Page 17

Chapter seventeen

Emmett Foster

I flick the brim of my hat up and wipe sweat from my brow. It’s unreasonably hot for an evening game. Nights like these make me envy Shaw. He gets to skate in the cold, whereas I get to double my sweat with each inning. I draw in a deep breath and rear my arm back to throw to Emerson, our pre-game tradition. We could both throw with anyone else on the team, but since the day he joined, he’s attached himself to me. It used to annoy me, but now it’s as much a part of getting ready for the game as putting on my uniform.

He throws it back, and it smacks into my glove. I scan the crowd for June and Hazel again. This time–the fifth time–I see them settling into their seats behind home plate. I told Hazel I could see about more shaded seats for them, but she said she liked being close to the action. My lips tug up at the edges as I notice their matching braids poking out beneath green Cowboys hats.

When I think June can see me, I drag my fingers over the brim of my hat and point at her. She turns toward Hazel for a second, and they both do the signal back to me. My heart stutters in my chest. Between their matching hair and the hand gesture…they look like mother and daughter.

“You all right, Foster?” Emerson yells out.

I grab the ball out of my glove with a shaking hand.

“Fine,” I shout back, then throw the ball.

He catches it, but doesn’t return it, instead waving his hand over my shoulder. I turn around right as a reporter with a microphone says, “Emmett, are you excited for the game tonight?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes.”

I’m not a fan of reporters. They always see me as some kind of challenge. They’ll ask Emerson about how his arm is doing and what he thought of the last inning, but they ask me about my personal life more than any other topic. At the beginning of my career, it didn’t happen so much, but over time, I think I became their white whale. Which reporter will be the one to break Emmett Foster?

“We saw you do your signature hand gesture, but it was a little different tonight. Who’s sitting with your daughter? Did you start dating again?”

I clench my jaw. If I wouldn’t get fined over refusing to speak to reporters, I’d never speak to one again. Times like this make me consider it, but I don’t want to look uncooperative to the owners.

“That’s her nanny. I’m not dating anyone,” I answer in a gruff tone. Just because I’m talking doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“What does the gesture mean?”

I love you.

Which Hazel most definitely does not know, and this reporter doesn’t deserve to know ever, much less before Hazel finds out.

I give a casual shrug. “It’s just something to let my daughter know I see her in the crowd and that she sees me.”

The reporter seems disappointed. You’d think they’d be used to that by now and would give up.

“Hey, Danica, I didn’t know you’d be on the field tonight,” Emerson says as he saunters up. Danica–the reporter–immediately deteriorates from a semi-professional journalist to a schoolgirl.

“I try to never miss a game where you play,” she titters.

Emerson tilts his head to the side, telling me to escape. I nod my thanks and jog over to the dugout for some water.

It seems like everywhere Hazel goes, she draws attention. Whether it’s from my teammates or friends or this reporter. Everyone seems to be pushing an agenda, one that can’t come to fruition.

My mind pulls up the image of her and June pointing my way. I shake my head. This isn’t good.

After the game and post-game talk, I allow myself a minute to sit alone in the locker room. Everyone else filed out a few minutes ago to celebrate in their own way. I turned down their invitations like I always do. June and Hazel are already back at the hotel watching a movie, based on the update Hazel just sent. I told them not to wait on me tonight since it was a later game. I’m sure they’ll both be asleep when I get back. It was a long day, one that I’m feeling in my aching muscles and drooping eyelids.

I’ve just closed my eyes when my phone begins to buzz on the seat next to me. I sigh before grabbing it. My agent’s name lights up the screen. My brow furrows. Brock’s not one to call me. He knows I prefer in-person meetings or email as communication.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Give it to me straight. Are you and Hazel a thing?”

I sit up straight. “What?”

“I saw the interview clip from tonight’s game, and there are only going to be more questions from here on out. We need to get ahead of this.”

Leave it to Brock to jump right into things. I guess I’d rather this than a useless preamble.

I run a hand over my face. “There’s nothing to get ahead of. Hazel is June’s nanny. That’s all.”

“Look, I won’t judge you, but everyone else will if we don’t get a story ready. No other woman has ever done that signal before. I don’t even think your mom has. The tabloids are going to eat this up.”

“Let them gorge on it. It’s nothing but hot air like everything else they spout. June probably asked Hazel to do it with her. There’s nothing between us.”

I wince a little at the lie. I’m not one to even so much as bend the truth, but this calls for it.

Brock sighs. “I’ll take you at your word because I know you wouldn’t lie to me. And I’ll do what I can to get them to leave the situation alone.”

“Even the tabloids will realize that there’s nothing there. It should blow over within the week.”

“Emmett, you haven’t dated anyone since your divorce almost five years ago . People are hungry for a story. They might even bring up stuff from the past just to pad the narrative.”

My blood runs cold at the thought of my divorce being brought into the public eye again. It wasn’t that bad the year after it happened. June was just a baby, and reporters have never done anything more than annoy me. But now that June’s older and in school, I don’t want this hanging over her.

“Do whatever you can to keep the divorce out of it. Tell me if there’s anything I need to do, even if it’s a ridiculous interview to shut them up. There should be no mention of June or Shelby.”

“I’ll do my best, and I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

I rake a hand through my hair.

He sighs again. “You had a good game tonight. Go back to the hotel and get some sleep. I’ll try to make it so that it’s gone when you wake up.”

An ambitious goal. Brock doesn’t ever bring anything less to the table though.

“When are you going to sleep?” I ask, recalling the worried words from our friends about his lack of work-life balance.

“When I’m dead, I suppose.” Someone says something in the background. Is he still at the office? It’s eleven at night. “I’ll talk to you later. Have a safe trip home.” He hangs up before I can respond.

I force myself to stand up and put my phone in the pocket of the joggers I changed into after the game. I’d thought the worst thing about this trip would be my meddling friends. It turns out, things can be a lot worse.

I trust Brock to handle the brunt of it, though. He’s the best agent there is. But I know that I have to do my part too. Which means there can be no more lines crossed between Hazel and me. She has to be seen as June’s nanny. Nothing more. That’s what’s best for everyone.