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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DINNER BETWEEN FRIENDS

EMMA

“ W hat about this one?” I model a tea length, swing style dress for my sister over video chat.

“Nope. That one’s too…cartoon teacher with a pet lizard.”

“This is one of my favorites,” I protest.

“That’s fine, but it doesn’t negate my point. That is not a first date dress. Do you have anything that doesn’t have a circle skirt?”

I rifle through my closet and eventually find a charcoal gray sheath dress that I haven’t worn in years. I doubt it’ll fit me, but I humor Molly. Stepping out of the royal blue dress patterned with tiny stars, I step into the gray sheath and slip my arms into the three quarter sleeves. Once it’s zipped, it’s incredibly snug, which would be fine if we weren’t going to my favorite Italian restaurant for dinner.

“This one isn’t me, Molly,” I sigh, shoulders slumping as I look at the stranger reflected in the mirror.

“I agree. Go back to the other one. He likes you for you, right? Don’t be anyone but yourself tonight.”

Relief settles over me as I pull my favorite dress back on and slip into a complimenting cardigan and pair of ballet flats. My hair hangs in loose waves instead of my usual braid or ponytail and as the clock ticks, my anxiety ticks up with it. What if I screw this whole thing up? What if I already screwed this whole thing up by calling tonight a date? Did I read more into it than he meant? Am I setting my expectations too high? What if…

The thought tickles the back of my brain.

What if?

What if I let myself get attached? What if I finally form a lasting connection with someone? I’ve never been stationary for as long as I’ve been here, but as much as I want to get into the game again, I run the risk of re-injuring myself. I may never play the same again. What if I get out there and I’m not the midfielder I used to be? What if I get out there and can’t play more than one half of a match at any given time? What team is going to want to sign someone that comes with so much unknown?

I’ve seen it before in baseball and football – aging, previously injured athletes who get trotted out for retirement tours only to have one at bat, or throw one pass and ride the bench for the rest of the game. That’s not the return to the game that I want. I don’t want to be a glorified mascot for whatever team pities me enough to offer me a contract. I won’t do that. If Scott can guarantee that isn’t going to happen, that will help my decision making process.

“Stop it,” Molly’s voice cuts through my intrusive thoughts. “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re catastrophizing. Don’t. It’s going to be fine. You look fantastic, and more importantly than that, Jax is not like the other jerks you’ve dated.”

“You always could read my mind,” I smile in spite of myself.

“You’re thinking about more than the date though, aren’t you.” It’s not a question but a statement. And as much as I want to deny it, she’s right.

“How much of your uncertainty is based on fear?” Molly asks, and I can feel her gaze on me even through the screen.

“Fear of what?” I ask, wishing I had something in my hands to occupy me so that I don’t have to engage this line of questioning.

“Failure, inadequacy, getting hurt again. Choose your own adventure.”

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

“Maybe a little bit afraid that you’re going to be used to make money? A comeback season, and all that.”

Taking my computer off of my dresser, I sink down into the armchair in the corner of my room and balance it on my lap, letting the comfort of the chair surround me, wishing Molly was here instead of across the country.

“That’s what scares me the most. If I’m going to get back in the game, I want to play. I don’t want to ride the bench or sell tickets. I’m worried that I’m too much of a risk to be put in a lineup, but enough of a commodity to be used to sell tickets and raise television ratings.”

“Have you shared this with anyone? Your agent, maybe? You know, the person who helps negotiate your contract?”

“No. The last time I did that, it was leaked to the press.” Knowing that my sister is new to the world of sports media, I’m careful with what I say here, but she needs to know the reality of being a woman in sports. “I was painted as a diva, and difficult to work with. Too assertive, too bossy, too outspoken. So I signed the contract, put my head down and led the team to a cup championship.”

I’ve always been too much for some people; too loud, too disruptive, too…everything. When that article came out, it reminded me of every report card that said I had potential but talked too much. Against everyone’s advice, I issued an apology and went back to work. I avoided the media as much as I could after that. And found myself a new agent. Scott encouraged me to speak up for myself, to ask any questions I may have, and also understands my hesitation to do so most of the time. He’d be understanding now, I’m sure, but my nervousness won’t let me ask the questions that need asking. And he’s gotten pushy lately, to the point that I would rather avoid his calls than talk to him.

“I remember,” Molly looks uneasy. For a while after that article came out, I was very cautious about conversations with my sister. Even though I know she’d never write or publish anything about me or my career, I can’t be blamed for being a little anxious. “But hey, enough about that! You’ve got a date tonight. Enjoy your time with him and don’t think about your agent or going back to soccer at all. Go and stuff your face with pasta.”

“And garlic bread,” I smile, feeling a smidge of my anxiety melting away.

“Only if he does,” Molly waggles her eyebrows and I close out the video chat to the sound of her laughter. Grabbing my purse and checking to be sure I have my phone, wallet, and keys, I head out to the living room and sit nervously on the couch until I hear tires crunch in my driveway. Resisting the urge to walk to the door and open it before he’s out of his car, I make myself wait until the doorbell rings and when I see him on the threshold, I’m glad I waited.

He stands there in dark blue dress pants with a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and my mouth is suddenly dry. His dark hair is slightly windswept, and there’s a dusting of stubble on his chin and cheeks. Every word I’ve ever known is gone as my eyes take in the man standing before me and my brain, like my old hand me down laptop in college, buffers with a spinning beach ball of death.

“Wow,” he breathes out the word as his eyes travel from my head to my toes. When his eyes meet mine again, his hand finds its way to the back of his neck in what I now know to be a nervous gesture, something he does when his own brain is buffering. When he smiles at me, my stomach ties itself in knots. “You look…”

“So do you,” I fill in when he doesn’t finish his thought. I step outside and shut the door behind me, Jax still standing there in silence, watching me. “Shall we?”

“What?”

“Go to dinner?”

“Right. Dinner. Yes, let’s do that.”

He’s nervous. I am too, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll have to carry the conversation tonight, or if we’ll just eat in silence. Jax opens the passenger door for me and carefully shuts the door once I’m inside. Jax drives for a few minutes in silence, and while normally I wouldn’t mind comfortable silence, this is…tense. Loaded.

Coming to a stop at a red light, Jax plugs his phone into the car and pulls up directions to an Italian restaurant about thirty minutes away, and the soundtrack from the latest hit animated movie pours through the speakers. Jax fumbles with the dial, turning the music down with slightly shaking fingers.

“Jax,” without thinking, I rest a hand on his knee, hoping to ease some of his nervous energy, by forgetting my own. “This is okay, you know? Us dating? Or at least going on this date. If that’s what this is.”

“Do you want it to be? A date?” His eyes slide to mine for a split second, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel loosening.

“Yes, I think I’d like it to be. And I know that there are factors we need to consider if we decide that we want to do it again.”

“You mean, my daughters,” his jaw clenches and I’m worried he’s misunderstood me. “Because they aren’t just factors in this equation, they are…”

“Jax,” I squeeze his knee, hoping he’ll stop before he says something he’ll regret. “I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant…”

I wish we weren’t having this conversation in the car, but rather somewhere more comfortable, less claustrophobic. Less…stifling. But the last place I want to have this conversation is in the restaurant, and we apparently have some time left in the car together. Steadying myself with a deep breath

“I only meant that I understand how important they are to you, and that any kind of relationship you have would affect them as well. And I want you to know how much I adore your daughters. I would never want to do anything that would hurt them.”

“I know that,” taking one hand off the wheel and settling it overtop of mine in a gesture that I wasn’t expecting, Jax blows out a frustrated breath. “And I’m sorry I was so defensive just now. I’d planned on us having this conversation, or at least a similar one, at some point. I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

“If we get it out of the way now, we can enjoy the date without this discussion looming over us,” I try to lighten the mood in the car, but I can’t read Jax and I’m worried I’ve said the wrong thing. Again. So, I do what I’ve always done, I back off. I fold my hands in my lap and watch the road go by as we drive.

Have him turn the car around. Call it off now. He’s angry and doesn’t want to continue with the plan. I’m no stranger to intrusive thoughts, playing out worst case scenarios in my mind, and I’d rather call this off than go through with it thinking that I’ve ruined things. Or even worse, that when this is all over, I’d just be rejected.

“Emma?” The car is stopped, the music is gone, and Jax’s hand envelopes mine. “Hey? You alright?”

“If you’re having second thoughts about tonight, I understand.” My voice is tight, almost unrecognizable to my own ears. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a first date called off before it began.”

“That’s definitely not happening,” Jax’s brow furrows in a scowl that flashes quickly across his features and is soon replaced with a look of confusion. “We’ll unpack that whole statement another time, but for now, we’re having dinner. Don’t move.”

I do as I’m told, unbuckling, but staying put as Jax walks around the car, and opens my door, offering me a hand as I climb out of the car. When he offers me his arm to escort me into the restaurant, I’m happy to loop my arm through his and walk close to his side as we enter the restaurant. Walking through the door that Jax holds open for me I’m hit with the smell of bread baking in a wood oven as my eyes adjust to the dim light of the restaurant. We’re led to a booth near the back of the dining room, and when Jax sits down across from me, he gives me a small, lopsided smile that causes my heart to flip flop in my chest.

I occupy my hands with the menu, knowing full well that I’m ordering lasagna, but needing a way to keep my hands busy and my mind from straying away from being here on this date with Jax. When my phone starts buzzing in my purse, heat floods my cheeks and I want to slink under the table.

“You can answer it if you need to,” Jax isn’t put out or annoyed, but understanding.

“It’s probably my agent,” I answer while reaching into my bag and checking the screen, confirming my suspicions. “And he’s no stranger to my voicemail.”

“He’s persistent,” Jax chuckles as my phone buzzes again, immediately after I silenced it the first time. This time setting my phone to do not disturb . “I really don’t mind if you take the call.”

“I don’t have an answer for him yet, so there’s no reason to take the call.”

“An answer for what? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Whether or not I’m going to play again.”

Our waitress chooses that moment to step up to our table and take our drink orders, and Jax orders an appetizer plate of bruschetta for us to share. When she walks away we’re left with quite possibly the heaviest of first date topics hanging between us.

“Do you want to play again?”

“So this is a get all the big questions out of the way right now kind of first date?” I ask and Jax barks out a laugh, truly relaxing for the first time all night.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“When I first signed with Chicago, all I was concerned about was doing my job. Whether I was a starter or a sub, it didn’t matter. If I put in the work and did my job, I was happy at the end of the day. My time with the National Team was really the highlight of my career, and I always hoped that my career would end on my terms, you know? Not because of something outside of my control.”

“Like a torn ACL.”

“Exactly. And the doctors and physical therapists all tell me that I can play again, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little bit of fear there.”

“Fear of getting hurt again?”

“That’s part of it. And I’m a little worried that I’m nothing more than a marketing ploy. But there’s a part of me that would love to play again. Not that I don’t love my job now, but I’d love to be on a team again. Have the chance to go out on my own terms.”

The waitress drops off our drinks and a plate of bruschetta that we dive right into after ordering our entrees, and I’m thankful for the reprieve from the conversation, and for the delicious appetizer Jax ordered. The crostini are perfectly toasted, and the bruschetta is balanced nicely with fresh tomatoes and basil. I would be happy to make this my meal, but I’m looking forward to the lasagna-for-two that we ordered. And I’m also looking forward to getting to know Jax.

Finally.

“I’m glad you chose me to help with the scrimmage the other night,” Jax smiles as he takes a bite of lasagna. “Especially if it means finally having dinner with you.”

“Finally?” I try not to smile, but can’t help it, as his words echo my thoughts.

“I could try to spin that, but I’m choosing to own it; yes, finally .”

“Since when?” I ask, against my better judgment. “Because I know it wasn’t the day you almost killed me with a baseball.”

“Ah,” Jax lays his fork on his plate, eyeing me intensely from across the table. “That wasn’t a great day for me, and I took out a lot of frustration…and anger…on the baseballs that day. And on you. I apologize for the way I spoke to you that day. And for waiting so long to actually apologize.”

“It’s okay, Jax. Really. We all have off days.”

“It was more than an off day. In the spirit of tough conversations on the first date…it was my ex.”

This first date is turning out to have more dramatic conversations than a soap opera, but he’s right, what better time to drop off all the emotional baggage than now? And there’s a bit of emotional baggage between us.

“That day would have been our anniversary. It doesn’t usually affect me, but that morning I’d been filling out school paperwork and it was right there in front of me, in black and white. I’ve been a single dad for eight years but sometimes…it’s still a punch in the gut that there’s this missing piece. Even if they’ve never seen it that way.”

“My dad raised Molly and me on his own until I was about thirteen years old,” I tell him, my eyes on the plate in front of me until I hear Jax blow out a breath. “The woman who gave birth to us left when I was six and Molly was three. Molly has no memories of her. I have a few not so great ones. It’s different when you know the piece isn’t just missing, it chose to leave. But eventually, you come to realize it wasn’t the right piece to begin with. My Mom, Maureen Mitchell, is the woman who chose to love me. Chose to love my dad and my sister. She was there for my first heartbreak, she was there for birthdays and holidays, and that’s what I choose to hang onto. Believe me when I tell you, Jax, your girls are going to remember the things that you are there for.”

“Do you know where she is?” He asks quietly.

“She reached out to me when I made the National Team.” And ghosted me after I was injured and out of the game. Then I got word that she passed. That’s a whole other kind of pain. Add to that, she never once reached out to Dad or Molly? She was clearly trying to capitalize on me and my name. My perceived fame. And once that was gone, so was she. Again. And then she was gone for good. “As far as I’m concerned, Maureen is my mom. And my dad is my hero.”

Jax watches me for a long, charged moment, silence hanging between us as every sound in the restaurant is amplified. The sound of silverware on plates, ice clinking in glasses, wait staff in and out of the kitchen, shoes squeaking on the floors. I hear it all as my pulse races and pounds in my ears. Until…

“Thank you,” his voice quakes with emotion. “I needed that more than you could know.”

As we continue to eat, we ask mundane questions like favorite food and favorite color. Lasagna and purple for me, carnitas and dark green for Jax. A discussion of holiday traditions leads to talk of Halloween coming up, the Thanksgiving invitation that Alice managed to snag for me, and a debate over Christmas cookie preferences.

“I will not listen to gingerbread slander,” Jax laughs as our coffee and tiramisu are delivered to the table. “It's a classic for a reason.”

“But sugar cookies can be cut into fun shapes and decorated as more than just men and women with gumdrop eyes!”

“No one builds sugar cookie houses, Emma.”

“Maybe they just haven’t tried, Jax.”

The drive home is much better than the drive to the restaurant as we sing along to music that Jax insists he doesn’t know the words to and only listens to for the benefit of his daughters. And when the playlist ends, we switch to a soccer game on the radio.

“Do you want to watch the end of this one with me?” Jax asks. “The girls are at James and Mandy’s. I could make popcorn…”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

Following Jax into the house, I leave my shoes by the front door and trail him into the kitchen where he sets to work on stovetop popcorn and points me toward the fridge for drinks.

“Jax, you have like six different kinds of iced tea in here.” I laugh as I take in the multiple plastic pitchers filled with different kinds of tea. Jax steps up behind me, one hand coming to my waist as the other rests on the open door.

“I like the ginger peach best.” Jax reaches in and selects a pitcher of white tea, his body heat surrounding me and making me quite thankful for the open refrigerator.

With our popcorn and iced tea in hand, we make our way to the couch and turn on the soccer game. I sit down beside Jax and shift a bit on the lumpy couch cushion. Reaching behind me, I extract a ball of yellow yarn from the couch and hold it out to Jax with a questioning look as he takes the puff ball from my outstretched hand.

“You sat on Walter.” His tone is grave but his eyes dance with laughter.

“Who… what …is Walter?”

“Walter is my mom’s attempt at teaching the girls to crochet. Mackenzie picked it up pretty quickly, but Alice found the pom-pom maker and went to town.” The pom-pom in question has scraggly, uneven lengths of variegated yellow yarn and googly eyes buried in its mass. It really is very cute. And very Alice. “Walter is beloved in this house.”

“I can see why. He’s adorable.”

“Mackenzie has given him an entire backstory, too,” Jax stretches an arm across the back of the couch and I shift toward him ever so slightly, hoping he’ll take the hint and drop that hand to my shoulder. “Apparently he can fly. And according to Alice he’s the reason that curveballs curve.”

“Excuse me?” I laugh.

“I don’t know,” Jax’s laughter fills the room as his arm finally comes around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his side. “But I’m begging them to write it down.”

At halftime, I find myself dozing against Jax’s shoulder, thankful for his warmth surrounding me as he draws a blanket over our laps, and the security that his proximity provides – enough for my brain to quiet and let me sleep knowing that he’s holding me close. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, and I sink deeper into his arms and into a sound sleep.

“Children incoming!” a voice shouts through the fog of sleep and I jolt awake, to find myself stretched out on the couch in Jax’s living room with a blanket spread over me. Looking around, I find Jax in the kitchen making coffee and the girls running through the front door toward him. I’d like to throw the blanket over my head and hide when James catches my eye from the front door and throws me a wink. Heat floods my cheeks as I stand up from the couch, and watch as the girls race down the hall toward their rooms, paying me no mind.

Jax hands me a coffee mug that I gratefully accept, inhaling the dark, bitter roast before fortifying myself with my first sip.

“Let me run you home,” Jax says, distractingly attractive with bed head and his low slung flannel pajama pants. And a tee shirt that may as well be painted on for all that it hugs his body.

“What about the girls?”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain my brother is still here,” Jax walks to the front door and opens it, James falling inside as he does. “He can stay with the trouble makers while I run you home.”

The short drive to my house is silent until we’re stopped in my driveway and Jax starts to laugh. “In case you’re wondering, I tried to wake you up last night, but you were sound asleep and when I got up off the couch, you didn’t budge.”

“I don’t usually sleep well at home. My anxiety likes to keep me awake, my brain won’t shut up most of the time,” Jax watches me, listening intently as I explain myself. “Last night, my brain was quiet enough to let me sleep.”

“I’m glad you felt safe. With me.” His hand moves to the back of his neck as a small smile creeps across his face. “Let me walk you to your door?”

“Sure.”

I use the ten seconds it takes him to walk from his side of the car to mine and open my door to still my racing thoughts. Jax offers me his hand and helps me from the car, walking with me to my front door where I fumble and drop my keys. Fitting my key into the lock I open my door and cross the threshold, Jax a step behind me when I turn around nearly bumping into him.

“Emma,” his voice a hoarse whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

We shouldn’t, my brain screams at me. Think of the kids. Think of Mrs. Owens. Don’t kiss him!

“Yes,” I hear myself whisper as I close the short distance between us, and press my lips softly to his. Jax’s warmth envelopes me as his lips meet mine and his arms wrap softly around me. I sigh and lean into him, my hands settling against his chest as I tentatively return his kiss. When Jax breaks off the kiss, I walk inside in a daze, the ghost of his kiss against my lips, and the phantom feeling of his arms around me. Now I have to get ready for today’s soccer game, knowing that I’ll see him again soon, and wanting to do that again.