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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

INNER CHILD

EMMA

O n Saturday morning, after dropping the girls off with their aunt and uncle for another day spent in the snow, Jax pulls into the parking lot at the rec center, apparently someone owes Jax a favor, because the place is ours for the day.

“Mr. Owens,” Jax hugs the man after he unlocks the doors and presses a set of keys into Jax’s hand. “Thanks for this.”

“Don’t mention it. You and Ms. Mitchell have fun,” he says, “but not too much fun.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s what Elaine tells me,” he laughs. “And where are my granddaughters today?”

I snap my gaze to Jax as he sheepishly tucks his hands into his pockets, not meeting my gaze. “They’re hanging out with James and Amanda.”

“I’ll give him a call then,” Mr. Owens claps Jax on the shoulder and heads toward his car. Jax holds the door open and ushers me inside without a word. I don’t want to push, but I also want some answers. I follow Jax down the main hallway until we walk out onto an indoor soccer field where he directs me to change into my cleats while he does the same.

“When Angela cut ties with me and the girls, she did the same with her parents,” he says, tying the laces of his shoes. “Lee and Elaine – Mr. and Mrs. Owens – tried to reach out to her, tried to find out what went wrong, and she completely cut off contact. With everyone. But I wasn’t about to tell Lee and Elaine that they couldn’t see their granddaughters. It wasn’t their fault. I should have told you, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“I had my suspicions, but thank you for telling me.”

We finish getting ready and Jax tosses me a ball as I work through all the puzzle pieces from the last few months falling into place.

“Pick a side,” he says as we walk toward midfield.

“One-on-one?” I ask even though the answer is glaringly obvious.

“Just you and me,” he grins. “No one to impress. Nothing to prove.”

I stand at midfield, the ball on the line between us, and look from one end of the field to the other, assessing, waiting, and before Jax can stop me I kick the ball around him and race after it, streaking down the field before he can catch up with me. I fire it into the net from the penalty spot, and hear Jax call from behind me, “offside!” I laugh, and the sound of it echoes across the empty stadium, wild and free.

“Technically,” I laugh as he finally catches up to me, taking things a little slowly today, “I was onside when I got possession of the ball. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up, old man.”

“Oh, it’s on now,” he laughs as he jogs toward the net and grabs the ball, quickly putting it back in play. I chase him down the field, catching up in no time and jostling for the ball, getting my toe on it and knocking it out of his control. Running after the ball, I feel like a kid again, running drills in the backyard or kicking the ball around with Molly. There’s no pressure, no expectations, just me, the ball, the turf, and the goal.

And Jax.

He’s caught up to me now, putting his body between me and the goal, and I stop to regroup, keeping my foot on the ball and a decent distance between us. If Lara were here, she’d be to my right, I’d pass to her, run a few yards, and celebrate her goal, but right now it’s just me and Jax. The wall is too far away to try for a ricochet and run around him to get it back. But I could distract him.

Kicking the ball slowly in his direction, confusion evident on his face when I stop in front of him, the ball directly between our feet. Fisting his tee-shirt in my hand I pull him toward me, crashing our lips together in a kiss. One hand cups the back of my neck while the other settles on my waist, bunching the fabric of my shirt, fingers brushing my bared skin. I sink into the kiss, bracing myself with my hands on his shoulders and all thoughts of distraction are tossed out the window when his teeth nip at my bottom lip.

Jax breaks the kiss, leaving me breathless and wanting more as his lips brush the shell of my ear, “your tricks won’t work on me, temptress.”

I feel the ball brush by my feet and turn to watch as it rolls across the field toward Jax’s goal. My feet rooted to the spot, the memory of his kiss on my lips, Jax grins as he runs past me toward the goal where he fires the ball into the back of the net, raising his fists in the air in celebration.

“Well played,” I laugh, meeting him once more in midfield. “Very well played.”

Jax grabs me around the waist and draws me into his arms, after brushing the loose hair from my ponytail away from my face with gentle fingers, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “Have you always been a midfielder?” He asks, taking me by surprise.

“Since high school. I haven’t known any other position.”

“Anything you’ve ever wanted to do?”

“Yeah,” I nod, my smile stretching into a grin as I look down the pitch toward the goal. “Go stand on the penalty spot.”

With my toes on the goaline, I stare Jax down from twelve yards away. He spins the ball between his hands a few times, taking his time situating it on the penalty spot. He tamps down the turf around the ball as if there might be divots around the spot, and then he finally takes a few steps back from the ball, squaring up and getting ready to kick. I have a split second to react, to choose right or left, high or low, or straight down the middle. He looks unsure in his approach to the ball, taking a bit of a stutter step, but then – with darn near perfect form – he strikes the ball and sends it flying in my direction, right into the back corner of the net. I don’t even move. I’m too mesmerized by the long, toned line of his leg as he strikes the ball and follows through; distracted by the way his tee shirt clings to his body and the way his hair curls ever so slightly when damp with sweat.

“I want a do-over,” he laughs, “you didn’t even move.”

I toss the ball back to him and set back up on the goaline as he sets up once more on the penalty spot, and this time I don’t let myself get distracted by him or his body. I watch as he approaches the ball and leans slightly to his left, taking a chance that the ball will be coming to my right. I leap to the right and the ball smacks into my hands as I fall to the ground, wrapping my body around the ball to keep it from going into the goal. My hands sting like crazy but it’s worth it.

The turf is abrasive against my knees as I kneel in the goal, watching Jax walk toward me. Tears spring to my eyes as unexpected emotion wells in my throat. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of joy on the field. This kind of freedom. Freedom from the pressure to score, the expectations of my team and coaches, of fans. Freedom from the pressure and expectations that I put on myself to push harder and play better each time. The pressure I was feeling to come back and prove I can play this game again.

Rocking back, I drop to a seated position on the turf, taking a moment to catch my breath as Jax drops down to the ground beside me and hands me a bottle of water that I greedily accept.

“How did that feel?” He asks, his eyes search mine.

“Liberating,” I lie back on the turf, and Jax does the same, propping himself up on his elbow, watching me. “It reminded me of the first time I ever had a ball at my feet; I just kicked it and ran and suddenly my world didn’t feel so small and confusing. It made me feel the way I did before I started putting all that pressure on myself.”

“I’m glad,” he nods, thoughtful. I prop myself up, scooting closer to him and mirroring his pose.

“Thank you,” I whisper, closing the distance between us and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Thanks for helping me. And for helping eight year old Emma a little bit, too.”

“Any time.” His eyes stray to my lips and I lean into him, this time in a much less gentle kiss. His fingers tangle into the hair at the back of my neck, his other hand settled on my thigh as he kisses me with urgency and need. I kiss back with the same greediness, one hand at his waist and the other twining in his sweat dampened hair.

Jax breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to mine, leaving me breathless and wanting more. He gently kisses my forehead before getting to his feet and extending a hand to help me up. “One more round?”

“If it ends like the last one did? Yes please.”

Our second match ends with me collapsed on the turf beside Jax who makes plans for us to join James and Mandy for lunch. Not as satisfying an end as our last game, but I’ll take it. Jax reaches down and pulls me to my feet, helping me out of my cleats and back into street shoes and my winter coat before we brave the elements for the short drive to James and Mandy’s. The sun is shining when we exit the rec center, and the roads are slushy but not icy.

Pulling up to James and Mandy’s house, we find a family of snowmen built on the front lawn – one is draped with a flannel shirt and has a baseball cap on its head, another wears a fishing vest and a bucket hat with various lures around the brim – and what appears to be a snow fort with a stockpile of snowballs. Jax opens the door and ushers me inside the house, the interior of which is decked out in Christmas. The main floor feels like walking into a modern log cabin with exposed beams and gorgeous wood accents everywhere. The fire burning in the fireplace adds to the coziness and warmth of the house as Mandy greets us from the kitchen.

“Emma!” She gasps when she sees us, “aren’t you freezing?”

I look down at my legs, clad in nylon shorts under my winter coat. “A little, but I’ll warm up.”

“Jax, your brother and the girls are down the road at Mom and Dad’s. James left you some winter gear by the door to join the ambush. Bundle up and then tell my husband that I’ll have lunch ready in about ten minutes. I’m taking Emma upstairs to find her something a little warmer to wear.”

With a single nod Jax makes his way to the mudroom to do as he’s told, and Mandy loops her arm through mine before leading me to the upper floor of the house and into the main bedroom.

“We’re about the same size, I think,” she digs through the shelves in her closet and comes back with a sweatshirt and leggings before shooing me into the ensuite bathroom to change.

“A perfect fit.” I emerge from the bathroom and find her waiting on the end of her bed, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

“So,” she tries to play it cool. And fails. “What were you two up to today?”

“We played some one-on-one soccer.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She responds with a grin.

“There may have been some…tonsil soccer?” I immediately regret my choice of words, but the two of us dissolve into laughter as we make our way back down to the kitchen where Mandy asks about my weekend and how training went. As a former mental skills coach and current psychologist, I can see her wheels turning as I tell her about the weekend. And then I get to today.

“He took me to play soccer today. Just the two of us. There was no one else around and I felt so free, in a way that I haven’t in a very long time. He had me in the goal at one point, which is something I always wanted to do as a kid and never did.”

“How did that feel?” Amanda asks as she passes me a stack of plates to take to the table.

“Is it weird if I say…healing?”

“Not at all,” she turns and leans back against the counter, her smile growing thoughtful. “Is it weird if I tell you that your inner child needed a bit of healing, and it came through playing soccer?”

“What do you mean?”

“You shared a little bit on Thanksgiving about your mom, Elizabeth, leaving, and you’re not my client so I’m going to be careful here, but when she left, did you ever wonder if it was because of you?”

“I didn’t have to wonder,” I exhale a humorless laugh, “she came right out and said it.”

“That’s even worse than I imagined, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I’ve worked through all of that in therapy, so don’t worry. But today…it was better than any conversation I’ve ever had with a therapist.”

“It sounds to me like Jax helped you tap into your inner child today, gave you an experience you never got to have back then, and it not only helped heal inner child Emma but adult Emma as well.”

“Child Emma would have loved the freedom today afforded, the ease. The lack of pressure. The pressure that I put on myself, by the way. It was never my dad or any of the people around me.”

“We humans have a bad habit of putting pressure and expectations on ourselves,” Mandy says as the door opens and Jax returns with the girls and James on his heels. “I’m glad you’ve found someone to help you shed those expectations.”

“Me too.”

Alice and Mackenzie rush to me, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold, smiles on their faces as they greet me with hugs. I follow them to the mudroom and help them out of their boots, coats, and snowpants, and Jax isn’t far behind. Once the girls are out of their snow gear, they wrap themselves in too-big flannel shirts from their uncle and head back into the dining room. Jax wraps his arms around my waist and nuzzles his nose into my neck holding me tight as I laugh and try to shove his cold body away from me.

“You’re freezing !” I laugh, my hands pressing against his solid chest in an attempt to push him away.

“So help me warm up.” His voice is a rough whisper as his stubble scrapes the skin of my neck. “We could get out of here. Leave the kids with James and Mandy, and…”

“As much as I’d love to do that, I think I’d like lunch first.”

“That’s fair,” Jax laughs, pressing a cold kiss to the side of my neck. “But after…”

“No promises.”

Lunch with James and Mandy is so much fun. Their house is filled with warmth and laughter, and I love the ease with which Jax interacts with his family. I almost don’t want to go home at the end of the day; I don’t want to go home to my quiet house without the girls. Without Jax.

Mandy and I set up a board game to play with the girls while Jax and James handle the clean-up from lunch. Alice and Mackenzie pour over the rulebook as Mandy and I sort cards and game pieces.

“So,” Mandy says between shuffles of cards, “has Jax told you about the Christmas Eve party?”

“He has,” I nod, focusing on the score markers in my hand and moving them to the perimeter of the game board. “It sounds like a fun event.”

“It is. Mr. and Mrs. Owens go all out with decorations and food, and gifts for all the kids, it’s a great time. You’ve got a match the day before, right?”

“I do,” I respond, guilt nagging at the back of my mind. Guilt for not being able to give Jax an answer about the ball. Guilt for still not having decided about my future in women’s soccer. Guilt as I look at the girls sitting at the table with me, knowing that they are impacted by whatever decision I make. I tell her honestly, “I want to be here for it.”

“Are you looking forward to playing again?”

I know that I can be honest with her, I know that if anyone will understand the storm of thoughts in my head, it’s Amanda. She used to work with athletes, she’s a mental health professional, and she knows anxiety herself. Not only can I be honest with her, but I can trust her. She’s proven that in the short time that I’ve known her.

“Yes and no,” I tell her. “I’m looking forward to being on the field again in an actual game setting. But I’m not looking forward to the toll that it takes on my body. And my mental health.”

“So you’ve decided to go back?”

“No. I haven’t. I haven’t decided anything yet. I’m waiting until after the match to decide.” It’s true. I am waiting until after the match to officially make that decision, but after the last few days, I’m leaning toward this game being my last. I always told Molly that I wanted to leave on my own terms, to walk away under my own power rather than have my future decided by an injury and a medical staff. Of course, if I’m not up to par in my medical exams none of that will matter anyway. “If I can get that far. The medical team wants to check me out first.”

“At the risk of sounding like a cliche, how are you feeling about that?”

“Not great,” I exhale a humorless laugh. “They’re insisting on an MRI and I had a panic attack during my last one.”

“Come see me before you leave,” Mandy says, dealing four piles of cards. “I have a few techniques that might help you with that.”

“I’ll do anything shy of full anesthesia to get me through it.”

“Noted.”