He smirks down at me. “Hey. See, nothing bad happened today.”
“There’s plenty of opportunity with seventeen games.” My words are sharper than I want them to be. “Let me see your bumps and bruises. Any big ones?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “I’ve been iced down already. They’re healing.”
“Show me.”
He lifts his shirt, and I grimace at the giant yellow-and-purple bruise on his side, from his rib cage to his hip.
“Jesus. Is anything broken?”
“Nope. Doc checked me out. No concussion, either, before you ask.” He heads to the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge. “You want anything?”
“I’m good. I had dinner with Jane and Londyn at the store after the game.”
He takes a sip from the long neck, his eyes carefully shielded as he asks, “Did you enjoy watching the game?”
I stiffen. “I enjoyed Vale and Brody.”
“So you didn’t?”
“Graham . . .”
“What?”
I lick my lips. “I was looking online. A new article recently came out. Boston University has diagnosed 345 former NFL players with CTE, out of 376. You’re playing with fire. You may not have it now, but—”
He puts his back to me. His chest rises up and down rapidly. “I don’t need a fucking lecture, Emmy.”
I shove that aside and keep going. “Watching you play was one of the most terrifying experiences I’ve ever had. I know you’re passionate about football. I know it’s what you love, but you’re literally playing Russian roulette every time you walk on the field.” My hands fist, my emotions rising higher. In fear. In love.
He turns to look at me, his lips tightly pressed together. “I never asked for your opinion. I asked you to go to the game because this is a fake marriage, and it’s part of your duties. This isn’t real. Nothing you say really matters, does it? We’ll be finished soon enough.”
I feel as if he’s slapped me. How can he be dismissive of all the time we’ve spent together? Could he truly just walk away once the inheritance comes in? I struggle to blink away the tears, bending to pet Magic so that he doesn’t notice the emotion on my face.
He moves away to look down at some of the mail on the counter, his movements short and coiled as if he’s keeping his emotions bottled up. “I won’t keep you. I’m crashing.”
“Graham . . .”
“Hmm?” He drains his beer and heads down the hall, seemingly nonchalant, but I know he’s upset.
Did my declaration of love, combined with my fear of football, send us off the cliff? “Nothing.”
He holds my eyes for a long moment, emotion swirling in those gray irises, anger and disappointment. He sticks his hands in his joggers. “By the way, I’m leaving in the morning for LA for the game there.”
“What? I thought the game was a week from today?” It’s one I hadn’t planned on attending since it’s so far away.
“Some of us are going early. Jasper wants to hang out in the city. Brody hasn’t gone back to school yet, so if you need extra hands, he’ll be around.”
He’s already to his bedroom door, lingering as he waits for me to answer.
He’s leaving.
A harsh laugh comes from my lips. I want the truth from him, and sometimes the only way to get that is to put everything on the line. “You can’t wait to get away from me. I told you I loved you, and you freaked out. You never acknowledged that I even spoke. Football is only for a while, but love and family . . . those last. They dig into your soul. All it takes is accepting it.”
“I can’t talk about this.”
Something inside me rages. “Right. You’re so afraid of hurting that you’ve chosen to not love at all. You can’t even speak of it. You’ve given up. But then, maybe you aren’t capable of love. Maybe you’re so messed up from your past that you’ll never give it a chance. I love you. Yes, it’s messy and complicated to admit these things to you, but I’m here and ready to try this with you, to see where it goes, to face all our crazy fears together. I’m not Divina. In fact, I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met. I know my value, and it is fucking amazing. I am the person for you. Your person.”
I pause, sucking in a steadying breath. “I’d never leave you. I’d never hurt you on purpose, Graham, but it terrifies me to watch you play.” Not only is it dangerous for him, but the stress of watching him play made my heart erratic as hell. Sure, maybe it was normal heart stuff, but I don’t think so.