Page 12 of Bad Call
My chest heaved, the words tasting like acid as they passed over my tongue, but I was so hurt and frustrated that I said them anyway. This wasn’t a completely new situation—us getting heated during a disagreement—although this time, the stakes were a lot higher. Our entire future was on the line.Which is why I never saw her next move coming in a million years.
She sniffled, keeping her red, puffy gaze trained on her hands while she gripped onto her rings and slowly slid them off. My heart stopped, eyes stinging with tears as she set them down on the mattress and stared like she wanted to burn everything about them into her memory.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “Iamafraid—afraid of you looking at me one day and saying to yourself,I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I didn’t marry the first girl I ever dated.This world goes far beyond Tinsville, Pennsylvania, and I don’t want to have my heart broken when you open your eyes and figure that out.” She looked up at me, and I knew without her even saying the words out loud, that I was losing her. “I love you so much, Em. But I can’t do this.”
She reached her hand out to cup my jaw, but I turned away, tears falling down my face while I seethed on the inside. I couldn’t believe that, after all we’d been through, she was really just going to walk away. Sure, we’d had our fair share of ups and downs, and the road ahead was a scary one, but I was doing everything I could to show her how important our marriage was to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wouldn’t cheat on my wife or leave her, and I’d never so much aslooked atanother girl. She’d seen the effects of that shit with her own parents, and we always vowed not to be like them, so why wasn’t my word good enough?
“Don’t,” I spit. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re a coward…and you’re about to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to either of us. If you want to trust a couple of girls you met outside a house party bathroom over the man who’s loved you since before he even knew what that meant, fine. But don’t you dare come running back to me when you realize what a huge mistake you made.”
Nodding, her face twisted in pain as she studied mine one last time. My heart pounded in my chest, every part of me wanting to reach out and grab onto her so she wouldn’t go. But I knew I couldn’t. I had to let her find out for herself that this was the wrong decision, even if it was excruciating for us both.
“I’m sorry, Emmett,” she whispered, pulling her trembling lip between her teeth and lifting her bag from the floor. Anxiety gripped at my throat as she slung it over her shoulder, panic flowing through my veins like poison because she was really about to leave.
“I’m not kidding, Stella,” I warned. “If you walk out that door, there are no second chances.” I was full of shit, but I did my best to remain stoic so she’d believe the lie as it fell from my lips.
She stared at the floor for several beats. I hoped my words had hit their mark and that she was reconsidering. But in the next excruciating breath, she was gone, the door closing behind her with a quietsnickas I stood there frozen. My entire body screamed in agony, searing pain shooting through every inch of me as her footsteps faded into silence.
My wife was gone, and I had no idea if I’d ever get her back.
I know that day was hard on her, too.Fuck…our whole relationship was. Her parents always saw me as unworthy of their daughter, and my parents saw her as a distraction—that us getting married would somehow screw up my plans of going pro—even though everything I did was for our future. I was determined to provide the life Stella deserved, and knowing an NFL contract would make that possible was all the motivation I needed. But they made their disapproval known, refusing to support us in any way. I didn’t really give a fuck because my relationships with my mom and dad weren’t super solid to begin with, but I know Stella wished we had everyone’s blessing.
I can’t stop myself from hoping that they were a comfort to her after the divorce. I used football as a way to channel my pain and sadness, exhausting myself every day so I didn’t have to think about how badly I was hurting. The thought of her having to go it alone kills me, knowing damn well it shouldn’t. She was the one who chose to leave, so why do I give a shit if she felt every consequence?
I’m sobered by how much I still care about her, even though I wish I didn’t. It was a hell of a lot easier to stay angry when she was just a ghost of my past, doing God knows what, God knows where. But now she’s right here, and I can’t deny the fact that I’m being pulled back into her orbit. I hate myself for not being stronger, although I should’ve seen this coming. I’ve always been weak when it comes to Stella.
Seeing her in discomfort earlier and wanting to take it all away was a feeling I had all but forgotten, yet it was like second nature as I pulled my car out of view of Austin’s front window and pounded on the guesthouse door, ready to break the motherfucker down if she didn’t answer. And now, I’m struggling to leave her here, worried that she may need something else after I’m gone. She’s been tossing and turning since she fell asleep, small whimpers pushing past her lips every time a particularly bad cramp racks her poor, tired body. But I know I have to go. The last thing I need is for Austin to find me here andquestion why I spent the night in his nurse’s bedroom after I said I was going home.
Standing, I glance over to where she lies, completely detached from rational thought as my feet carry me toward her. She’s so fucking beautiful that it causes a physical ache in my chest, and I slowly reach out, cradling her soft, warm cheek in my palm. Emotion claws its way up my throat, thick and heavy as she nuzzles into my touch just like she used to.
“Em,” she whispers, making my heart crack behind my rib cage. Does she see me in her dream? Is it a happy one? Or is it like the nightmares I have every now and then, when her memory is haunting me the most? But the question dies in the moonlight, breaking me even further with her next mumbled words. “I’m sorry.”
Me too, Wild Girl. Me too.
TWELVE
STELLA
My phone alarmblares on the nightstand, pulling me from a deep sleep. I’m groggy, probably from the nighttime ibuprofen I took before bed, but as my eyes flutter open, the events of the last twelve hours rush back to me like a freight train. Emmett showing up at the door and demanding that I let him take care of me. Coming out of the bathroom to find him elbow deep in my vibrator drawer, which might actually take the cake for the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, since I’ve acquired quite a few over the years. Him sitting in the room, wordlessly scrolling on his phone as I stared, unable to take my eyes off him until exhaustion finally pulled me under.
I sit up, reaching for the device and killing the loud noise, my gaze wandering to the now-empty chair in the corner. I wonder how long he stayed before he snuck out, and if Austin saw him go. I really don’t want to have to explain my complicated history with Emmett to him—it’s why I lied about my last name in the first place. He’s making big strides with his recovery, a great deal of whichI’m attributing to his teammates keeping him motivated, even when he gets down on himself. Emmett’s presence has given Austin a bit of normalcy, and I don’t want to risk him being uncomfortable if he thinks there’s tension between me and the man who is currently his closest friend.
Standing from the bed, I stretch, thankful that the aches and pains I was experiencing yesterday are much more manageable. As long as I don’t overdo it today, making sure I eat and take my pain meds before it gets too bad, I should be good to go.
I hurry to the kitchen, starting the coffee maker so it has time to brew while I’m in the shower. I’m shocked to see that the entire room has been cleaned from top to bottom, the dishes from last night’s dinner sitting in the drying rack beside the sink. Smiling to myself, I recall what a neat freak Emmett used to be, following me around and tidying the messes as I made them. It was just one of the many ways we were different, yet complemented each other so perfectly.
Making my way to the bathroom, I twist the shower knob, steam slowly beginning to curl up toward the ceiling as I undress. But as I reach for the hem of my t-shirt, my phone rings on the counter beside me. I look over, groaning out loud when I see my mother’s contact info flashing across the screen. It’s been weeks since we last spoke, unless you count the one-sided text conversation she’s been having with herself about wanting me to come home for a visit. I told her I was taking a private gig for a few months, choosing to keep all the details about who I’m taking care of to myself, but since I’m not actually workingat a hospital, she hasn’t taken it seriously. She thinks I can just take a couple of days off to make the three-hour drive to Tinsville, which I absolutely can’t do—not that I want to, anyway. Austin may be able to do a lot of stuff on his own now that he’s feeling better, but he certainly needs me here in case of an emergency.
I take a deep, soothing breath, answering the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, honey, there you are,” she says in the posh tone that’s far too refined for where we’re from. “I was starting to think that man you’re working for had done something awful to you. You never know with people anymore. There are perverts and serial killers lurking around every corner.”
My eyes roll so far back that I’m surprised they don’t fall right out. “Calm down, Mom. I’m a smart woman. I’m not just running around taking jobs from people without knowing who they are. My old supervisor, Lauren, took care of him when he was in the hospital. He’s a very nice guy—definitely not a pervert or a serial killer.”
She clicks her tongue, letting me know that she’s not convinced. “A lot of bad people have been described asniceright before they snapped, Stella. How do you know he isn’t just hiding behind a mask? You’re entirely too trusting.”
“Oh my God,” I say, throwing my arms up in exasperation. She’s so dramatic all the time, worrying about the craziest things. I’m twenty-six years old, still being treated like a helpless toddler by her parents. It’s exhausting…and annoying. “I know because he’s a professional football player. If he were a bad guy, surely someone would’ve made it known by now.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I fucked up. When I told her about the job, one of the only pieces of information I offered was that I would be in Cleveland. And since Tinsville is very proud of their three professional athletes, there’s no way she hasn’t heard about Emmett being drafted by the Renegades.
“A football player,” she echoes, andyep. I’m fucked. “He doesn’t play with that Hayes boy, does he?” I hate that she calls him that, even though her own daughter still legally shares the same last name. From the moment I returned home from my trip to UCLA, telling her that I was divorcing Emmett, she’s wanted to erase him from our lives completely. At first, I didn’t mind it as much, because it hurt to think about him. But as time went on, and she acted like he was never a part of me at all, I started to push back. He gave me every single ounce of himself—he deserved better from all of us, even if it was too little, too late.
