough to practically beg me to open my eyes and see him.
But seeing him is not the problem. Quite the opposite, in fact. Part of me wishes I could go back to the days when I was unaware of just how big his heart is. It made it a whole lot easier to keep from falling for him.
“You look...” His eyes trail down my body. “Fitting for you to wear black tonight. My heart practically stopped when you walked in, and here you are, already dressed for my funeral.”
There’s that unapologetic confidence again.
“You’re far too old to be joking about heart issues, Emmett.”
He brings his beer to his smiling lips. “I truly wish I were kidding.”
“Reese?” someone calls out. “No way. Is that really you?”
It takes me a moment to process who is standing in front of me, speaking as if they know me. Graying hair and wrinkled skin from too much time in the sun. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old the last time I saw him.
“Mick?” I study him for a second to make sure I’m correct before I go ahead and hug a complete stranger. When he doesn’tcorrect me, I set my wine down on the bar and open my arms. “Oh my God! It’s been so long.”
He gives me a tight squeeze. “Look at you, girl! You were just a kid the last time I saw you. I remember you used to always hang out in the dugout during practices. Didn’t we have one of your birthday parties in this exact room? Me and all the guys went. And what was it that we all called you? Reese’s Pieces! That’s right.”
I exhale a small laugh. “It’s just Reese now.” Shifting, I involve Emmett into the conversation. “Emmett, this is Mick. He played second base for the Warriors for over a decade. He was a part of the team when I first started coming around with my grandfather and fell in love with the game. Mick, this is Emmett. Our field manager.”
The two men shake hands.
“So great to meet you,” Emmett says kindly.
“Wow.” Mick stands with his hands on his hips, shaking his head at me in disbelief. “So, you’re running the team now, huh?”
Oh.
A flush of embarrassment rushes my cheeks. He knew me as just a little girl obsessed with being a part of this team. He remembers me always hanging around and wanting to be included. If I were him, I’d also assume my grandfather passed the franchise on as a way to appease me.
“She is,” Emmett answers for me when I don’t respond quick enough. “And she’s doing a hell of a job.”
“Of course she is.” Mick smiles down at me. “You were always sharp. I remember that. Knew the game better than some of the grown men who were playing it. And you loved this place more than anyone. You were just a part of the family. It wouldn’t make sense for anyone other than you to be running the team.”
I can sense Emmett’s proud gaze boring into the side of my face, but I don’t have it in me to turn and indulge in it. I feel a bitsplayed out being described by someone who was around when I had the luxury of being naïve about this business. But I won’t lie, after a week of getting hell from the press, the words from an old player I adored back in the day mean more than he probably realizes.
