Page 34 of The One Timer

“I hope I’m doing as well as you when I get to eighty-six.”

She smiles. “I’m sure you’ll do even better. You have excellent healthy habits compared to me at your age.” She gives me a devilish grin.

“Sounds like there’s a story in there somewhere.” I’m hoping she’ll tell me a story from her past like she sometimes does because they’re always entertaining.

“Of course there is. They didn’t call me Molly the Mischief Maker for nothing.”

I laugh, anticipating a good story as I stand at the table, pouring water from the pitcher into her glass.

But before she gets to the story, the back door opens, and I look up, pitcher mid-pour, to see who it is.

It’s Chase walking into the kitchen towards me.

My mouth opens, but I have no words. I forget to breathe. All the blood drains from my head.

And water splashes onto the table and the floor as I empty the water pitcher, missing the glass entirely.

Chapter Eleven

CHASE

Ilet myself in the back door and walk into the kitchen. It’s lunchtime, and I find Grandma sitting at the table, laughing with a young woman pouring water. My smile is automatic as I move forward.

Then the young woman looks up, and my head explodes in confusion.

It’s Emery.

When the pitcher slips from her hand, I rush forward to help, the chaos in my head evaporating as I go into emergency mode.

“Let me get that,” I say as we both bend to pick up the pieces. “Don’t move.”

“You don’t…” Her voice, so familiar, tugs at me, and a fresh swell of emotion fills me.

“Chase will help you, Emery,” Gran says. “This is Emery O’Keefe. She’s the treasure I’ve mentioned who takes good care of me.”

“Let me get a broom,” Emery mutters and ducks away before I can stop her. I place the two large pieces of glass I retrieved on the table and take some napkins to soak up the puddle.

My gaze follows Emery as she returns with a broom and dustpan.

“Let me do that. You look unnerved,” I say as my heart pounds against my ribs like a wild beast caught in a cage. However, on the outside, I remain cool. I credit years of practicing my game face for when under pressure in hockey games.

But what the actual fuck is going on?

“Come, give me a hug, Chase,” Gran says. “To what do I owe this nice surprise? I thought you weren’t coming until after your Christmas day game tomorrow?”

With my heart still in stampede mode, I struggle to tear my eyes from Emery and pay attention to Gran—something’s clearly wrong with that fucking picture, so I force myself to get a grip.

I give Gran an extra big hug to make up for getting distracted. “I wanted to surprise you and put your Christmas present under the tree for Christmas morning.”

In truth, I’m still distracted as I watch Emery finish sweeping up the glass. How could this girl, laughing with grandma, possibly be…?

Then it clicks. Grandma gave her the tickets.

She empties all the glass into the trash and then turns, standing awkwardly against the counter two feet from me, looking like she wants to escape. But she can’t—not without getting past me. And that’s not going to happen.

Her mouth opens to speak, her face pale though still beautiful, but she says nothing.

Then she looks away, grabs a cloth from the counter, and dries her hands as I hold her gaze.