Page 29 of Anything for You
“I really do. I was once a foster kid. I would have given anything to have a foster parent who cared enough to buy me something to make me feel more comfortable in a new home. If it’s okay with you, I want to help.” He fidgets uncomfortably, eyes glossing over the tiniest bit. He blinks quickly to clear them, but I saw it, and the way his eyes widen a bit makes me think he knows I did.
I look at him and my heart aches for the sweet boy I see in the face of this beautiful man, clearly struggling to reveal the side of himself that might still be a little broken from his past. When I take a step forward and put my arms around him, I’m hugging them both.
He returns the hug immediately, shuddering out a breath and laying his cheek on top of my head as his arms wrap around my shoulders.
“I’d like you to come,” I say into his chest.
His arms tighten, heartbeat thudding against me. When he speaks, his voice is soft and full of gratitude.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Twelve
Jeremy
“Finished,” I mutter as I tighten the last screw on the desk I’ve been putting together for the better part of an hour. “Fucking finally.”
Emma snickers from across the room, where she’s tucking a fitted sheet under the mattress of a full-size bed.
I narrow my eyes at her from my place on the floor.
“Listen, it was hard, okay?”
“I just bet it was. Who knew Jeremy Wright, the man who played professional hockey for three years and runs not one, but two successful businesses, would be brought to his knees, literally, by an Ikea desk.”
I look back down at the desk to cover whatever look is crossing my face right now. Hearing her say my full name makes me feelsomething.
The truth is, I’ve been feelingsomethingever since the trail. The run itself would have been enough. But being on the trail together, talking the way we did, giving each other little pieces of ourselves… Even hours later, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the way I opened up to her. That makes twice in one day—once to Asher this morning and once to Emma on the trail.It’s not monumental, I guess, but it’s a lot for me. I can’t deny it felt good to talk to her. She’s the best listener I know. The way she just seems to know things, to understand things about me and accept them, makes me feel lighter around her than I have, probably ever.
Every time she asks me to tell her something true, it feels like permission to open the lock I’ve had on the box where I keep my confusing feelings for Emma, just a little bit. Feelings I have never really taken the time to explore, even on my own, since I ran out on her eight years ago, placing Emma and me squarely in thenever going to happencategory.
Theit could have been something, but I fucked it up massivelyfolder.
TheI could never be good enough for herplace.
Because I’m a thirty-seven-year-old washed-up hockey player with a bad knee and the deeply rooted fear that everyone in my life will leave me, trying to hold on to the people I care about and also prepare for the day that they walk out of my life, so it doesn’t hurt too much when they do.
Emma is brilliant and intuitive and kind and so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache. Being with her, near her, makes me feel like it’s okay to be who I am, damaged parts and all. And that’s not a feeling I have very often. The fact that she can be at ease with me now despite everything makes me embarrassingly grateful and also worried about the day it inevitably all comes crashing down.
But what if it doesn’t?
It’s a thought I had out on the trail tonight when Emma was talking about magic hour. Being there with her, seeing her all lit up, red hair glowing in the setting sun, made me feel like anything really was possible, just like she said. Like we could find a way to make this work between us, and in that moment, I wanted her more than I have allowed myself to want her since Iwalked out of her bedroom almost a decade ago. I could see what I felt reflected in her eyes. But I shoved it down, unwilling to do anything to upset the new lightness between us.
I’m glad I did, because now we’re sitting here together in her spare room putting together furniture and getting it ready for a seven-year-old girl who needs a home. When Emma got the call from Hallie and told me about getting approved to be a foster parent, my own emotions threatened to take me down, and I was too vulnerable to hide them. It’s what made me ask Emma if I could come shopping with her to get what she needed for the room, and what had tears blurring my vision.
I tried to blink them away, but I know she saw.
I think she sees all of me.
When she wrapped her arms around me, everything inside of me settled.Safewas the word that kept swirling through my mind. I felt safe with her, and I don’t really know how to feel safe with anyone. Not all the way, at least.
There is a little girl about to live in this house who I bet rarely feels safe with anyone either. I don’t even know her, but I think Iknowher. At least, I know what it’s like to be seven years old and be moving to yet another temporary home, meeting strangers who are supposed to take care of you, never knowing how long you’ll get to stay. I don’t know how long this girl will get to stay with Emma, but I do know Emma will do everything she can to make her feel safe while she’s here.
And I want to help.
The seven-year-old boy in me already on his fourth foster home wants to help. The thirty-seven-year-old man I am now who still carries scars from those years wants to help.
I need to help. More than I can remember ever needing anything.
