Page 58 of Playing for Keeps

Mom squeezes Emerson's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

As we prepare to leave, Emerson turns to me. "Did you mean what you said? About this being the beginning?"

I cup her face in my hands. "Every word. The beginning of our real life together. No more pretending, no more doubts."

"No more running," she adds.

"Exactly." I grin. "Now, how about we grab the twins and get some victory pierogies?"

"God, yes." She laughs, and the sound fills me with more satisfaction than any shutout I've ever achieved. "I love you, you know that?"

"I had a pretty good idea." I take her hand as we head toward the door. "But I love hearing it."

CHAPTER 37

GUNNAR

Scanning the packed house,I adjust my tie in the Scale Up auditorium. Emerson has no idea that I pulled out my Armani for tonight. She left long before I got dressed. The twins and half the Fury team fill two rows, all of us in suits that would fit in the world’s finest symphony. Hell, these kids deserve the effort.

Even Grentley showed up, though he's sitting apart from us. After we dealt with our legal shit, my game improved a lot and Coach has me and Grentley back on a regular rotation. Grentley doesn’t love it, but he doesn’t actively hate me, either.

Everyone clutches elaborate bouquets for the performers - Coach's idea, surprisingly. He said if we're going to support youth music, we're doing it right.

Parents whisper and point at the hockey players, but the kids walking onto the stage only have eyes for their instruments. That's what I love about this place—it's all about the music.

The program in my hands lists "Emerson Saltzer - Strings Instructor," causing my chest to swell with pride. She resisted accepting the job offer last week, concerned that her father's influence might extend even here. However, Scale Up doesn't care about symphony politics and family drama. They just care that she loves music and kids. Now, my wife proudly serves asa part-time teacher at this organization, and I’ve never been more excited to buy anyone business cards. In fact, I’ve never purchased business cards for anyone else, and my excitement led me to rush and misspell "instructor.“ Emerson loves them anyway.

She needs small wins. She’s pretty fragile after discovering her father was placed on “administrative leave.” The symphony board's investigation confirmed everything - the hostile environment, the gender discrimination, the controlling behavior. Emerson carries a lot of guilt about it, worrying about her parents' finances, their reputation. But Zara is helping her understand that her father created these consequences for himself. As her therapist says, “not your sewer, not your rats.” Emerson will get there. I’ll help her.

The lights dim, and the first group takes the stage - beginning violin students sawing enthusiastically through "Hot Cross Buns." We cheer as if they just scored a hat trick. Tucker actually tears up when a nervous student rushes off stage in tears, then comes back with Emerson’s guidance and nails her solo. Alder elbows his twin, but I notice him wiping his eyes too.

I watch Emerson in her element between numbers, adjusting stands and whispering encouragement. She's radiant in a black dress that emphasizes her curves rather than hiding them. No more trying to disappear. A far cry from the woman who stepped off that train from New York, terrified but determined.

The cello ensemble brings down the house with their rock medley—Emerson's arrangement. She worked on it for weeks, wanting to show the kids that classical instruments can play any style. Alder whoops so loud that people initially stare at him, but then the crowd starts whooping, too.

Brian sits behind us, probably calculating PR angles, but even he seems genuinely moved. The hospital board meeting went well last week - turns out sick kids don't care aboutmarriage licenses, they just like that I visit. Once Emerson and I went on record explaining that we didn’t know the marriage wasn’t official and that we intend to fix that as soon as possible, people stopped acting like we were trying to deceive someone. I’m still a “family friendly” athlete worthy of a milk mustache. The endorsements are secure. Not that it matters compared to this - watching my wife help these kids find their voices.

After the final bow, we all surge forward with our flowers. Kids and parents swarm the hockey players - Essence is already organizing a group photo for social media - but I only have eyes for my wife, who's wiping happy tears as she hugs her students.

"That was amazing," I tell her, passing over a massive bouquet of sunflowers - her favorite, I discovered. I love learning new shit about my wife.

"I can't believe they did it." She beams. "Did you hear Jamie's solo? He was so nervous..."

"Mrs. Stag?" A woman with purple hair approaches, accompanied by two guys with man-buns. My wife freezes, recognition flooding her face. She’s asked me to stop correcting people who call her that, so I bite my tongue.

"I'm Sarah, from String Fury. This is Mike and Dave." The woman grins. "We heard your arrangement of the medley. Omar sent us the recording. You've got serious composition skills."

Emerson's eyes go wide. I squeeze her hand as Sarah continues, "We do a lot of educational outreach and workshops with kids. Would you be interested in collaborating? Maybe sit in on some shows?"

"I... yes!" Emerson clutches my arm. "I'd love that."

I kiss her temple as they exchange information, watching her practically vibrate with excitement. My wife is living her dreams her way, no longer hiding who she is or what she wants.

"Ready to go home?" I ask when she's done. The team's organizing a celebration outing, and knowing my brothers, it'll go late.

She looks around at the crowded auditorium—her students proudly showing off their flowers, their found family celebrating alongside them, and her new colleagues already planning future projects. This stands in stark contrast to the sterile symphony halls of her upbringing.

"Actually," she says, "I think I am home."

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