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CHAPTER THIRTY

“I THINK I’VE SEEN THIS FILM BEFORE…”

JAX

T he girls are with their grandparents and I’m running.

Rain stings like freezing needles against my skin, cold air burns my lungs with each inhale, and all I can think about is my feet on the pavement and not that notification I woke up to that says Emma’s decision has been made. She tried calling this morning, doing damage control I’m sure, but I don’t want to hear it. The girls are on Christmas break and I’m on call today, so we’re spending the day with the family and I’m ignoring this. But the words of that short article are seared into my mind.

Sources inside the Mitchell and Chicago Soccer camps say that pending a physical examination – set to happen within the next few days – former star midfielder Emma Mitchell will make her return to professional soccer.

Thirty-four words.

Thirty-four words that managed to rip out my heart and stomp on it.

Thirty-four words that somehow hurt worse than Angela’s scribbled note all those years ago.

So I’m running. Just like I did that day. Running so that I don’t have to think about it. About her. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her soft smiles first thing in the morning, or the braid that hangs down her back when she coaches or plays soccer. I can’t stop thinking about that night I was on call and we fell asleep together on the couch or our first date and the way she lights up when she talks about something she’s interested in.

I can’t stop thinking about the alarms and timers on her phone or the notes all over her house or the way that she is able to be her authentic and true self around me and my family. I stop running, and realize that without thinking about it, I’ve run right to her house.

“First of all,” my running partner falls into the wet grass in Emma’s front yard, breaths puffing up as he pants, “you’re an idiot if you believe that story. Second, why can’t you run on a treadmill?”

“You’re telling me not to believe a story that came from your network?” I ask incredulously as I stare down at my brother, choosing to ignore his treadmill comment.

“I’m telling you to have a little faith in Emma.” Jake sits up and pins me with a hard glare. “I’m telling you that unless you hear it right from Emma’s mouth, don’t believe it. So extract your head from whatever dark hole you’ve shoved it up and answer your phone the next time she calls.”

“I don’t have my head up my – ”

“Yes. You do.” Jake stands up and stretches out his hamstrings for a minute before turning around and heading back down the road toward Mom and Dad’s, calling over his shoulder as he runs away, “and I’m getting you a treadmill for Christmas.”

My gaze wanders over Emma’s house, and I can’t help but picture it decorated for Christmas, seeing her bustling around inside baking cookies and singing along to Christmas music and my heart squeezes with guilt for not answering when she called earlier and a pang of longing just to be close to her again. Now that I’ve had my little cry, I pull myself up, dust myself off, and keep going. I run back to Mom and Dad’s with the rain pelting my back, shedding as many soggy layers as is decent on their front porch before running up the stairs for a warm shower.

Once I’m warm and dry, I get a cold reception from my family upon returning to the kitchen. My cell phone buzzes against the countertop and my siblings seem to be silently communicating without me. Mackenzie and Alice, thankfully, are occupied in the living room with the dog and aren’t paying any attention to the tension in the room.

“You need to talk to her,” James nails me with a glare that rivals our mom’s sternest gaze. “Stop ignoring her and answer that phone.”

“When you talk to her, let her know that I’ve spoken with Molly and my contacts at the network, and they will be posting a retraction to their story,” Penelope is the only one in the room not glaring daggers at me, and I appreciate her for that. “But in order to do that, you need to stop ignoring her.”

“If everyone could calm down and give me a second to answer my phone, then you’d know that I was going to try to talk to her before you all cornered me. So, if you’ll please excuse me.” Grabbing my phone from the counter, I make my way downstairs to the basement living room where I can have some amount of privacy, but also a bit of space and comfort. After a couple of deep breaths, I unlock my phone and pull up Emma’s contact card, but just as I do, the phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“Jax it’s Emma, please don’t hang up,” her words come out in a rush before she pauses to take a breath. “Listen, I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me but I need you to give me a chance. I need you to know that every word of that story is wrong. Scott released it without my knowledge. I’m not going back. I’m playing in the friendly and then I’m done. I’m done with soccer. Professional soccer. I’ll be talking to Lucy about coaching next season but that’s not the point. Jax, the point is, I need you to know that I didn’t leave you and the girls and run off to play soccer without telling you, I would never do that to you. Or to them. Or frankly, to myself because I’ve been there, and it sucks, and Jax, I love you and I understand if you don’t believe me, but I’m asking you to please just….give me a chance.”

The emotion in her voice tugs at my heart, and I know, in that moment, that there’s nothing but truth in her words. I hate that I ever doubted or thought the worst of her.

“Emma, honey,” she exhales sharply, as if surprised to hear my voice. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored your calls, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to explain yourself. I love you more than I can put into words, and I’m sorry that I believed that story for even a minute. But enough about that. How are you doing?”

“Better now,” she sniffs. “ So much better now. I was so afraid that this would…that this would ruin everything.”

“No, sweetheart, it hasn’t ruined anything. I hate that you thought that it would, and that’s on me.”

“How’s LA?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I’m still waiting to board my flight.”

“When do you meet with your agent?”

“I have my physical tomorrow with the team doctors, and after that I’m taking the rest of the day for myself. Wednesday morning I meet with Scott, and more than likely that will be our last meeting. Ever.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re handling that,” my anger toward Emma’s agent, the American Sports Network, and anyone else involved in this story being released without her input is barely contained. “I wish I could be there with you.”

“Okay, down boy,” she laughs. “Molly wanted to come out here with me, too. I can handle this. Don’t worry about me.”

“I do worry, but I know you can handle yourself.” It’s true, I know that Emma can handle herself. I’ve seen her stand up to Elaine Owens, and if she can do that, then I’m sure she’ll have no difficulty confronting her agent. “I just wish you didn’t have to do it all on your own, you know?”

She’s quiet for a minute, silence hanging heavy and thick between us. I want to reach through the phone and wrap her up in my arms, get her out of LA and away from all the pressure and anxiety that she’s feeling.

“I forgot to tell you, Alice had her first therapy session.” I try my best to keep it casual. “She loved it. She learned all about the way her brain works and how to help herself when she’s overwhelmed or anxious, but I think she had more fun teaching those things to me and Mackenzie.”

“That’s great, Jax. We’ve talked about this, but I was around the same age when I started therapy and it really does make a huge difference.”

“It sure does. For instance, just this morning, she taught Mackenzie and me all about being mindful of our bodies and our breathing. Something that might be helpful, say, during an MRI?”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You can also ask for earplugs. There’s no shame in that. And then just breathe; as deep as you can without a lot of movement. You’re going to do great.”

“Tell the girls hello for me.”

“I will. They’re excited about the match coming up. We can’t wait to watch you. Oh! I’m supposed to tell you, apparently Penelope chewed out somebody at the network. They are pulling the story, printing a retraction, and someone is going to reach out to you directly to apologize. They won’t go through Scott.”

“Tell Penelope thank you for me. Molly was ready to do the same thing this morning.”

“Those two would be quite the formidable pair, wouldn’t they?”

“They sure would.” She’s thoughtful for a moment. Quiet. “I love you, Jax. Thanks for having faith in me.”

“Always, Em.”

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I sink deeper into the couch and take a minute to collect my thoughts, eyes closed and enjoying the quiet before rejoining my family. Quiet footsteps come down the stairs, and someone sits down beside me on the couch, an arm around my shoulder. I know without even opening my eyes, it’s Jenna.

It’s always Jenna.

“How is she?” She asks.

“Frustrated. Anxious about the appointment tomorrow. Angry at her agent, for good reason.”

“And you?”

“Trying to convince myself not to get on a plane and go to LA.”

“You’re so much like Marcus,” Jenna laughs. “He’s a fixer too, and I have to remind him that there are things he can’t fix; things he has to let me do on my own, so I’ll tell you the same thing. Let her do this on her own. She doesn’t need you out there fighting her battles.”

“I don’t want to fight her battles, Jay. I want to be there at the end of the day when she comes home and takes her armor off.”

Jenna presses a kiss to my cheek and pats me on the arm, a smile on her face. “You’re a good one, Brother. But don’t go to LA.”

Jenna hops off the couch and heads back upstairs and I follow close behind, sending the girls off with their aunts – and my credit card – for their shopping trip for dresses for the Christmas Eve ball. Another reason I’m not going to LA. The girls are so excited about the Christmas Eve ball, and I’m excited to take them. Mandy, Jenna, and Penelope have been looking forward to this day for weeks, and I’m looking forward to spending a day with my brothers and getting a bit of Christmas shopping done.