Page 12

Chapter 12

Zack

“Want to walk around the park before we head back?” I ask Emilie as we stand outside the breakfast spot. I put out a hand, an invitation.

She holds her iced coffee like it’s a life source. I brought her one when I met her at her apartment, and she ordered another at breakfast this morning.

It’s early but there’s still a person lurking with a camera, documenting this entire interaction. Doesn’t bother me—take those pictures and post them. Kind of counting on it. If one thing’s clear, I need to make this work—pull it off—for Emilie.

The way she sounded last night is hard to get out of my head. It was like you could reach out and grab the panic. Emilie has always been consistent, together, and one step ahead of most. Hearing her like that was the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.

The sun hits Emilie’s face and she pulls her sunglasses on, abandoning the top of her head. One corner of her lip pulls up as she reaches for my outstretched hand, her fingers slipping into mine.

The smile that takes over my face has no business being this bright. Emilie is always holding someone’s hand—it’s kind of her thing. Could be a stranger on a plane, Willow, or someone in the suite during a game.

Chill the fuck out, Zack . This is nothing.

I pull her closer as we walk through the park entrance. It’s early enough that it’s decently empty. We walk in silence for a few minutes. Birds chirp as a breeze runs through the trees, rustling the leaves still bright and green at the height of summer.

The wind tones down the August air, making it the perfect temperature.

“What’s your favorite month?” I ask.

“January.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say but it wasn’t that. My face must give me away.

She shrugs. “I like the start of something new. Fresh start. January makes me feel like I can accomplish anything.”

“January makes my stomach hurt.” I mimic keeling over, my free hand touching my core. “It’s the heat of the playoffs. Do or die. All or nothing. Win or go home.”

Emilie turns to me. “I can see that. The contrast of how we view the same time of year…it’s interesting.”

“I am interesting,” I joke and bump her shoulder with mine. I can’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses but I'm betting I got a signature Emilie-eyeroll.

“You’re something,” she says, a smile still pulling at her lips.

Ding . Her phone goes off.

“Who keeps the sound on their phone? I feel like I haven’t heard mine in years.” I poke her.

“Someone who feels mentally hung over,” she pokes back. Emilie lets go of my hand to grab her phone. I don’t need to see much to know she doesn’t like what she sees.

“Everything good?”

She sighs, stares at the message for another minute, and then puts her phone back. “If by good you mean annoying. Then, yes.”

I respond with nothing but big, fat silence.

“It’s my family group chat. AKA hell in the digital world. ”

“That bad?” From what I've gathered, the family situation isn’t great for Emilie. I don’t need to pry. She’ll tell me if she wants to.

“Consistently horrible. Currently, my sister is passive-aggressively complaining, in our family group chat, how my last minute plus one has thrown off her entire seating arrangement. What will we ever do with an odd number of attendees?!” She puts her hand on her forehead for emphasis before reaching back for mine.

Her fingers tangled in mine. I like it. Too fucking much.

“Family dinners have been even more insufferable than usual.”

I can’t relate to this. My family is like a puzzle with just enough pieces to keep it interesting, but they always fit together. That’s how we’ve always been.

“Well, you should bring me. I’m known to make things more... sufferable?”

“That barely makes any sense.” She laughs. “I wouldn’t subject you to that. Hell, I wouldn’t ask my worst enemy to subject themselves to that.”

From my experience, Emilie rarely does anything she doesn’t want to do. Family shit is always weird, though.

“Lucky for you, you don’t even have to ask. I’m there.”

She turns her face to mine, our pace slower than before. It’s like she’s trying to see if I’m making a joke or being serious.

I shrug and offer a smile. “I’ll have to meet them eventually. Right?”

“Right...” Her voice trails off, like a question, and I can hear her brain waves.

She tosses her empty coffee cup in a trash can, and we stop, looking over the park. I pull her closer to me, our sides pressed together. My hand goes from her low back to softly rest on her hip. My finger instinctively draws small circles, like I've done this a hundred times before. Like it’s the only right choice to make .

Emilie turns her head toward me, looking up. I give her a small smile, taking in her details—ones I already know. The freckles that smatter the bridge of her nose. Her lips that honestly look like someone drew a heart where they’d go.

I’m trying to pay attention. With Emilie, it feels like I should.

“What are you doing?” she asks, pulling me back to the moment. Our noses are almost touching. I must’ve leaned in, looking for more things to catalog.

A camera. Out of my peripheral vision. Consider my ass saved.

I put my finger under her chin and lean close to her ear. “There’s a camera, right over there.” It’s almost like she relaxes just enough for me to feel it.

I press a for-show kiss on her cheek.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself it is.