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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SNOWED IN WITH YOU

JAX

S unlight streams in from the nearby windows and I open my eyes to find myself stretched out on the couch, a vague memory of holding Emma in my arms on this very couch last night or early this morning. Was it a fever dream? That’s possible but, I press the back of my hand to my forehead and I don’t feel feverish. Sitting up, I stretch my tight muscles and my attention is drawn to the woman in my kitchen, clad in pajamas, with a mixing bowl and canisters on the counter in front of her.

“Good morning,” I call from the couch, my voice raspy from sleep. Her eyes meet mine and a smile spreads across her face.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Much better than I did yesterday, but very, very sore.” I join Emma in the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil on the stove, noticing the time on the clock. “Shouldn’t you be at school by now? It’s awfully late.”

“Take a look outside.”

I slowly open the curtains that conceal the sliding door, revealing several inches of snow piled up on the deck, with more snow continuing to fall.

“I got the call around six, you were sound asleep and I didn’t want to wake you so I thought I’d let you and the girls sleep in for a bit.”

“And you thought you’d just…whip up some pancakes?”

“Waffles, actually,” she points to the waffle iron plugged in on the counter behind her. “And hot cocoa. I was going to have the girls make it, I’d rather you rest today.”

“I can rest today, and still help you in the kitchen.”

“You’re sick, Jax.”

“It was a stomach bug, Em. Nothing to worry about.”

“Jax,” Emma’s playful demeanor drops as she stops whisking waffle batter in the bowl in front of her. “I worry. It’s what I do. It’s one of the things I’m best at. I try not to worry, but when you’re the oldest daughter of a single dad, with a younger sister who liked to find trouble as a kid – and honestly, still sort of does – worry comes naturally. So please, just…take it easy. For my sake.”

I close the distance, however small, between us and wrap my arms around Emma, drawing her against my body. She relaxes into my arms, tension draining out of her body as she presses her cheek to my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, her own arms wrapping around my waist. “I get carried away sometimes.”

“That’s one of many things I love about you, Emma.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “You have nothing to apologize for, I shouldn’t have teased you. You say you worry, and it’s what you’re best at, but what I hear Emma, is that you love. You love so deeply, and that is what you’re best at. I don’t ever want you to think that I’m not grateful for the love that you give, or that there is something wrong with you and the way that you love.”

I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want to say or do something that would cause her to walk away. Emma and I have both experienced the pain of someone walking out – someone who should have loved us both. Someone who should have loved their children. I’m thankful everyday that Mackenzie and Alice weren’t old enough to remember that Angela left, but they know they don’t have a mom in their lives; I can’t imagine the pain that Emma experienced when Elizabeth left, and all but blamed her oldest daughter.

“I know you know this, but I will never stop reminding you that you are worthy of being loved exactly as you are. You don’t need to apologize for being yourself. Ever. But especially not with me.”

“Thank you, Jax.”

“I promise I’ll take it easy today,” I pull back and meet Emma’s watery gaze. “But, you have to do the same. It is a snow day, after all.”

“I think I can do that,” she smiles and wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “But first: waffles.”

“Always waffles.”

“Do you think Al will want sprinkles?”

“What kind of question is that?” I ask with a laugh, as Emma turns to the pantry and comes back with an assortment of sprinkles and lines them up on the counter before she starts the process of making waffles. I’ve been more than twelve hours now symptom free, but to appease Emma I let her check my temperature before I get started on bacon and scrambled eggs, and hot cocoa for the four of us.

Working in the kitchen with Emma is like doing any task with Alice, her mind is all over the place; a cabinet door left open here, a drawer left open there. She’s a whirlwind, but she’s focused on what’s in front of her. As the smell of waffles fills the air, I hear stirring at the end of the hall. Bedroom doors open and two very confused girls make their way to the kitchen where Emma and I are hard at work on breakfast.

Mackenzie makes a beeline for me, throwing her arms around my waist and holding on tight. Emma gives me a knowing look before turning back to the waffles with help from Alice.

“Are you feeling better?” Mackenzie asks, her voice small and loaded with emotion.

“So much better,” I smooth out her sleep tousled hair and press a kiss to the top of her head. I’m so glad it was nothing more serious than a gastrointestinal virus, and that it didn’t last more than twenty-four hours. It’s been a long time since I’ve been that sick, and I don’t care to repeat it again any time soon. “And I get to be home with you and your sister today.”

“And Ms. Emma.”

“Yeah,” I turn to see Emma helping Alice take a waffle out of the iron, my breath catching in my throat, “and Ms. Emma.”

The four of us sit around the table with our breakfasts – Emma and the girls have their waffles, bacon, and eggs, and I have eggs and toast at Emma’s insistence that taking it easy means not trying to push a lot of food right away, and honestly she’s right. Alice and Mackenzie catch me up on their Sunday with their grandparents and Alice excitedly informs me that Emma made sure they didn’t miss their chapter of Little Women last night.

“She read to us, she tucked us in, and…” Alice takes a large bite of waffle and exclaims around the mouthful, “she made us waffles.”

“She made sure you were okay,” Mackenzie’s voice is a whisper, eyes fixed firmly on her plate. Mackenzie is very reserved and always has been, she’s empathetic and compassionate, she loves with her whole entire heart – a lot like someone else I know – and I’ve never noticed until now that there could be some underlying anxiety that comes with that; Emma has opened my eyes to what’s been right in front of me all along. “I had fun with Grandpa and Grandma, but I’m glad we came home last night.”

When I saw Emma on the couch last night my mind started racing, thinking about what it would be like to wake up next to her someday, to hold her close in the night, to finally have someone to come home to at the end of the day – someone that doesn’t have an early bedtime, that is – but I don’t know if that’s something Emma and I can have. I don’t know where her head is yet; she said training and the scrimmage went well and seemed excited to play again, but there’s something she isn’t telling me, I can see it in her eyes.

My phone pings with a text from James: Snow’s pretty deep, I’m taking the truck out. Do you want me to dig you out? Does Emma need her driveway done?

Yes and Yes. I reply quickly. He doesn’t need to know that Emma is sitting at my kitchen table. He’ll eventually figure it out because I’m not going to let him dig my house out and leave without coffee or cocoa in payment for it.

“James is going to dig us out, and get your house too, so if you want to head home, you can.” Emma’s face falls, her hands going to her lap under the table where I’m sure she’s fiddling with the hem of her shirt, I’ve seen her do it before when she’s trying to process how to respond to something I’ve said. “But, I’m not kicking you out. The roads won’t be cleared for a while yet, and you’re more than welcome to stay. I’d love it if you’d stay.”

“I don’t want to impose, Jax. I can head home and…” I can see her racking her brain for things to do once she gets home, and I’d rather have her spend the day here, “...do laundry.”

“If you mean that laundry,” I point to her overnight bag, still sitting inside the door where she dropped it last night, “just do it here. Stay for the day. You’re not an imposition, I promise.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Believe me, I am.”

After breakfast the girls help me clear the dishes from the table, unload and reload the dishwasher while Emma uses my ensuite bathroom to shower and change into a pair of sweatpants and my Roosevelt Elementary sweatshirt that I pull out of the dresser for her before she steps inside and closes the door. The girls run off to their rooms to change out of pajamas and get dressed for the day spent inside, sheltered from the cold and snow.

I slowly assemble the blanket fort in the living room, building up the walls and spreading out plush blankets on the floor for extra cushioning. Alice brings out a few stuffed animal friends and tosses them inside, while Mackenzie sets up her own little reading nook in a far corner of the fort with all the pillows from her bed and her favorite quilt. It’s been a few years since I’ve spent a snow day with my girls, and I’m looking forward to a quiet day at home with them. And with Emma.

The water cuts off down the hall, and after a few minutes I hear Emma’s muffled voice from behind the door, not enough to make out what she’s saying – not that it’s my business anyway – but enough to know that she sounds unhappy, which is confirmed when she walks down the hall with her phone pressed to her ear and a scowl on her face. “I’m not doing another MRI, Scott. I barely got through the first one.”

She pauses, listening to whatever Scott has to say, clearly not happy with the response. Her hair hangs over one shoulder, damp and leaving wet patches behind on the heathered gray of my sweatshirt. The sweatpants I offered her hang loosely off of her hips and pool a bit around her ankles, but she doesn’t seem to mind, and I don’t mind seeing her like this.

“Why can’t it be my own medical team here?” She asks, frustration coloring her voice as Scott’s muffled voice responds. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No.” I hear her agent’s voice loud and clear this time. And watch Emma for a reaction. Her eyes close and her chest rises and falls in three measured, deep breaths. When she opens her eyes, she locks them with mine, and for just a second something flashes in her gaze that I can’t quite name.

“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll be there.”

Eyes closed, Emma takes another couple of deep breaths before her shoulders slump and she sighs, clicking off the screen of her phone and holding it out to me. “Put this somewhere far away where I can’t see or hear it, please.”

“Gladly.” I take her phone and walk past her, down the hall to my room, where I plug it in on the charger on top of my dresser. When I step back into the hall, I find her in the same place as if rooted to the floor. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull Emma close whispering, “wanna talk about it?”

“They want me there in two weeks. The powers that be are insisting that I have a physical done by the team physicians rather than my own medical team here at home. They want me to come out and do an MRI out there ‘just to be sure.’ And Sasha wants me to have some extra training and practice time in LA before she makes her decision.”

“What decision?”

“Whether or not I’m going to start the match.”

“You’re gonna go all the way out there and you don’t even know if you’re going to be a starter?” That’s frustrating for a lot of reasons.

“It’s one of the things I’ve been worried about since I was offered the contract; I don’t want to be trotted out as a season-long publicity stunt and then be benched. I’m beginning to wonder if any of this is the right thing to do.”

“Come with me.” I let go of Emma and take her hand, as we walk toward the blanket fort. “Get in.”

With a quirked brow and lopsided smile, Emma ducks into the fort and makes herself comfortable on the floor with her back against the couch near Mackenzie’s reading corner.

“Obviously we can’t keep avoiding these discussions, but it’s a snow day, and we’re hiding in the fort for the day.”

“I think I can handle that,” her smirk turns into a soft, genuine smile as I sit down beside her in the fort and pull up a streaming service on the television, setting it to a movie for the girls and covering my lap and Emma’s with a cozy blanket to share. Wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulders, she leans into me and closes her eyes. I know my couch isn’t all that comfortable and I can’t imagine she slept well last night, as evidenced by the yawn she tries to hide.

“I promised you that I would rest today, but I think you need to do the same. You’ve been busy since you got here last night, and before that you had a scrimmage and training. Give your mind and body a rest today.”

Emma lays her head on my shoulder and stretches her long legs out beside me, pressing close to my body as she adjusts the blanket covering us. Turning my head, I press a kiss to her forehead as a blast of cold air shakes the blanket fort and my brother’s voice calls from the front door.

“Happy snow day!” He stomps his feet on the doormat before closing the door behind him. “Jax, I stopped at Emma’s first and it doesn’t look like she’s home. She didn’t get stuck in New Jersey did she?”

Emma sits up with a chuckle and steals the blanket as I crawl out of the blanket fort. I’m met with a knowing smirk as he clearly saw her car in my driveway.

“She stopped by after the scrimmage yesterday and got stuck here, as a matter of fact.”

My brother’s smirk infuriatingly grows into a full blown grin, as he calls “hi Emma!”

“Hey James,” Emma calls from inside the fort. “Thanks for doing my driveway.”

“No problem,” his eyes meet mine, searching and then he pivots. “I found out today that my wife has never been sledding, so I thought we’d go to the park for a bit and wondered if the girls wanted to come. We would also feed them and warm them up before returning them to you. With the added benefit of giving you and Emma some alone time today.”

“If they want to, it’s fine with me.” It’s more than fine. I can’t keep them cooped up inside all day, and I’m hoping to take things slow today. Emma deserves a day to rest since her weekend was taken up by training and a scrimmage; she can try to hide it, but I see her wince every time she stretches her legs, or bends her knee. She needs a day to herself to rest and recover before going back to work and then eventually going out to LA.

The girls, predictably, are on board with their uncle’s plan and race off to grab their winter gear from the hall closet; they help each other into their snow pants and boots, adding winter coats, hats, and scarves. Once their mittens have been located, James and the girls venture out into the snow, leaving Emma and me behind.

Lowering myself to the floor, I carefully crawl back into the fort with Emma. She grins as I settle in beside her, covering us both with the blanket once more. She shifts, propping one elbow on the couch as she turns to look at me.

“Be honest,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a truck, but at least I’m not as sick as I was yesterday. Food poisoning, while thankfully short lived, is no fun. But, I’m more concerned about you, so be honest…how are you feeling?”

“Sore. And not in a good way. Not in the day after a great workout kind of way. Sore in a…why do I think I can do this again…kind of way.” She heaves a defeated sigh, pressing her forehead to my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her, drawing her against my chest and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t know if I’m trying to prove to myself that I can still play, or if I’m trying to prove to the world – or at least the world of women’s soccer – that I can still play.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” I realize I’ve said the wrong thing when she tenses up in my arms.

“I started playing soccer because I had anxiety that my dad didn’t know how to deal with. I could run around on the field and kick the ball, and crash in bed at night, completely exhausted,” her shoulders relax the tiniest bit as she tells me her story. “This was after Elizabeth left, and for the first few years I thought that if I could be the best soccer player, she’d somehow find out about it and come back to us. So I played and played and played. I would work on drills in the backyard until it was dark, I’d push myself in my games because I thought that if she could only see me now she’d see a different kid than the one that drove her away.”

It breaks my heart to think that Emma thought she had to prove herself and her worthiness of being loved. There are so many times I question Angela’s leaving and if I could have done anything to make her stay, and if there’s one thing I’m thankful for from those early days after she left, is the fact that my daughters don’t remember it. They weren’t old enough to know or understand why Angela left, unlike Emma who remembers the day Elizabeth walked out and the pain of her never returning.

“I pushed myself so hard during a game that I made myself sick – I threw up on the sideline and nearly passed out. Dad took me to urgent care and they couldn’t find anything wrong with me other than I pushed too hard. My teacher started recognizing signs of anxiety and had me talk to the school counselor. She was the one who finally figured out that my anxiety wasn’t just because of Elizabeth leaving, but because of undiagnosed ADHD. I had a lot of big emotions and didn’t know how to express them or work through them in a healthy way, and she helped me work on that. She also helped me process the trauma of Elizabeth leaving. It’s been twenty seven years since she left, and I’ve been in therapy for all but two of those years. So you’re right, thirty-three year old Emma knows that I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, but eight year old Emma sometimes needs that reminder.”

“What would eight year old Emma do if she could be on the field with no one to impress? With absolutely nothing to prove?”

“What?” Emma pulls away, brow furrowed in confusion, as she huffs out a laugh.

“I’m being perfectly serious; what would it look like if eight year old Emma had a soccer ball and a field all to herself?” She sits back against the couch, and I can see the wheels spinning in her head as she thinks about the implication of my question.

“She wouldn’t know what to do with herself,” Emma’s voice is a whisper, heavy with tears. “To be honest, neither would thirty-three year old Emma.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Then stop by first thing Saturday morning. I have an idea,” Jax says with a gleam in his eye. “But for now, let’s enjoy the blanket fort without the children.”