Tonight, they were heading out for this weekend’s away game. Emmy would be in New York and he’d be in Oklahoma. It wouldn’t be so bad if they’d had their date. Hell, if he’d seen her once in the last week. This was bullshit. Somehow, they needed to make more time for each other. Somehow. Next season would be worse. He’d be back in Houston and she’d be here.
He didn’t want to think about next season yet.
The easiest thing to do was go public with their relationship. Knock off the Bremmy teasing and pull out the big guns. Dates and hand-holding and removing any doubt they were together. He didn’t relish the idea of being hounded by photographers and reporters. But if it meant he could be with her, whenever and wherever he wanted, he’d deal with the publicity.
He showered, dressed, and ran from the dressing room with his duffel bag in hand. McCoy made a point of checking his watch as he walked around the end of the bus to the passenger door.
Emmy Lou was there—animatedly using her hands as she talked to Russell.
Her hair was up in a ponytail, blowing in the light fall breeze. Looking at her now, wearing her pink plaid top, jeans, and worn-in leather boots—the sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. In high school, Emmy Lou had always come to see him off for away games. Always. Now, here she was. Like it was no big deal. Even though it was. Damn, he was smiling like a damn fool.
As soon as she saw him, her green eyes locked with his. But beneath the smile, he felt her hesitation. Wariness even. If only he could know what she was thinking.
“Hey.” He wanted to touch her and hold her so damn bad.
“Hi yourself.” She shoved her hands into her pockets, her gaze never wavering. Like she was looking for something. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
His gaze darted to his coaches, openly watching. “I’m sorry about last night. Something came up.”
“But everything is okay?” she asked, a tightness to her voice.
“Not really.” He didn’t want to keep secrets from her—she had enough of those in her life. But this wasn’t his secret and, dammit, he was in no position to tell Vanessa’s story. “I had big plans for us last night. There’s never enough time with you.”
“If something’s important, you make time.” She swallowed. “Right?”
He nodded. “Like making time to see me off?”
“How do you know I’m not here for something else?”
“I don’t.” He shook his head. “But I guess I’m hoping that’s why you’re here.” Something was wrong; he could see it on her face. He spied Coach from the corner of his eye—arms crossed, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. Worse, every single player on the team was probably watching from the bus. They can wait. “What’s wrong, Em?” Another step. Too close? Hell. Not close enough. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Just don’t break my heart.
“I needed to see your face.” But she didn’t sound happy about it.
McCoy made a huge production out of clearing his throat.
“I don’t like leaving this way…” He cleared his throat. “When I get back, we need to talk.”
Her eyes widened. “Okay.” But it sounded like a question. “Be safe. Win.” She turned and headed toward the waiting black Suburban—leaving an ache in the middle of his chest.
“You good?” McCoy asked. “Damn shame we are all here getting in the way of your personal life.”
He climbed up the steps onto the chartered bus. An explosion of pa
per balls launched at him by pretty much the entire team.
“That was sad, man.” RJ leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes. “Sad.”
“I’m with RJ. Talk about a missed opportunity.” Gene Byrd shot him a look of pure disappointment.
Brock sat next to a window, scanning the parking lot. Emmy was gone, but the ache in his chest wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter 18
Emmy held the mic closer, clapping out the rhythm against her thigh, as Travis plucked out the final lead-in notes.
Krystal leaned in, and they sang the last few lines together.
But here’s the truth, listen closely, cuz there ain’t no way.