Stephanie beams at me. “So glad to hear this.” Then she says to Wyatt, “You made an excellent choice with our clinic. Not only do we specialize in the most innovative therapies, but our staff is extremely well-prepared.”
“I don’t doubt Ellie’s professional skills,” Wyatt says.
His voice sounds warm and honest, and it takes me by surprise.
And so does the memory that his dilating pupils can deepen the toffee shade of his irises into the shade of an espresso. I used to tell Wyatt that his eye color was the only thing missing from his perfect “blond surfer boy” look.
My boss pats my arm. “And you shouldn’t, Mr. Harrison. Ellie is very talented and—”
I peer up at Stephanie and warmth floods my belly. I’ve never heard my boss speak about me with such high praise.
“—she knows the details of your profession inside and out, and she’s a dedicated NFL fan.”
My cheeks burn. Why did she need to blurt out my fib?
Because she doesn’t know you made everything up. The smarty-pants voice in my head isn’t welcome, but its truth is hard to ignore.
Wyatt’s eyes dart to me. He cocks his head to the side, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s…uhm, that’s reassuring to know.”
I block out his amused expression and mocking voice. “Stephanie, what do you say we move to the administrative details?” I throw a meaningful glance at her belly.
To be fair, I worry as much about her popping out her baby at this meeting as I am concerned that she might ask me to define some random football terms to demonstrate just how knowledgeable I am.
I’m relieved when she nods. “Ah, yes, indeed.”
Chapter 6
(Wyatt)
The musky, powdery scent drifting around Stephanie Walles’ office is overpowering. It makes the place feel more like a French boudoir than a professional establishment for people who need to face their inner monsters.
But this olfactory aspect is clearly deceptive. Because here I am, less than ten minutes in this clinic, and I’m already wrestling with a potent demon from my past.
My heart shimmies like Tic Tacs in a box and sweat beams on the back of my neck as I stare at Ellie. Those kind emerald eyes and untamable curls are even more beautiful than I remembered.
While she says something to her boss, my agent, Liam, leans closer to me, dropping his gruff Yankee twang into a whisper. “Do you feel confident about our pick?”
Confident?
Heck, no. I feel pretty confused. As Joe would put it, I’ve no idea whether to check my butt or scratch my watch.
Bumping into Ellie was a calculated risk whenever I met with her brother these past few years—and, if I’m honest, a secret desire too. But Ellie systematically ditched Devon’s invites, knowing I’d be present, so I’d gotten used to not crossing her in Phoenix. To not thinking about what a coward I’d been with her.
Now, standing face to face with her, all my regrets are trickling back to my consciousness.
I can’t confess this to my agent, of course. Liam needs to ensure that nothing slips through the cracks of my career’s management. If I tell him the truth about Ellie, he’ll freak and force me to switch clinics. And we don’t have time for that.
I need to dive into therapy as soon as possible, else I’ll miss the training camp. I nod. “Yes, I do.”
My time constraint isn’t the whole truth. Even if I could, I don’t want to change therapists. With another shrink, I’d be addressing a nonexistent anger issue, which would fulfill Coach Fielding’s crazy request but bring me nothing else. However, if I work with Ellie, I could do something extraordinary. I could get a chance to kill off my guilt-demon. For good.
I’ve always felt terrible about how things went down between us. This therapy could be my chance to create some closure, and if lucky, to move on to a friendship with Ellie.
“Ouch.”
A sharp cry jars me out of my musing.
“Is everything okay, Mrs. Walles?” Liam asks Ellie’s boss.
The woman leans against her massive beech desk, slightly pale, and mumbles, “Yes. All is good. Thank you, Mr. Nelson.”
She doesn’t look or sound good.
She’s struggling to breathe like I do when I snatch a nasty elbow jab into my diaphragm from a giant linebacker.
What’s the matter with her?
Ellie gives her boss a concerned look then turns to my agent. “Would you and your client be so kind as to move into the waiting room? I’ll come and fetch you when we’re ready to fill out the papers.”
“I’m actually on a tight schedule,” Liam answers, blinking at his Rolex. “My flight to New York leaves in two hours. I can’t really wait around.”
I know Liam needs to see another client this afternoon, and he can’t miss his appointment. NFL players—and Liam specializes in our league—only have one meteoric career. Thus, it’s the agent’s job to ensure that every opportunity is maximized and every decision is the right one for us.
But when I see wrinkles of worry on Ellie’s forehead, I decide to obey her request. I tap on Liam’s shoulder. “I can complete the documents without your help. So unless Ellie wants you to wait…”
My agent throws a questioning glance at Ellie.
She shakes her head. “That’s unnecessary. I can go through the paperwork with Mr. Harrison alone.” Her eyes flash to me.
Whoops, I probably should’ve referred to her as Ms. Griffin in front of the others.
Her boss lets out a stifled moan, and Ellie quickly adds, “Could you step outside, please? Mrs. Walles has…another appointment as well.”
Her voice has a nervous edge, and she brushes the rim of her white coat in a fidgety way. She really wants us gone.
My eyes drift to her boss’s belly which is wobbling like a volcano before an eruption. Suddenly, I understand the situation.
I grab Liam’s elbow and drag him toward the door as quickly as I can, calling back, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Walles.”
Once we’re outside, Liam adjusts his collar. “What was that about?”
Oh, sweet goodness. Liam can be as smart about contract negotiations as he is clueless about real-life events. “The boss is in labor.”
My agent stirs uncomfortably then barks a dry “Ah, okay.” He scratches his chin. “Does this mean Mrs. Walles won’t be supervising Ms. Griffin during your therapy?”
“I’d think so, yes.”
“Isn’t Ms. Griffin too young to—”
“Don’t underestimate her,” I cut him off. “She’s brilliant and has a way of getting under anyone’s skin.” Liam arches his brows, and I hastily add, “In a good way.”
He tilts his head back and forth. “I don’t know. I would have preferred if the lead therapist of this unit followed you.”
“Ell—Ms. Griffin knows me. She’s the best choice,” I reassure him. I’m surprised by how convinced I sound.
Liam clutches his Dior briefcase tighter. “Okay, if you say so. Then I’ll move on now to my next client. A suspected PED user.” He flashes me a grin. “You see, Wyatt? You aren’t by far the sexiest of my troubles.”
I chuckle. “That’s too bad. Next time, I’ll do better.”
Liam wiggles his finger at me. “Don’t you dare. I’ll check in with you in a week by phone, but call me if you need anything. Anytime.”
“Sure.” I give him a thumbs-up, and he takes off while I go to the waiting room.
Before I can push the glass door open, Liam calls back, “Don’t get into any eroticized transference.”
I whip around, my brows rounding. “Eroticized what?”
Liam rolls his eyes. “No shenanigans with the cute Ms. Griffin, okay? You’re doing this program to get your ducks in a row with the coaches. So don’t take advantage of the situation.”
A warmth spreads through my belly as the implication of his words dawns on me, and my mind fills with very inappropriate images involving Ellie’s rosebud lip
s. Luckily, I reestablish control over my derailing brain and nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Liam replies, then disappears around the corner.
I step into the empty waiting room. The furniture—a large, fluffy leather couch and low coffee table filled with lifestyle magazines—perpetuates the same resort feel as Mrs. Walles’ office.
I saunter to the couch and sit. My legs get restless after a minute, so I jump up and go over to the window. Ellie’s clinic is in the heart of Downtown Phoenix, and I can spot Symphony Hall as I stare out. Ellie and I went there to watch The Nutcracker once.
I grip the windowsill with both hands as memories flood my mind.
I never told Ellie that I had to skip my football practice to be with her that night. Not that I regret having done it, even if Coach Williams didn’t go easy on me. We’d had a fantastic time. I loved watching the excitement on her face as she admired the ballet dancers twirling on stage. I remember how on the entire way back to her dorm she kept humming Tchaikovsky’s tunes.
A shrill beep and a vibration against my hip jolt me back to reality. I grab my phone, and as I see my father’s name, my hand rolls into a fist.
Huh, the old man changed strategy.
I contemplate deleting his message without reading, but in the end, I flip it open.
“Son, you keep ignoring me. Why won’t you answer? If it stays like this, I must find another way to make you listen to me. Dad.”
After years of absence, after all he has done to Mom and to me… How can he even wonder why?
Make you…
Those two words speed up the bloodstream to my temples, and tiny luminous dots flash in front of my eyes. My fingers tighten on the windowsill, and a small cracking sound reaches my ear.
I blink down at the small hole beneath my thumb.
Did I just do this?
My white knuckles and the piece of wood in my palm are unmistakable signs. I exhale loudly and hurriedly wedge the chunk back into place, but it doesn’t stick.
I take a step back and observe the sill. The gap isn’t big, perhaps not even noticeable. It was likely already corroded. That’s why it gave way when I squeezed it. I hide the splinter inside my palm and slip it into my pocket.
Whooshing steps echo behind me, and Ellie’s soprano chirps, “Ready to talk?”
Her voice has got the quality of cold Gatorade after a soul-crushing workout—soothing and reinvigorating at the same time. Or at least, that’s the effect it has on me. The one it always had.
My shame about disfiguring the window dissipates from my chest, and a slight buzz takes its place as I turn to face her.
Ellie strolls toward me with a tight-lipped expression. “Why did you decide to work with me?”
Ellie is a good head shorter than me, but the way her green eyes throw daggers at me makes me feel like she could burn me to a crisp with her stare.
I shift my weight. “Because you’re a huge NFL fan?”
Ellie blushes but doesn’t flinch at my banter. “It was a fib, and we both know it. I wanted to convince my boss to give me this case. But that was before I knew you were the client.”
My throat prickles. “I didn’t mean to cause you dismay.”
“Dismay? Don’t worry, I’m not upset.” Ellie crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I just know that our history isn’t the best foundation for a successful therapy.”
I search her gaze.
She meets my eyes with a challenging glare. One that makes me immediately regret the dismissive way I spoke about our relationship during the meeting.
I rub my neck. “I said our past wouldn’t be an issue because I didn’t want my agent or your boss to know that—”
Ellie puts up a hand. “No need to apologize. We dated for a month, that’s all.”
She doesn’t blink and her hands are dead-quiet. Ellie used to be fidgety when concealing something. “I can’t tell if you mean it,” I mumble, taken aback. “The Ellie I knew always wore her heart on her sleeve.”
Ellie purses her lips and shoots me an enigmatic glance. “Time has passed. I grew up.”
Now she’s telling the truth.
The white coat she wears above her purple top and the grey pencil skirt can’t hide how her curves have matured into an even more enticing package. Also, she might have the same cheeky freckles and green eyes as the girl whose lips I worshipped, but her gaze has gained an undecipherable depth.
My eyes zoom in on a thin silver necklace from Tiffany’s I’ve never seen before.
Who gave it to her? Does she have a boyfriend?
Ellie starts drumming with her thumb on the tips of her fingers.
A smile makes its way to my lips.
Finally, something I know.
“What are you grinning about?” she asks with a suspicious frown.
I point at her fingers. “I’m just comforted to know that not everything has changed. You still do this when you’re jittery.”
Ellie drops her arms to her side. “I’m not jittery, just biding my time while you’re musing.”
Touché.
“If you think we shouldn’t work together, why didn’t you speak up during our meeting?” I ask.
“I couldn’t, not after you agreed to my boss’s idea.” Ellie shakes her head. “She’s never granted me an opportunity like this before. And even now, she only did it to avoid missing out on your kind.”
“My kind?” My brows lift.
Ellie’s nose wrinkles and the freckles jump into a wild dance, designating patterns I still know too well. “Football players. My boss hopes you’ll encourage your troubled colleagues in the various teams to use our services after you finish your treatment.”
I click my tongue. “I see.”
“I couldn’t refuse your case, not unless I was ready to quit my job. And I’m not.” Ellie lifts her chin with so much sass that I can’t help but give her a bemused smirk. Her next phrase, however, wipes the smile off my face. “But you, you could have easily backed out once you learned I’d be your therapist. Why didn’t you tell your agent to find you another clinic? And don’t tell me it’s because you trust my football know-how.”
Because I want the chance to make up with you.
I swallow this first reason and recite only my second one. “Because my job is on the line, too. Haven’t you wondered why I need a therapist on such short notice? My head coach made therapy a condition for me to play in the new season.”
I narrate the events that led me to Coach Fielding’s ultimatum.
Her brows lift higher and higher as she listens. Once I finish, she asks, “What did that wide receiver say to you exactly?”
“He said I had happy feet.”
Ellie furrows her brows. “That doesn’t sound that offending to me.”
I shake my head. “Foul-mouthing about a quarterback’s footwork is a serious insult, believe me.”
“Was it the worst remark you’ve ever received during your entire career?”
“No, of course not. Cussing is a low-road strategy some players use to distract their opponents. I’ve been told all kinds of things during a game. Even stuff I wouldn’t care to repeat.”
Ellie sniffs and throws a meaningful glance at me. “So then what was different about this one? Did you have an ongoing war with this teammate?”
I shake my head without saying a word.
Ellie has a point. Why did I flip out at Rodriguez? I mean, I don’t particularly fancy the guy, but I’ve never contemplated swatting him in the pie-hole. Was it only the physical exhaustion, like Coach Williams suggested?
Before I can dwell on this any further, a male voice interrupts us. “Is the good news true?”
It belongs to a dapper guy roughly my age. He’s got walnut-colored hair, sculpted cheekbones, and broad enough shoulders to make me suspect he hits the gym every single day. Though he doesn’t wear a white coat over his dark pants and pale-blue shirt, he looks too comfort
able in his skin to be a stranger in this clinic.
Is he a colleague of Ellie’s?
My inkling is confirmed when she greets him with a warm smile. “Oh, hi, Bill. Yes, the rumors are true. I’ve got my first solo case.”
“That’s wonderful,” the man exclaims, clapping his hands. “I was sure you’d make it, Eloise.”
Eloise?
His voice is as smooth as his flawlessly shaven chin, and it somehow irritates me at once. Especially when I see it unleashes a soft blush on Ellie’s cheeks.
I wait for Ellie to correct him. She hates when people call her Eloise.
But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes become all gooey as she mumbles, “Ah, thanks. You’re too kind.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it,” Bill adds in his suave drawl. “You’re talented. It’s time Stephanie realizes this and lets you spread your wings.”
It’s not like the guy is wrong. Ellie has always been gifted with understanding people, so it’s easy to believe that she became an excellent therapist.
If I know Bill’s compliment is honest, then why does my scalp prickle? I scratch the itchy spot, and my movement alerts Bill to my presence.
His eyes flick to me but don’t stay long enough for me to catch his gaze. They move back to Ellie and he flashes her a movie-star smile. “I don’t want to keep you away from your conversation. I just came to ask if you’d like to drink a celebratory cuppa with me before lunch?”
Ellie’s eyes widen. “Today?” She gives me a side-glance then shakes her head at Bill. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Her voice is a bit too disappointed for my liking, but her refusal makes my chest giddy all the same. But the sensation quickly turns frosty when she adds, “Perhaps later this week?”
Bill’s lips, which started on a downside slope when Ellie first shunned his invite, curl up. “Sure, of course. Whenever you have time.”
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m loudly clearing my throat.
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 5