Chapter 50 I'm Not Leaving You

Chapter 50 I'm Not Leaving You
The ice cream container lies on the floor between us, a puddle of melting vanilla slowly spreading across the hardwood. It is a perfect, messy representation of the last five minutes of my life. I am still perched on the kitchen counter, my legs tangled with Cole’s, his hands still partially hidden beneath the hem of my hoodie. The heat of his skin is a stark contrast to the sudden, icy draft that seems to have swept through the room the moment Emma opened the door.
​For a heartbeat, no one breathes. I can see the gears turning in Emma’s head, her eyes darting from my flushed face to Cole’s possessive grip on my waist. She looks remarkably small in her oversized pajamas, her hair gathered in a messy bun that is now tilted to one side. The shock on her face isn't loud or hysterical; it is a quiet, devastating clarity.
​"You have to go," I say, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. I don't look at Cole. I keep my eyes on the spill on the floor.
​"Riley," Cole begins, his voice low and grounding. He doesn't let go of me immediately. He is a protector by nature, a man who stands his ground when the wind starts to howl. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the instinct to step between me and the judgment in the room. "I’m not leaving you to deal with this like this."
​"Please," I say, finally meeting his gaze. My eyes are pleading. If he stays, this becomes a confrontation. If he leaves, it’s a conversation. I need it to be a conversation. "I can handle Emma. You being here just makes it... it makes it a spectacle. Just go. Please."
​He looks at Emma, then back at me. There is a flash of something fierce in his expression, a silent promise that we aren't finished, before he slowly untangles himself from me. He slides off the counter, his movements heavy and reluctant. He pauses for a second, his hand lingering on my knee before he turns to grab his jacket from the chair.
​"We aren't done talking about Portugal," he says to me, his voice firm enough to remind me that he isn't just retreating. He walks toward the door, passing Emma without making eye contact. He doesn't apologize. Cole doesn't apologize for things he means.
​The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is even heavier than the one that preceded it. Emma hasn't moved. She is still staring at the spot where we were just wrapped around each other.
​"The ice cream is melting," I say, the wit I usually rely on feeling like a blunt instrument.
​Emma finally looks up. She doesn't look angry. She looks exhausted. "Forget the ice cream, Riley. Just... get off the counter."
​I slide down, my legs feeling a bit like jelly. I grab a handful of paper towels and kneel to clean up the mess on the floor, grateful for the excuse to look away from her. My mind is racing, trying to find a lie, a justification, a way to spin this into something less than the betrayal it clearly is. But the image of me wrapped around her best friend’s father is a hard one to explain away.
​"Don't bother with the floor," Emma says, her voice flat. "Get in the bathroom. Now."
​I follow her like a condemned woman. We go into the small bathroom off the hallway, and she closes the door, turning the lock with a definitive snap. She sits on the edge of the bathtub, and I take the only other available spot on the closed toilet lid. The room is cramped, the air still damp from someone's evening shower. The hum of the ventilation fan is the only sound between us for a long minute.
​"How long?" Emma asks. She isn't looking at me. She’s looking at the floral shower curtain.
​"It’s complicated," I start, but she cuts me off with a sharp shake of her head.
​"No more complicated. Just numbers, Riley. How long has this been happening? Was it before the tournament? Was it during the summer?"
​"Since the night of the gala," I admit, the truth feeling like a weight lifting even as it crushes me. "It wasn't planned. It just... it happened. And then it kept happening."
​Emma lets out a long, slow breath. She leans her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands for a moment. When she looks up, there is a grief in her eyes that makes my heart ache. I expect her to scream. I expect her to tell me what a horrible person I am for doing this to Lena. Instead, she just looks at me with a terrifyingly precise focus.
​"I knew," she says quietly. "I’ve known for weeks. I just didn't want to believe I was right."
​"You knew?" I repeat, my voice barely a whisper.
​"The bathroom incident at his house," Emma says, ticking points off on her fingers. "The way you looked like you’d seen a ghost when I came looking for you. I saw the way he looked at you during that dinner with the scouts. It wasn't the look of a coach. It was the look of a man who was starving and you were the only meal in the room. And then there was the way you reacted when Lena told you he was taking me out on a date. You didn't look jealous, Riley. You looked like you were being executed."
​I stare at her, my internal monologue screaming at me for being so transparent. I thought I was being so careful. I thought I was a master of disguise.
​"The date," I say, the realization hitting me. "You didn't actually like him, did you?"
​Emma gives me a sad, knowing smile. "I like Cole. He’s a good man. But I never had genuine feelings for him, not like that. I accepted that date because I needed to test what I already suspected. I wanted to see how he would behave when he was with a woman who wasn't you. He spent the entire night talking about the team, about the future, about everything except the person sitting across from him. He was a million miles away, and I knew exactly where his head was. I was trying to protect you, Riley. I thought if I stepped in, maybe he’d realize how dangerous this was and back off before you got hurt."
​"Emma, I'm so sorry," I say, my voice cracking. "I never wanted to lie to you. Especially not about this. It’s just... if Lena finds out, it’s over. Not just for me and him, but for all of us. She’ll never forgive me."
​"You’re right about that," Emma says, her voice regaining its edge. "Lena sees the world in black and white. Loyalty is her religion. You are her sister, and he is her father. Finding out you’ve been sleeping together is the ultimate heresy. She won't just be mad; she'll be destroyed."
​"Then why didn't you tell her?" I ask. "If you knew, why let it go this far?"
​"Because I love you too," Emma says, and the simplicity of it hurts more than any insult. "I kept hoping you’d tell me. I kept hoping you’d come to your senses and realize that no man, not even one as charming as Cole, is worth losing your best friend over. But then I saw you on that counter tonight. I saw the way you were looking at him. You aren't just having an affair, Riley. You’re in love with him."
​I don't deny it. I can't. Not after what he said to me tonight. Not after the way he looked at me and told me he’d burn the city down. "He loves me too. He told me tonight. He told me he wouldn't let me go to Portugal."
​Emma’s eyebrows shoot up. "Portugal? What are you talking about?"
​I explain the email, the scout, the trial. I tell her about the two-week deadline and the terrifying possibility of leaving everything behind. For a moment, we aren't a girl and her roommate who just got caught in a scandal; we’re just two friends talking about a dream.
​"You have to go," Emma says firmly. "If you stay here for him, you’ll end up hating him. And if you stay here while Lena is on the warpath, you’re going to get caught in the crossfire."
​"I know," I say, leaning my head against the cold tile of the wall. "But I don't know how to leave without everything blowing up. I feel like I'm holding a grenade with the pin already pulled."
​Emma stands up, smoothing out her pajamas. She looks older than she did twenty minutes ago. The weight of the secret is visible in the slump of her shoulders. She walks to the door but doesn't open it yet. She turns back to me, her expression grave.
​"I will keep the secret," she says. "I won't be the one to tell Lena. I don't want that blood on my hands, and I don't want to be the one who breaks her heart. You have to be the one to do it, or you have to be the one to end it. But you need to know something, Riley. Something I realized while I was watching her today."
​My stomach does a slow, sickening roll. "What?"
​Emma leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper that feels like a death sentence. "Lena has the receipt from L'Incontro. She has the screenshot of those initials on her laptop. She’s been cross-referencing everything, and she spent three hours on the phone tonight while you were out. She’s meeting with one of your dad’s old colleagues tomorrow morning. Apparently, he used to work with the same firm that Thorpe uses for his logistics."
​I feel the blood drain from my face. My father’s colleagues. People who knew me when I was a kid. People who know exactly who I am and who I’m connected to.
​"She’s not investigating a stranger anymore, Riley," Emma says, her eyes searching mine with a terrifying pity. "She’s stopped looking for a mysterious mistress. She’s started looking at the timeline of your life. She’s investigating you."