Page 46 of The Rookie's Sister

Because I know from hard experience, Rachel is perfectly capable of burning everything to the ground if it means getting what she wants. And this time, that includes me and Emma.

I slow outside Emma’s closed office door, heart hammering against my ribs. Gotta handle this right. No excuses or justifications. Just the honest truth, laid bare.

After a bracing breath, I rap my knuckles lightly on the door.

“Go away, Xavier.” Emma’s voice comes out choked, wavering on my name. Shit. This is worse than I thought.

I ease the door open to find Emma sitting rigidly at her desk, shoulders curled in defensively. Her eyes are rimmed in red, but they blaze with anger when they meet mine.

“I said go away,” she repeats, swiping roughly at her cheeks.

I raise both hands, hovering tentatively by the doorway. The sight of her distress is like a punch to the gut. “Emma, please. I know what you saw looked bad, but—”

“Bad?” Emma interrupts with a brittle laugh. “Is that what you call mauling your ex on the fifty yard line where anyone could see?”

I flinch. When she puts it like that...”I didn’t maul her, she ambushed me!" Even as I say it, I wince, hearing how weak it sounds.

Emma stands abruptly, chair skidding back. “I don’t want to hear it, Xavier. In fact, I don’t even care. I’m here for Jeff, nobody else.”

She brushes past me, but I catch her wrist gently. “Emma, wait. Rachel showing up changes nothing between us. She’s just trying to get under my skin because she can’t stand seeing me happy with someone else.”

Emma stills, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes. But then it hardens into steel.

“What’s the point?” she asks coldly, yanking her arm free. Before I can respond, she storms off down the hall, auburn hair swishing behind her like a war banner.

I sag back against the doorframe, cursing silently. This day really went from sunny to shitstorm in record time. And while part of me wants to chase Emma down and make her understand, another voice whispers, maybe this is for the best.

After all, our whole “relationship” started as a ploy for the cameras. But these last few weeks have felt...different. Real. The thought terrifies me as much as it sets my pulse racing, because it means Rachel’s petty jealousy stunt could ruin something I’m only now realizing I don’t want to lose.

With a weary sigh, I scrub both hands down my face. No use brooding over it now. I tried to explain things to Emma, but clearly she needs space. For Jeff’s sake, I gotta keep things professional between us, even if it guts me to do it. The kid’s future is what matters here.

Pushing down the hollow ache in my chest, I head back outside into the glaring sun. Maybe I can channel this swirling mess of emotions into working Jeff twice as hard. Keep him too busy improving his game to worry about locker room gossip or my tangled history with Rachel.

Yeah. Focus on what I can control. The rest will shake out however it’s meant to.

I find Jeff practicing end zone catches, his lanky form silhouetted against the azure sky. At least one good thing came out of this clusterfuck of a day.

“Let’s run some drills,” I call out, plastering on a grin. Jeff whoops and sprints over, none the wiser. As we run routes under the blistering sun, I pour every shred of focus into molding this kid into the star I know he can become.

My own problems will just have to wait.

TWENTY-ONE

EMMA

The harsh trill of my phone startles me from the tornado of paperwork swirling around my desk. I glance at the screen, my shoulders already tensing for the next crisis needing resolution. Sure enough, it’s the hospital. Of course.

“Hello?”

“Hi Emma, it’s Dr. Patel. I’m calling about your father.” The doctor’s somber tone makes my pulse pick up. “He came in this morning for his post surgery check-up, and I’m afraid Charles’s heart condition hasn’t improved. We need to discuss options for additional surgery.”

I press two fingers to my temple where a headache is rapidly forming. “I understand. What are our next steps?”

Dr. Patel details the risks and projected recovery time of the procedure. I scribble notes blindly, my focus splintering. Dad was supposed to be recovering, not slipping backwards. We just got him home.

“Please let me know if you have questions,” Dr. Patel finishes gently. “I know this is difficult news to receive.”

I manage a faint “Thank you” before ending the call with shaking fingers. Looks like I’ll be making yet another unexpected trip to the Chicago Memorial. Dad’s homecoming after his last intensive surgery was so hopeful. We finally felt like a family again.

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