Snow’s face was now white and red blotched. “This . . . this is what you interrupted my honeymoon for? You said you were interested in signing with me.”
“Non. I did not. I never said what I wanted. I just called you here, and you came like a stray, mangy dog hoping for kibble. There is no kibble, unless you count my willingness to keep your secret.”
Snow took a deep breath, no doubt assessing how to proceed. “How do you know Amy?”
When Emile shook his head side to side the sweat from his hair landed on Snow’s face. He gave another vigorous little shake. “Doesn’t matter. You will crate her things up and ship them back.” If Emile were guessing, they’d never been uncrated but were sitting in a storage unit. When enough time had passed, Snow would cease to pay the rent, and the contents would be sold. But he’d phrased it that way because he wanted to make it seem as if he didn’t know about the money.
Indeed, Snow did look the barest bit relieved. “But you have to understand. Things had not been right with Amy and me for a while. I tried—”
Emile put up a hand. “Arrêtez. Stop before you lie. I have no interest in you or your motives. I have interest only in seeing Amy’s clothing, books, and all the rest of it returned to her. Do it. And make sure you don’t leave anything out—not a little bullet book, ribbon, rubber stamp, or pair of panties. Leave something out, and the deal is off.”
“All right. Okay.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked like a man who had lost something that cost him nothing. “I’m flying back to Milan tonight. I’ll do it when I get back.”
Emile had not anticipated that. No matter. “Non. You will do it now. Her things will arrive tomorrow by end of business. She will wait not one second longer than that.” Emile would be home in the wee hours after the San Jose game. He was determined this be done before then.
Snow’s eyes widened. They were bloodshot. “That’s impossible! I don’t think you realize how much there is. There’s a storage unit half full! And my wife is expecting me back.”
Emile studied a blooming bruise on his forearm. “That’s a personal problem and not mine. You are a resourceful man who has proven he has the talent to act quickly. Utilize that talent. Send them to her attention to Star View Towers. Fourteenth floor. I’m sure you know the address.”
Just when Emile was certain a man couldn’t look more dumbfounded, Snow turned a lovely shade of purple and his eyes bulged. “She didn’t go back to Georgia? She’s living with you?”
Emile pivoted on his skates and walked away.
Snow must have thought he was out of earshot when he sneered, “That didn’t take her long.”
If Emile had allowed that to sink in, he would have turned into the savage he’d sworn he would never be.
He just waved over his shoulder without looking back. “Just do what I said.”
• • •
Later on the plane, Emile had expected Packi to quiz him, but he hadn’t. He’d delivered Emile’s chicken parmesan, asked if he needed anything, and made some small talk about the game, but he hadn’t mentioned Snow. Emile didn’t even wonder why. He was just relieved. It was done, and he didn’t want to think about it anymore.
However, he did have to think about it again—at least briefly. After the meal, most of the team had put on headphones and settled back to chill out or sleep. Emile was about to do the same when Jan Voleck stopped in the aisle beside Emile.
“Yes?” Emile was always very careful to never speak French to the young Swede. He had enough trouble with English.
“Hello, Emile.”
“Hello.”
“I saw you, I think, in the tunnel. You were speaking with my agent? With Cameron Snow?”
Oh, great. The kid was about to ask him if they were going to be agent-sharing buddies.
“Yes,” Emile said hesitantly.
Jan looked perplexed. “Hmm. I thought it, but then I wondered and thought, can’t be. Sometimes people can look similar.”
“What? He didn’t talk to you?”
“No,” Jan said. “He did not.”
Odd that the guy’s agent had been at his game and not so much as said hello. Miles would never do that. Of course, Snow had been rattled—that, and he had to arrange to ship some boxes.
“I don’t know, Jan.”
Jan set his mouth and nodded. “Thank you.” And he walked to the back of the plane.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amy returned from shopping midmorning.
There was no denying it. She was excited that Emile was coming home. She missed him. Though she hadn’t known it before, she had never missed Cameron when he’d traveled. Sure, she’d looked forward to his return, but it was because she was lonely, not lonely for him.
She had not been lonely over the weekend. Gabriella had left early this morning to go to work, but she had been here most of the weekend. She’d been great company—but through it all, Amy had never stopped missing Emile.
She set about putting away the groceries she’d bought for his homecoming—smoked salmon; some lovely pears; and free-range eggs, fine herbs, wild mushrooms, and brie for an omelette. She didn’t know if he’d want food as soon as he got home, but even if he didn’t, this was a meal she could put together quickly when he got up tomorrow—whatever time that might be. When he’d called in the wee hours after the Kings game, he’d said Tuesday and Wednesday were off days for the Sound, though he would go work out. Then Thursday, back to business with Saturday and Sunday game days at home. Ottawa and Carolina, though Amy wasn’t sure of the order.
The housekeeping service had come on Friday, but she intended to freshen up the master bath and put the new sheets she’d bought on the bed. The Pottery Barn sheets were nice enough, but the new ones were thousand thread count Egyptian cotton. The price didn’t even give her pause. He wouldn’t care, and after such a hard few days on the road, he deserved the most comfortable bed possible. It wasn’t as if she’d bought them for herself. Well, maybe a little. Lying on those sheets would be like sinking into mounds of whipped cream. She could just imagine how they would feel against their entwined naked bodies.
The twinge in her groin reminded her how spoiled her body had become.
Yes. She’d definitely missed him. Her phone rang, and she dove for it as if there were a thousand pound sleeping tiger in the room that would eat her whole if it was disturbed.
“Hello.” She kept her voice neutral.
“Bon matin, chérie. Did I wake you?”
“No. I’ve been up for hours.”
“After talking to me so late? Perhaps you will take a nap this afternoon.”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep during the game tonight, though I suppose if one of has to fall asleep, better me than you.”
“That’s why I will have a nap. I am hoping you will have some energy for me when I come home.”
She laughed. “I hope that, too.”
“So, you have missed me, as I have missed you?”
“I can’t answer that. I don’t know how much you’ve missed me. But I have missed you, yes. Will you call me when the plane lands so I will have an idea of when to pick you up at the rink?”
“Non. It will be very late. Jake Champagne also lives in the building. He has his car. I will catch a ride.”
“It that doesn’t work out, call me.”
“All right. Don’t wait up.” Then he laughed. “No need. I will wake you.” And they both laughed. “I must go,” he said. “The bus leaves soon for morning skate.”
“I’ll be watching tonight.”
“I never doubted.”
He never doubted. After she hung up, she thought about that. There was a huge gulf between being trusted and taken for granted. She used to think they were the same.
Then all of a sudden it hit her. Why was she contemplating considering whether they should pursue a relationship? That ship had sailed. Whether it had been two weeks, two years, two decades, or two seconds, it was don
e. They were five steps into a relationship. It had happened while she fretted about whether they should. Oddly, it didn’t scare her.
She went into the laundry room to put in the new sheets to wash.
Why should she be scared? She’d lost everything she owned, but not only was she living and breathing, she also felt happy. Happy. Why toss that away because it might not work out?
And it might not. If it didn’t, she could walk away—or he could. Either way, Amy knew if it came to walking, it would be done honorably. There might be pain, but there would be no cowardice, no stealing, and no taking advantage.
And it might work. Why not find out?
Once the washing machine was going, she went into living room, picked up her bullet journal, and wrote, “Reasons It is a Good Idea to Find Out.”
Emile is a good man.
We make each other laugh.
The sex is incredible.
He is considerate of me.
He appreciates what I do for him.
Gabriella and I get on well.
He cares about others.
He is generous.
He is friendly and kind to everyone.
When I asked him not to interfere where Cameron is concerned, he complied.
Emile is a really good man.
That last one was important enough to mention twice.
Seeing it all written before her gave Amy comfort and relaxed her—and she knew why. If it works on paper, it will work in implementation. This time, she wasn’t going to worry about engagement rings and baby blankets. She was just going to be. It had been easy to get this far. Maybe it would keep being easy.
However, she was going to get a job—a job where she got a paycheck and not a wad of bills from Emile’s hand. That didn’t mean that she would stop taking care of Emile. But it was important that she do that because she cared for him and not because he paid her. He’d fight her on it, but she would win. She had to earn her money somewhere else.
But she knew she would have to bend a bit. She might not be ready for the WAG suite this week, but if they were in a relationship, there was no reason she shouldn’t accept a ticket Emile got for free. And she’d work up to the WAG suite and going to Beauford and telling Noel what had happened and why she had never come back for the quilt.
So many realizations, so many decisions. It made her tired, but it was a good tired, like when you’d worked hard all day but knew you’d done a good job.
It was only just noon, but maybe it wasn’t too early for that afternoon nap. She’d have plenty of time after waking to do her chores and make herself some dinner to eat while she watched the game. And she couldn’t wait to watch Emile play.
She’d barely laid her head on a Pottery Barn pillow and covered herself with a Pottery Barn throw before she was sound asleep.
• • •
It was her phone that woke her. Emile. She smiled before she even opened her eyes. She answered without looking to see who it was. “Hello.”
“Ms. Callahan?” Not Emile—a woman’s voice.
Amy sat up. “Yes?”
“This is Lila from downstairs. There is a delivery for you. I was just checking to see if you were in before sending it up. Is this a convenient time?”
“Sure. It’s fine.”
She wasn’t expecting anything. All the Canadian food and snacks Emile had requested had already arrived, and she thought she’d canceled all the standing orders for canned chicken, pouches of precooked rice, and shelf stable chocolate milk. Maybe it was some of that wine, chocolate, or underwear that Emile endorsed.
After hanging up, Amy checked the time. Almost 2:30! She’d slept for more than two hours, though it felt like five minutes. She fluffed the pillow and put away the throw. She had just fetched some cash for the tip when the doorbell rang.
Amy expected to open the door to a Star View courier carrying, at most, a case of wine. Nothing could have prepared her for the small army that trooped in with carton after carton, and none of them small.
“Where would you like it?” asked the young man leading the line.
“What is all this?” she asked.
“We don’t know, ma’am.”
“Of course not.” Her first thought was that Emile had a standing order for food that she didn’t know about—but so much? Then she thought hockey equipment. “Just put what you can in the kitchen and breakfast room. Put the rest in the dining room.” They never used the dining room, or hadn’t yet. Maybe that would change as things progressed. But things weren’t going to progress that fast before tomorrow. “Actually, put it all in the dining room please.” It would be out of the way in there. She’d have her work cut out for her unpacking and putting all this stuff away—whatever it was—and there was no way it would all happen today.
“Here you go, Ms. Callahan.” The courier handed her a clipboard. “Fifteen boxes. Do you want to count them?”
“No. I’m sure they’re all there.” And if they weren’t, even better. Fewer to deal with. She scribbled her name and looked at the bills in her hand. Not nearly enough. “Just a moment. I need to get . . . ” Her voice trailed off, and she went to her purse for more money. How much? Fifteen boxes and they looked heavy. Should she tip by the person or box? Maybe person. She counted heads. Six. “I don’t have change.” She handed the guy with the clipboard three twenties. “Can you get change and share this?”
Maybe she could get a job in this building delivering boxes.
He smiled broadly. “Call us if you need anything.” They always said that.
After they’d gone, she looked at the stacks of boxes and felt more overwhelmed than curious and more hungry than overwhelmed. She went to the refrigerator, poured a glass of milk, and drank it with a few cheese and crackers while standing up. That would do for now. She threw the sheets in the dryer and brushed her teeth before getting the box cutter from the toolbox she’d bought and stored in the utility room.
With any luck, it would be hockey equipment, in which case she would leave it alone until Emile returned. In fact, if the boxes were marked Bauer, CCM, or Easton, she wouldn’t even open them.
But they weren’t. There were no return addresses, and they were addressed to her. How could this possibly all be for her? Her first thought was that Emile had sent all this. And maybe that was true. Maybe it was hockey equipment after all. He could have bought it on this trip and had it shipped to her. But he would have told her to expect it.
She stood motionless. Why don’t you just open it? a little voice whispered. Because I’ve got a cold feeling in my stomach, she answered, that tells me that once I open one of these boxes, everything is going to change.
She ripped into the first one. It contained her luggage—empty. The second one—purses and shoes, all carefully and professionally packed. Her hanging clothes were in four wardrobe boxes. By the time she found her bullet journals and wrapping paper, she was crying—not because she was happy to have reclaimed her lost belongings, but for what she knew it had to cost her. At first, she’d told herself that for whatever his reasons, Cameron had sent it all back. She’d wanted to believe that, but the cold feeling in her stomach reached out and slapped her face in the form of reality. Cameron wouldn’t have known where to send it.
Well. That was that.
She went into the living room, took out her phone, and dialed a number.
He answered right away. “Hello, baby girl.”
“Daddy, can you come get me? Now?”
She knew his hesitation came not from indecision but surprise. “Of course. I’ll be there in about seven hours.”
“Text me when you get here. I’ll come down.”
He wouldn’t like that. He’d want to come to the door and get her, but he didn’t argue, didn’t try to make the decision for her.
“If that’s what you want.”
“I do.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“No. Not yet. I’d rather wait until I get
home and tell it only once.” Once would be hard enough.
“Then I’d better get on the road.”
She sat completely still for a full five minutes, willing herself not to think, not to feel. Then she picked up her bullet journal and crossed out all the reasons that “it was a good idea to find out.” She’d found out. What was it she’d thought? That if it didn’t work out, she could walk away. She brushed away her tears. Who knew it would be this soon?
She pulled one of her suitcases from the box and rambled around in the other boxes until she found enough clothes to last her for a while. Emile could ship the rest of it to her. Or not. She’d already let it go. It didn’t matter. Next, she emptied her wallet of all the money there except for the $84.38 she’d come with. She left the excess on the kitchen counter along with the keys to the Land Rover and the credit card Emile had given her for household expenses.
Then she sat down to wait. When puck drop time came, she didn’t turn on the television. She just sat. And waited. When the text came from her daddy, she answered it. Then she deleted her texts and call history and placed the phone beside the credit card, keys, and money.
Finally, she picked up her suitcase and went out the door—the door she had come to watch with happy anticipation at the thought of Emile walking through it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
This could not be happening! It could not!
Emile ran from room to room, calling Amy’s name—but she wasn’t there. The Land Rover was there. Her boxes were there. That nasty blood orange yogurt she loved was there.
But no Amy. He’d call. She’d answer. She wouldn’t be that cruel—she wasn’t cruel at all. She was the best, kindest person he’d ever known.
Ah, the phone was ringing. And ringing. And ringing. But wait. It wasn’t ringing in the phone next to his ear.
He took the phone from his ear and walked toward the sound. Her phone was there on the counter, with his keys, credit card, and some cash.
Merde. She really was gone. He’d check her texts and call history. That might give him some clue where she was, who she was with. Baise-moi. She’d deleted it all.
Face Off: Emile (Nashville Sound Book 1) Page 18