Page 62 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

“Emma, please open the door. I need to speak to you.”

“No. I know why you’re here. I know Ryan’s sent you to do his dirty work. Leave me alone, and tell your brother to do the same.”

“He hasn’t sent me,” Thomas says. “I’m here of my own volition.”

Typical Thomas-speak. He always was the smarter of the brothers. I don’t answer because I’m busy thinking. Thomas being here is a bit unusual, especially given the fact that he and Ryan don’t get along. Well, that’s the understatement of the year. I’m pretty sure they hate each other’s guts. No, maybe that’s too harsh.

Oh, Emma, shut up and answer the darned door!

Stepping forward, I slide the bolt, unclip the latch, and then open the door a tiny crack. Hearing the locks, he turns and peers in at me, standing there in his suit and tie, looking as handsome as he always does. He has the same chiseled jawline as Ryan, those same deeply set eyes, though his forehead is higher and his hair more neatly cut.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“I want you to let me in,” he says calmly.

“Why?”

“Come on, Emma. Do you really want to do this on your doorstep with all your neighbors looking?” He twitches his head with a backward nod.

I glance past him and notice Mrs. Wilkins already lingering at her door, pretending to clean the windows as she nearly breaks her neck to look over.

“Fine.” I yank the door wider to bid him entry before quickly closing it again.

As polite as he’s always been, Thomas stands in the hallway, waiting for an invitation. He’s too big for me to pass him in the tiny space, so I nod further into the house.

“Go in, unless you want this conversation here in my tiny hallway,” I say, sarcasm lacing my tone.

He half smiles, and heads toward the kitchen.

“So?” I stare at him, my hands crossed over my chest, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen from him. “Let’s get this over with.”

“May I?” He gestures to a chair at the breakfast bar.

“Yes, you may,” I snarl. And then I feel bad for being so snarky. “Do you want coffee?”

“I don’t want to put you through any trouble.”

“Hmph,” I snort, turning behind me and grabbing at the coffee machine. “Don’t worry. Your brother beat you to it.”

With the coffee on the breakfast bar that separates us, and with me finally sitting opposite Thomas’s large frame, he begins, and I listen. There are a few times I think of interrupting him, but I stop myself. The more he talks, the more things begin to fall into place and make sense. And at the end of it all, I sit there and realize that I can’t argue with anything he’s said.

“You’ve been in the house, Emma,” Thomas concludes. “You know there’s no love lost between me and Ryan.” He then gives a slight shrug. “Though maybe that’s been as much my fault as his.” He looks across the table at me with sincerity shining from his eyes. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe him. Which”—the corner of his mouth lifts—“is not easy for me. I can assure you.”

I sit there for a long time, my hands wrapped around my empty cup, holding on to it as though it provides me with some sort of emotional support.

“So, what are we going to do?” Thomas asks.

I look at him for a long moment because now, I need to make a decision.

23

Ryan

Driving back to themansion, my mind is a mess. I’ve never seen Emma so upset and angry, and all I wanted to do was wipe her tears away. Heading to the clinic, I wanted to tell her that she had nothing to worry about. That it wasn’t true. That I would never, ever betray her like that. But she just wouldn’t listen. There was no reasoning with her.

Can you blame her?

I suppose I can’t. She’s spent the last ten years thinking I was an arrogant pig. Carrying that burden of pain after I humiliated her in high school wasn’t just going to go away because I said I was sorry. I hurt her. A lot. It was written all over her face that night in the parking lot before we went to the charity dinner.

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