Now, that I can’t argue with.
“In fact,” Jim drawls, his smile turning slightly evil, “I heard a rumor that Dominik busted you kissing Emory Holland in her office.”
My eyes flare in surprise. No one has said a word about that, so I assumed Dominik kept that private. He’s not a gossip. He’s a billionaire and men like him have no need to gossip.
“I think he told Willow and Willow told Dax,” Jim says, noting the confusion in my expression.
Well, in fairness… that’s not exactly gossiping. That’s Dominik telling his wife, who told her brother, who happens to be a member of the Vengeance. Now, I can totally see Dax spreading that around like wildfire, and my eyes drift across the room to where he’s playing a game of pool with Legend.
Asshole.
But not really. I don’t care if anyone knows I’ve got a thing for Emory. I mean, they already know since I made a fool of myself that first time she walked into the team auditorium and my tongue fell out of my mouth.
“That’s cool you like her,” Jim says, and his tone is now a cross between being brotherly and fatherly. “She seems great.”
“She is,” I confirm, and because Jim is like my brother but has the wisdom of a father, I decide to tap into that. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure,” he says easily. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
“Understood,” I reply with an easy laugh. I turn my body toward him slightly so that we’re not overheard. “You and Ella were separated for a while, and I don’t care about details, but I assume that whatever drove you apart has been overcome?”
That’s completely vague, but I truly don’t want to pry into the details of the marital problems Jim had. I know the essential gist. He’s been honest about it, admitting he didn’t make Ella a priority in his life and she eventually asked for the separation as she was so miserable. But I don’t need any more than that. I need to know how one forgives.
Jim takes a pull on his beer and after swallowing, he says, “It took a lot of hard work on my part to overcome Ella’s fears and mistrust.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. That’s what I’m wondering about.
“But it was work you were willing to do?” I ask.
“More than willing,” Jim replies with a somber look. “She’s my wife. I love her deeply. I would have done anything to get her back.”
I grunt in displeasure over his answer. I suppose anything can be overcome if there’s love and you put hard work into it.
“What’s going on?” Jim asks, minutely moving in a bit closer and tipping his head in concern.
I glance around and see that we’re largely being ignored. Making the decision to just lay it out there, I say, “Emory’s divorced. And her ex-husband has come into town… back into her life. They have a daughter.”
I spend the next five minutes telling Jim a quick summary of Emory’s history with Shane, asking him to keep it confidential. I know he won’t tell a soul, not even his wife since I’ve asked him not to, and he readily agrees.
Wrapping up my dilemma, I say, “I guess I’m worried that he’ll work his way back into her life. That he’ll work hard the way you did and get her to forgive him.”
“And?” Jim presses, because he wants me to say it out loud.
“And I’m wondering if I should stay in the game or back away and give her a chance to figure things out?”
Jim frowns and shakes his head. “Sorry… but I think I missed the part where you told me that Emory was conflicted about her feelings for her ex-husband. That she was considering giving him a shot.”
“Well, she’s not.” I look at him like that’s a silly statement. “She’s said the opposite, as a matter of fact. She’s completely done with him.”
“Then what’s the fucking problem?” Jim asks, good-naturedly of course, but the point is clear that he thinks my worry is sort of stupid.
“You worked hard for it,” I point out. “Shane might work just as hard.”
“Apples and oranges,” Jim says shaking his head. “My problems with Ella were nowhere near the problems Emory had with her ex-husband. You’re talking addiction and abuse she had to suffer. That’s some serious shit and sounds to me like she’s solidly moved on.”
“You’re right,” I mutter, mentally kicking myself in the ass for even having a moment of doubt. Emory has point blank told me she doesn’t love him anymore… that he had killed her ability to even like him. I trust her on that.
Jim lifts his beer, points his index finger at me. “As to your question… should you back away… only you can answer that. Do you think she’s better off if you do?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply. I’m a little unsure about this one because while Emory and I have grown tight these last few weeks, I’m a little unsure of what I might bring to the table for her. She’s such a strong and determined woman, does she really need me?
Jim doesn’t let me contemplate that further. “Are you better off if you back away? I mean, it can be stressful trying to date a single mom, balancing time with her and her kid, and add in an addict dad back in the picture, she sounds like she’s a lot of work. Is she worth it?”
I know Jim is trying to goad me into making a stand, and it works. “Fuck yes, she’s worth it.”
Laughing, Jim gives me a soft punch in my shoulder with the hand not holding a beer. “I’m pretty sure you really don’t have anything to worry about. Just be supportive of her.”
That I can do. I’ve found that not hard to do at all, which is odd, because that whole “responsibility” thing in a relationship was why I so diligently avoided them. But with Emory, it doesn’t feel like work at all.
CHAPTER 18
Emory
When I first met Shane at UCLA it wasn’t in the Colonial Beginnings of American Literature class he taught. It was at a coffee shop just off campus and the meeting was brief, yet impactful. My credit card had been declined, an embarrassing oversight in paying the monthly minimum, but I had just started my junior year and my parents had insisted I take over my incidental bills.
Shane had been standing behind me and gallantly bought my cup of coffee. It was one of those moments where you look at someone and you’re just struck by their beauty. Shane was gorgeous, and I could tell several years older than me, but I was a stammering idiot in thanking him. He later told me that he felt the same way when he saw me.
It was a chance meeting. We went our separate ways without exchanging names but there was a long, last, lingering look between us.
And then four days later, I walked into his classroom.
I don’t know who was more shocked. I had no clue he’d be teaching Colonial Beginnings of American Literature. It was an elective I chose only because I was late in making my selections and it was open and fit into my schedule. My major was in English lit with a minor in mass communications. I had aspirations of writing a bestselling novel, hence the English major, but was hedging my bets on a more stable career, thus the mass communications minor.