To my surprise, David walks in wearing preppy shorts and a polo shirt with boat shoes. His brown hair is covered by a ball cap. The last time I saw him at his office, he was in an expensive suit.
He sits on the couch and smiles as he sets his leather satchel next to him. “Good to see you, Emmy.”
I manage a smile. “What’s going on?”
“The last time I met with Graham, he asked me to deliver the divorce papers to you as soon as the inheritance went through,” he says as he opens his bag and starts to riffle through it. “Congrats, my dear. I spoke with the trustees of the will this morning, and everything’s been approved.”
I blink as my chest stings, horribly, as I process his words. My voice is breathless. “That was sooner than expected.”
He grins, oblivious to my distress. “Yes, we can thank Vale Harlan for that. He urged the trustees to expedite the funds for Graham.”
“I assume you’ve told Graham?”
I haven’t spoken to him, but he did text me that they’d arrived in LA and were settling in and working out at one of the training facilities. I didn’t reply.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled,” he says.
I nod. Yes, he will.
“He’s got a preseason game this week in LA,” I murmur as I clench my hands together, needing an anchor. “It’s better to call him in the evening, after practice.”
He stands and brings me a bundle of papers. I can’t bear to look at them, so I don’t, instead keeping my eyes on David. “That’s the thing. I’m off on vacation with my family. We’re doing one of those Disney cruises. Lots of characters and meals. I’ve got four kids, all under the age of six. I’m not sure how available I’ll be, so I’m trying to take care of everything now. That’s why I came over.” His index finger lands on the papers. “Here’s everything for the divorce. For a no-contest divorce in New York, we’re looking at up to three months once we get it filed at the clerk’s office. I suggest we go ahead and get the paperwork going, but no one has to know. We can file whenever you both think enough time’s elapsed from receiving the check. I’ll just need your signature and his; then my office will keep them ready.”
My heart skips a beat. “I see.”
“Are you all right?” he asks, his brow crinkling in concern.
My beats are fine. It’s not my arrythmia; it’s just heartbreak. The truth is, he sent David here with these papers. Graham wanted it this way. And I need to finish this.
“Has anything changed since we drew up the agreement?” he asks.
Jane pokes her head in without knocking. “Hi!” she says, obviously making sure I’m okay. “Just checking in to see if you two need anything?”
He looks at Jane and tells her he’ll take a coffee to go.
Jane leaves to get his drink.
I pick up the papers and look at them without really seeing them. Anger, tied to fragile emotions, rises inside me. “Actually, yes, something has changed. I’d like to circle back to the prenup I signed. I don’t want Graham’s money. None of it.” I married him with my eyes wide open, and I need a final goodbye to us, a period at the end of a sentence.
I clear my throat at David’s stunned silence. “Are you sure?” he asks. “That’s a lot of money.”
And we’ll manage without it. “Can you make it happen? Quickly?”
He nods. “Of course. We’ll make an addendum to the agreement. I’ll call the office and have them send it over for you to sign today.”
“Good.”
Jane comes in with his coffee, and he picks up his satchel. He gives us a nod. “All right. I’m headed to Orlando. Let Graham know the details, get his signature, then send it to my office, and we’ll be set. The trustees should be sending the check today. Looks like our business with the marriage is concluded.”
Graham and I just aren’t meant to be. There’s no magic. Not for him at least.
I nod at David. “Yes. It’s done.”
Chapter 30
GRAHAM
The LA sun sets in a fiery blaze over the edge of the stadium, casting long shadows across the field as I finish my stretches with the rest of the tight ends. The air is thick with anticipation for tonight’s preseason game. I head to the end zone for a catching drill before the start of warm-ups, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins like a tiger ready to pounce.
“Hey, G, I was thinking,” Jasper says as he jogs over, mischief dancing in his gaze. “If you could either be a cockroach or a rat, which would you be?”
“Neither. Both are disgusting.” I take my helmet off to drink down some Gatorade.
“Come on. Indulge me. You have to pick one.”
“Fine. A rat. They’re tough bastards, especially in New York.”
He makes a grunting noise as he picks up his water. “See, I think it’s cockroach. I mean, sure you gotta look out for spiders and pesticide, but when the nuclear bombs start to drop, you’d have the entire city to yourself.”
“Maybe rats could survive. They eat cockroaches.”
He rears back. “No shit?”
I nod and chuckle as we head back to the field. I run a quick route in front of him and catch the pass he throws before lining up next to him again.
He backs up to throw the ball, then stops short. “How about this one. If you had a crystal ball that could tell you the truth about any one thing, like your death day, would you want to know?”
He finally throws the ball, and I catch it, toss the ball back to Coach Marlon, and then line up near Jasper again.
“You got a crystal ball in the locker room?”
“No, asshole, these are hypotheticals. I’m a thinking man. I like to consider life. But if such a thing existed, I’d say no to knowing my future. Ignorance of self is bliss. I don’t want to know anything. I just wanna live life to the fullest, take all the chances I can, and be fucking happy.”
I slap him on the back. “I think you’ve got that covered.”
The whistle blows, and I follow the team into the locker room to finish dressing out. We’ll have another pep talk before heading back out for introductions.
I’m stoked about the game, my body vibrating, but there’s also apprehension dancing down my spine. I’m fully aware that each time I take the field, I’m taking a chance. Hasn’t that been part of the message in my dreams, that feeling of being suffocated as players pile on top of me? And yeah, if I had a crystal ball to tell me something, I’d ask about my injury.
My head churns as I open my locker. No, fuck that, I’d ask about Emmy. My mind goes to her, circling round and round since our conversation. What is she doing right now? Is she okay? Happy?
A long exhale leaves my chest, and I scrub my face in frustration. I think—okay, fuck, I know—I hurt her before I left to come out here.
She wants more from me.
And me?
I admire her. I need her.
She’s an image, always walking in the back of my mind.
She’s natural and funny. Beautiful without being aware of it.