chapter 8

Emma stared at her ceiling fan, watching it spin lazily above her bed. Sleep had been impossible after Jack’s unexpected visit. His bloodshot eyes and rumpled suit kept replaying in her mind, along with Alek’s tense jaw when he’d appeared at her door. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand: Morning meeting canceled. Take the day. - A She smiled at Alek’s thoughtfulness. After last night’s drama, a day off was exactly what she needed. Two hours later, Emma was deep into her third cup of coffee at her favorite café, a tiny place three blocks from her apartment where no one cared about hockey or recognized star players’ ex-wives. She’d spread financial reports across the table, focusing on work to avoid thinking about Jack or Alek or the ticking clock of her divorce. “Is this seat taken?” Emma’s head snapped up. Jack stood before her, dressed in jeans and a casual button-down—a far cry from last night’s disheveled suit. He looked rested, sober, and frustratingly handsome. “How did you find me?” she asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “You came here every Sunday morning when we lived together.” Jack’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Some habits don’t change.” “Following me is creepy, Jack.” “I know. I’m sorry.” He gestured to the chair. “Five minutes? No shouting this time, I promise.” Against her better judgment, Emma closed her laptop. “Five minutes.” Jack sat, declining a waitress’s offer of coffee with a polite smile. When they were alone again, he took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology. A real one, not the drunk version from last night.” Emma raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “The way I ended things was... cruel.” Jack’s eyes met hers. “You deserved better.” “Yes, I did.” “I could blame the pressure, the fame, the groupies—but the truth is, I was selfish.” He traced a pattern on the table with his finger. “I thought Veronica would make me happier. I was wrong.” “That sounds like a you problem,” Emma said, though without real heat. Jack smiled ruefully. “Definitely a me problem. One of many.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, Veronica and I are officially done. Not just a fight.” “I’m sorry,” Emma said automatically. “No, you’re not.” “Okay, I’m not.” She surprised herself with a small laugh. “But I am sorry you’re hurting.” “That’s more than I deserve.” Jack’s expression turned serious. “Em, when I saw you with Volkov...” “Jack—” “Let me finish. When I saw you with him, I realized what an idiot I’ve been. You were always the best part of my life, and I threw it away for what? A model who dropped me the second my playing time decreased?” Emma shifted uncomfortably. “Jack, where are you going with this?” “I miss you.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled back. “I miss us. The way you knew what I needed before I did. The way you believed in me when no one else did.” “Stop.” Emma shook her head. “This isn’t fair.” “I know it’s complicated. I know I hurt you. But we had eight years together, Em. That has to count for something.” “It did count,” Emma said quietly. “That’s why it was so devastating when you ended it.” Jack leaned forward. “What if I made a mistake? What if we’re meant to try again?” Emma stared at him, searching for any hint that this was manipulation. But all she saw was vulnerability and what looked like genuine regret. “Jack, are you suggesting we... get back together?” “I’m suggesting we consider it.” His voice was earnest. “The divorce isn’t final. We could still fix this.” For a fleeting second, Emma tried to imagine it—rewinding the clock, going back to being Mrs. Jack Reynolds, pretending the divorce papers had never existed. The fantasy dissolved almost immediately. “No.” The word came out firm and clear. Jack blinked. “No?” “No.” Emma straightened. “It’s too late, Jack. You didn’t just file for divorce. You moved on publicly with someone else. You told me I wasn’t good enough for your new life.” “I was wrong—” “Yes, you were. About so many things.” Emma gathered her papers. “Including the idea that I’d be waiting if things didn’t work out with your upgrade.” “Emma, please—” “The divorce will be final in three weeks. After that, there are things you need to know, things that will change our professional relationship permanently.” She zipped her laptop case. “But our personal relationship is over. Has been since you threw those papers at me.” Jack looked stunned. “I don’t understand. Three weeks ago you were devastated. Now you’re just... done?” Emma stood. “I’m not done. I’m moving forward. There’s a difference.” “With Volkov?” Jack’s voice hardened slightly. “That’s none of your business.” “He’s my boss. It kind of is my business.” “No, Jack. You made it very clear that my life is separate from yours now.” Emma placed money on the table for her coffee. “Your five minutes are up.” She walked out of the café, not looking back to see Jack’s expression. The fresh air felt good on her face, clearing away the confusion his visit had stirred up. As she rounded the corner toward her apartment building, a familiar black SUV caught her eye. It was parked half a block away, and even from this distance, she recognized Alek’s profile in the driver’s seat. Instead of heading home, Emma walked directly to the SUV and tapped on the passenger window. Alek looked up from his phone, startled. He rolled down the window, having the decency to look embarrassed. “Fancy meeting you here,” Emma said dryly. “I can explain.” “Please do.” Alek sighed. “After last night, I was concerned. Reynolds was drunk, angry.” “So you’ve been sitting outside my building all night?” “Not all night. Just... periodically checking.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I saw you leave for the café. Then Reynolds showed up.” “So you’ve been watching me have coffee with my ex-husband?” Emma crossed her arms. “That’s not creepy at all.” “I stayed in the car. Gave you privacy.” Alek’s jaw tightened. “But yes, I was prepared to intervene if needed.” “I can handle Jack, you know.” “I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to.” Alek’s blue eyes met hers. “Not alone.” Emma should have been angry at the surveillance. Instead, a warm feeling spread through her chest. No one had looked out for her like this in... well, ever. “Do you want to come up?” she asked impulsively. “For coffee, I mean. Real coffee, not surveillance coffee.” Alek hesitated. “Is that wise?” “Probably not.” Emma smiled. “But I’m tired of being wise all the time.” “What about our agreement? Three more weeks?” “It’s coffee, Alek. In broad daylight. In my apartment where no hockey players are likely to burst in unannounced.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Well, when you put it that way...” As they walked toward her building, Emma’s phone buzzed with a text. Jack: This isn’t over, Em. We need to talk about whatever’s happening in three weeks. She silenced her phone without replying. Jack Reynolds might not be done, but Emma Mitchell certainly was. And the man walking beside her—ridiculously overprotective as he might be—was a big part of the reason why.