Page 23

CHAPTER 22

EMERSON

Gunnar insists on driving me to the Scale Up Academy building before he heads to his pre-game activities at the arena. When the courier delivered my clearances yesterday, I almost cried in relief and immediately clicked to volunteer with the music classes. The director texted me within minutes saying they need all the help they can get.

So, here I am, missing a Fury home game, but Gunnar assures me that nobody can possibly attend every match. “We sometimes play four times a week, Salty. You need your you-time.” He pulls up in front of the building and leans over to kiss my cheek.

It seems like an innocent enough gesture, but my nerve endings didn’t get the memo that he was just being supportive. No, my body starts screaming at me to grab his collar and cram my tongue in his mouth.

I’m breathing heavily when I say, “Good luck tonight. Is it okay to say good luck to a goalie?”

He nods. “Yeah. What about you? Do I tell you to break a bone or is good luck okay?”

I laugh. “We don’t do good luck. You can tell me to have a good show, except I’m not performing. So maybe it’s okay to wish me luck?”

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I shiver at his touch. “All good things, Salty. I’ll see you later tonight.”

As he drives away with a beep, I wave and head inside. My phone vibrates, and I check it, thinking it’ll be something cute from Gunnar. But it’s just more upsetting crap from my mom.

I raised you to support this family, not destroy it, Emerson.

That hockey player punk has turned you against your duty.

I power down my phone and walk up the stairs, where I’m greeted by a frazzled Latina woman in bright red glasses. “Hi, I’m Lucia.” She looks behind me. “Did you bring your young person?”

I grin. “I’m Emerson. I emailed about volunteering.” I shrug. “I’m here to work.”

Lucia moans and dramatically slumps in her chair. “Oh, thank god. We are so shorthanded.” She peers through the door, where I hear a lot of blurts and thwapping sounds. “Can you help Omar with the tuning? Just…anything you can do will help.”

I nod and walk into the main room, where a line of kids fiddles with various instruments that are sorely in need of tuning. The rows of chairs are filled with adults trying to read or occupy younger siblings. The noise is deafening. Making my way to the front of the line, where a young dark-skinned man is wrestling with a tiny cello, I tell him, “Hi. I’m Emerson. How can I help with tuning?”

He stares at me. “You’re the string player, right?” He pushes the neck of the cello in my direction. “I can’t move these tuning pegs.”

I take a seat on the edge of the stage and gesture for the instrument. I study the instrument and nod at the young owner, a red-headed girl wearing overalls. What I wouldn’t have paid to be allowed to wear overalls and play the cello at her age! “Hi,” I tell her. “I’m Emerson. What’s your name?”

“Erin.”

“Well!” I pat the stage next to me. “Let me show you some tricks for this.” I pull a bar of soap from my bag and show Erin how to dab just a little bit on the pegs to lubricate them.

We get Erin’s cello tuned, and I look up to see that Omar has all the brass instruments in his line and has funneled the strings toward me. Within a few minutes, or what feels like just a few minutes, we get the kids all tuned and divided into smaller practice rooms with their instructors.

Omar says it’s fine—in fact, really helpful—if I pop in and out of the different string lessons to help kids with their body positioning while the teacher works with the groups.

I’ve never enjoyed anything more, and that includes all the fantastic experiences I’ve had with Gunnar as well as performing at the Sydney Opera House. These kids are bright and eager to learn about music. It holds a sense of mystery and discovery for them, and their enthusiasm makes the lesson all that much more exciting.

I was crammed into classical style lessons starting in preschool, but these kids are experiencing music for the first time as elementary-aged kids. I love that I’m a small part of their instruction, of stoking that fire they feel for the music.

The turnover between sessions is rapid enough that I don’t get a chance to chat with Omar or Lucia, but I’m more prepared this time and feel confident greeting families and guiding kids toward a line to have their instruments tuned. The second session is comprised of older kids who have a little bit of experience, and I enjoy it just as much because these kids understand the effort involved in making music, yet they still choose to be here.

I’m sweating, exhausted, and overjoyed when the final family clears out. Lucia grabs at her lower back, and Omar whistles. “Great job today, team. Emerson, you good?”

I smile and sit cross-legged on the stage. “I’m great. When do you need help next?”

Omar laughs. “Um, every day? All day? Seriously. How much time you got?”

I explain that I’m currently not employed. “Music is incredibly important to me. I have both the time and enthusiasm. I want to help!”

Lucia starts gathering her things, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know what we did to deserve you, but we’ll take it, Emerson. See you tomorrow afternoon?”

The academy is an out-of-school organization, so their hours are naturally in the evenings. I’m a little wary of cutting into time I could be spending with Gunnar, but I don’t have the time to unpack that urge. “You bet,” I tell Lucia. “Can’t wait.” And it’s true.

I walk outside, determined to figure out which bus to catch toward my apartment. I looked up the routes, and I’m pretty sure I can catch an 88 every few minutes at this time of day. But I’m thwarted by a pleasant honk and a woman leaning out of her car window, hollering my name.

It’s Gunnar’s mom.

“Juniper?” I walk toward her black SUV.

She beams. “Gunny said you might need a ride home. I wasn’t sure when you’d be finished. Hop in!”

My mouth drops open, but I walk around to the passenger side and climb aboard. The vehicle smells like food…and my mouth waters immediately. Juniper smiles. “You hungry? I thought maybe we could eat some pho and chat.” My stomach gurgles loudly, and we both laugh. “That settles it, then.”

She starts to drive. I tap my hands on the bag on my lap. “You’re not going to the Fury game? Aren’t all three of the guys playing?”

“Meh. They have plenty of games. I let go of the guilt about missing their games a long time ago. We’ll watch it on the TV, of course.” She smiles.

I nod. “Of course.”

Juniper asks me how things went at the music school, and I talk her ear off during the drive, telling her about all the joy they showed in their instruments. “And the music selection is so fun! They’re playing a song about hot dogs.”

Juniper parks on the street and grabs a takeout bag from the back seat. “Nothing like a song about food to put everyone in a great mood.”

Up in the apartment, I can tell that she’s used to moving about this space, but she hesitates midway through setting up the game on the giant TV. “I’m sorry,” she says. “This is your house, and I’m barging in as if I own the place.”

I shake my head. “Not at all. I don’t know how that thing works anyway.”

She laughs and gets back to work, pulling up the game, while I grab us bowls and silverware. I appreciate how Juniper sets up the food on the coffee table, where we can be comfortable eating on the couch. This family is so casual yet so intimate. It’s easy to feel good around them. It makes me realize how much of my life I’ve spent feeling bad.

“Do you eat meat? I wasn’t sure, so I got one chicken and one veggie. We can split them…”

“Mmm,” I interject. “I eat everything.” We work together, scooping the soup into two giant bowls, along with the rice noodles, bean sprouts, basil, and lime. Juniper dumps hot sauce into her soup and offers me a packet, but I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. “Okay, so I don’t eat everything.”

We’re quiet as we watch Gunnar, Alder, and Tucker being announced as starters, and Juniper eats a big bite of her soup before saying, “I was so sorry to hear about the article. Gunnar’s Uncle Tim asked me to share that he is ready to help, legally, however you might need. You know, he’s already Gunnar’s lawyer, so he’s pretty looped in.”

I furrow my brow. “Legally? What would that mean?”

She leans back against the couch and takes a slurp of broth. Swallowing, she says, “Things might get dicey if your family wants to retaliate against whoever wrote the article.” My expression must reveal my unease about the whole situation because Juniper squeezes my leg. “I want you to know we’ve fought this kind of crap before, and our family is here for you, okay?”

My throat is dry, and I take a sip of my soup, not sure what to respond to her offer. “I don’t even know what I would do. I’ve just been hoping it will all die down.” I haven’t answered my parents’ calls, and the longer I avoid speaking to them, the more I realize that it’s a healthy choice for me right now. I have space here to discover what I like, to eat when I’m hungry, and to wear clothes that make me feel good.

I know I stumbled into this as a drunken mistake, but every day in Pittsburgh feels more and more like I have finally found my real life—the one I’m meant to live.

Juniper sighs. “Honey, I don’t think it will blow over so easily. I haven’t met your father, but I’ve met men like him.”

I frown. “Meaning?”

She looks at me, quite serious. “He’s wealthy and powerful, and someone is threatening that. When people feel threatened, they act in their own interests and often don’t consider the people they harm in their wake.”

Her words ring in the air as Gunnar blocks a shot on the ice, and the announcer screams his name. We hear a roar from the crowd that continues as the camera zooms in on him. He’s smiling—beaming, really. I know in my gut that my father will attempt to wipe that expression from his face.