“This went on for a couple of years, and I stood by his side. He got reprimanded by the school, was in and out of rehab with relapses.”
“But you didn’t leave him,” I surmise. “You stood by his side.”
“For the longest time I did,” she admits. “There were times where he put forth great effort to kick his habit. There were times he was an utter disappointment to me. But then came a moment where I knew I couldn’t keep going on, and I had a daughter to think about.”
“Something happened?” I ask, knowing she’s going to tell me and it’s going to piss me off.
“In hindsight, it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but at the time it was. It was enough to make me call it quits.” She falls silent a moment, gathering her thoughts as her gaze seems to go unfocused. But she comes back after a moment, giving me a wan smile. “It was about a month after Jenna’s fire. I’d spent the day at the hospital and had come home to find Shane high and passed out on the living room floor. He had been sober for two months and had been doing really well. There he was sprawled out on the floor, drooling. Our five-year-old daughter sitting on the couch just watching cartoons and I’d like to believe she was oblivious to what was wrong with him.”
“I’m sure she was,” I reassure her, but I really don’t know how intuitive kids are.
“I was livid. I woke him up, yelling at him to get his stuff and get out of the house. It started a huge fight, and he was so stoned, he wasn’t making any sense. And… and… he’d never so much as ever raised a hand to me, but he just all of a sudden slapped me in the face. It was so hard, and I wasn’t expecting it so I fell to the ground. Felicity flipped out, was screaming and crying. Shane was yelling and ranting. It was the most awful night of my life.”
“What happened?” My voice is hoarse, loathing the images in my mind she just described.
“I called the police. He was out of control. They made him leave and Felicity and I moved to my parents’ house the very next morning. I filed formal divorce papers the next week.”
Holy shit, that’s a story. And one I never would have expected. Emory seems so put together I can’t imagine her tying herself to someone so destructive. But what do I know… I’ve never had a serious relationship. I most certainly have never had a child to think of.
“And you haven’t seen him in two years?” I ask.
“Not really,” she murmurs, settling back on the cushion a little. She seems worn out after reliving that nightmare. “Over the next year, he jumped in and out of rehab. Lost his job at UCLA. The court allowed supervised visitation which he only showed up for half the time. The times he showed up, he was sober. The times he didn’t, I knew he was high somewhere. By the time the divorce was granted, he’d been in the wind for several months. His parents didn’t even know where he was. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen or heard from him. Until tonight that is.”
Reaching out, I take Emory’s hand in mine. It’s cold and I enfold it with my other hand as well to warm her up. “What does he want?”
“I have no clue. He’s definitely sober tonight and says he’s been that way a few months now. But that means nothing to me. He’s never gone more than three or four months.”
“He wants to see Felicity?” I guess.
She nods, tipping her head to rest it on my shoulder. “I need to call my attorney tomorrow and figure things out. I don’t want to keep him from her if he’s sober. But I also know he’ll end up falling off the wagon again too. We’ll have to come up with some agreement.”
I shift my body so I can pull her more against me, cradling her with one arm around her waist and moving her head to my chest. She wraps her arm around my stomach and it’s our first really tender moment.
“Do you think I should deny him visitation?” she asks.
I’m flattered she wants my opinion.
I’m terrified at the same time.
This goes beyond complications.
But I am invested, and I actually do have an opinion. “I think if you can safely allow it, you should let Felicity see her dad. Because he’s her dad and she needs the opportunity to have that relationship. You’ll just have to prepare her for failure.”
Emory jerks slightly and then lifts her head, looking at me as if I have warts all over my face. “How did you get so wise about the ways of familial relationships that are complicated by drug usage? And for that matter, how are you so attuned to what a child needs?”
“So I’m right about what I suggested?” I ask hesitantly because I have no clue if what I said was legit.
Emory shrugs. “Hell if I know. I just know I’m thinking along the same lines. She loves her dad. She remembers him. She misses him. I have to give them a chance. But I also need to be transparent with her and let her know he might fail expectations. I just don’t know how to have that conversation with a seven-year-old.”
“Nora,” I say, a light bulb going off in my head.
“Nora?” she asks, confusion not diminishing the beauty of her face at all.
“Tacker’s wife. She’s a therapist. Why don’t you talk to her about it?”
Emory frowns. “You think she’d mind? I’d pay, of course.”
“I know she wouldn’t mind,” I assure her. “In fact, she does equine therapy. Maybe we can head out to her ranch and let Felicity ride horses and you can talk to her. I’ll call Tacker to set it up with Nora.”
It shouldn’t affect me as much as it does, but the sheer relief washing across Emory’s features right now makes me feel like I just conquered the world. I gave her something that has not a damn thing to do with orgasms or having fun.
I supported her, gave her advice, and at the time, inherently made clear that I’m by her side on this.
Shifting up a bit, she puts her hand on my chest and leans in to kiss me. It’s just a graze of her lips over mine.
A gratitude is all.
It might be the best kiss I’ve had with her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For helping me uncomplicate things, even if just for tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, and I kiss her this time. She sighs into my mouth and once again, it feels fucking fantastic to be there for her.
I know I could get used to this feeling.
CHAPTER 16
Jett
I knock on Emory’s office door, having once again charmed my way past the receptionist.
It’s slightly open so her voice is clear when she says, “Come in.”
Her head raises when I push the door open, and I’m relieved by the transformation on her face. Lines of intense concentration furrowing her forehead smooth out to pave the way to a brilliant smile. “Hey, you,” she says in surprise, standing up from her chair. “What are you doing here?”
I hold up the bag of food, containing her favorite poke bowl and one for me too. “I was hoping to wrangle an early lunch with you before I start game prep.”
Tonight is a home game against the Pittsburgh Titans and even though the puck won’t drop until 7 PM, most players spend a good chunk of game day at the arena. There will be a team meeting at some point, and food is provided—usually a buffet that’s continually replenished—that’s protein and carb loaded. Many players slowly warm up on bikes or do a light workout; some get massages or therapy. And then others just hang out with their teammates. Socializing, relaxing, laughing—deepening bonds. This is often done in the player’s lounge replete with large screen TV’s, plush couches, and snacks. It’s where I’ll head to kick back for a bit after I eat with Emory.