Page 47 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

FORTY-THREE

Emma takes the couch, and I sit across from her in one of two armchairs, the cameraman between us.

“I’ll keep this quick… I know you’re in a rush,” she starts.

“Actually, would you mind if I go first?”

“Oh.” She shifts, recrossing her legs. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

She glances around. “Do you have anything to drink?”

I have no idea if the mini fridge is stocked, but tell her, “No. Sorry.”

I have a feeling I’m sorry is going to be my most-used phrase today.

Bodhi steps in, handing Emma a bottle of water, the top already unscrewed. She smiles at him shyly.

“Listen, Emma, I know we’ve done this whole song and dance once before, but I’m sending you home today,” I rush the words out before anyone can interrupt. “I think you’re great, and I really hope you find your person. But I’m not him.”

She nods, almost too easily. “I was going to tell you the same.”

That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming. “You were?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say so when we first talked. I thought maybe… things would develop. Feel different. But we never really got there, did we?” She exhales. “I’m used to accepting scraps from people, and I don’t want to anymore.”

“You shouldn’t,” I assure her. “And… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants, right?”

I nod and stand. “And on that note, I really have to get going.” I point at Bodhi. “You’re not coming.”

When he doesn’t argue, I’m a little surprised. Instead, he drops onto the couch next to Emma and leans in, murmuring something I can’t hear.

Weird.

I pause near the door and look back at the crew. “Can we move this elsewhere?” I ask, motioning impatiently for them to pack up.

The chime of a phone starts up. It’s been so long since I’ve heard a ringtone that it takes me a second to place it.

Bodhi answers immediately.

“What?” His whole posture changes as he stands.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” He starts pacing, pushing open the balcony door.

“She left?!”

That grabs my attention. I stride over, lowering my voice but not the intensity. “Who left?”

He ignores me, listening intently. “Did it take off?” His expression darkens. He checks his watch. “Fuck.”

He tucks the phone into his pocket and finally turns to me. “Well… your Cinderella just fled the ball.” His grin is anything but kind. “Hope you’ve got the glass slipper.”

My knees bounce in the back of the production SUV. Unfortunately, Bodhi is seated next to me, his damn playbook open again.

“How much longer?” I lean forward to ask the driver.

“Looks like there’s some traffic.” His eyes flick to the GPS. “It says forty minutes to the airport.”

I sink back in my seat.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it, friend.” Bodhi glances at his watch. “The plane’s already boarding.”

“No shit,” I mutter, unhelpfully.

“Can we take this opportunity to discuss wrapping up the show?”

“Man, you have the worst timing.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Can’t you see I’m freaking out here? The woman I love is literally on the run… all the way back to Chicago.”

My head thumps back against the headrest. “I knew I should’ve turned Emma away. I would’ve caught Mia in time if I hadn’t wasted those extra minutes. And here you are, doing the same thing, trying to tie up your own loose fucking ends.”

“The difference is, you’re stuck here with me, and not talking isn’t going to get you there any faster.”

“Cornering people when they have no escape is your MO,” I huff. “Fine. Speak.”

Bodhi brushes his hair from his eyes. “How do you want to play this?”

“You’re the mastermind. I want to be fucking done with this show. Done .”

“Language.” Bodhi shoots a look toward the cameraman filming from the third row.

My frustration boils over. I turn, staring straight into the camera lens.

“Isn’t this enough?” I snap. “You’re getting it all on camera. Fine. Here’s your ending.”

I inhale sharply, heart pounding as I glare directly into the camera.

“I, Dominic Fox, love Mia Madonna Matthews. She’s infuriating…

and I love her. I’ll follow her to Botswana if that’s what it takes.

She can’t run far enough from me. There’s nothing I won’t do.

And nowhere I won’t go… Unless she doesn’t want me to because that would be a crime.

” I pause, voice softening. “But she wants me to. I’m sure of it. ”

There’s a beat of silence before Bodhi leans in and whispers, “What’s in Botswana?”

“It’s the farthest point in the world from us right now.”

His brows pull together. “I’m honestly shocked you know that.”

I shrug. “I’m full of useless facts.”

“All right.” He shakes his head. “As heartfelt and cute?—”

“Cute? That was romantic.”

“Sure it was, dude. Anyway, we’re going to need more than that. You know the show usually ends with a proposal. Are you ready for that? I mean this is a lot more?—”

I cut him off because I’m certain. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“So, you’ll let us film it? And you’ll do the reunion special?”

“Hell no to the cameras. Maybe our friends can film it, but it’s up to her if we share it with you. And I’ll ask Mia about the reunion.”

“But—”

“That’s the best you’re getting.”

He props his elbow on the window with a sigh, and luckily, the rest of the ride passes in silence. That’s the positive. The negative? It takes us an hour and seven minutes to get here.

I bump shoulders with more people than is acceptable in my hurry to get to the ticket counter, and it’s all for nothing.

“What do you mean it’s departed?” I ask, my voice louder than I intended.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s taxiing on the runway as we speak.”

Bodhi finally catches up, huffing over my shoulder.

“Okay. Plan B. When’s the next flight out to O’Hare?”

The ticket agent clicks on her keyboard. “Not until tomorrow morning?—”

“Perfect. I’ll take a seat.”

“It’s actually fully booked. I can put you on the standby list if you’d like?”

“Fuck.” I shift on my feet. “Okay. Plan C… No wonder Logan always has five plans,” I mutter under my breath.

I drag Bodhi to a less congested corner. “Let me use your phone.”

“You know I can’t do that.” He steps out of reach when I make a grab for it.

“Bud, this thing is over. We’ve already discussed that.”

He hesitates, then places it in my palm.

Now I just have to figure out whose number I actually know. Logan’s out. I’ve lived next door to him for as long as I’ve known him and always just pop over. I’m also not ready to face the firing squad.

King. My go-to wingman. Weird area code. I dial his number and hope he answers.

He picks up right before it goes to voicemail. “Who is this?”

“Hey to you, too. It’s me. Fox.”

“Oh. Didn’t expect to hear from you. Aren’t you away for another couple of weeks? And whose number is this?”

“Questions for another day. I need a favor.”

“Okay…”

“Can you charter me a jet from Honolulu to O’Hare?”

There’s a long silence on the other end. “Is everything all right?”

“Yep. All good. Can you do it? You know I’m good for it.”

“Yeah, man. No worries. I’m on it.”

I rattle off the details, and he promises to send confirmation.

Thirty minutes later, a text comes through.

Miles King:

Flight leaves tomorrow at 3 p.m.

I sink into a plastic airport chair.

Tomorrow. I’ll get to her tomorrow. Well… technically, in two days, with the length of the flight.

But nothing ever goes according to plan.

By morning, the news is reporting a tropical storm watch.

And by noon? My flight’s delayed for another day.