Embracing Juliette (Texas Heroes: Station 9 #1)

Chapter 34

34

Juliette

I finished applying makeup for the first time in three weeks and smiled at my reflection. I looked ready for my first day back to work. Felt it too. Well, I felt mostly ready. Somewhat ready.

The doctor cleared me to walk without the boot, and even though it still ached a little, it was okay as long as I didn’t walk too much. My cuts were mostly healed. Some of the deeper cuts on my chest and neck were still red and raw-looking, but those were hidden under my high-collared shirt.

The cut on my face looked good. The plastic surgeon was optimistic that it would fade to be almost invisible, but even if it left a scar, I knew how lucky I was. The swelling and numbness in my lips still affected my speech, though. It had improved a lot, but even a little bit made it hard to talk clearly. And by clearly, I mean as clear as I usually did, which wasn’t perfect to begin with.

That’s what made me nervous. I’d be busy and distracted trying to catch up, and everyone was going to be curious about what happened, and talking while I was distracted was tough under the best circumstances.

But I’d be fine. I’d been through much more these past few weeks. Talking to my colleagues couldn’t be any worse than speaking to the police. I probably could have used another week or so to heal, but I needed to get back to normalcy. And Dylan needed it even more than me, though he’d never admit it. Even if work was a mess, it was worth it to show him how strong I still was.

The last few weeks had been tough, but I’d come through on the other side of it stronger than ever. If the attack had happened even a few months earlier, I never would’ve been able to talk to the police the way I did. I would’ve beat myself up over all the things I should’ve done better when Kayla attacked me. But I wasn’t feeling that way. I was feeling… Proud. Capable. Strong.

So I really hated that while I was feeling the most confident I’d ever been, Dylan was losing faith in me. He would never admit that, and he’d be devastated to know I felt that way, but I did. I didn’t blame him for being extra protective before and after Kayla’s attack. He’d been justifiably worried about me. He was right when he said I wouldn't be able to talk, run, or fight my way out of trouble. He was right that I was nervous to talk to the police.

But it was over. I understood his fear that I hadn’t been able to save myself easily, and I still wouldn’t if it happened again. But I’d survived, and what were the chances of anything like that happening again? We didn’t have any more enemies. Leo had bigger problems than us, and Kayla was going to jail. After I’d braved talking to the police, I’d found out that my request for leniency was so naive it was almost laughable. The judge expressed her appreciation of my request even though she wouldn’t honor it, so that was something. I was still proud of myself for saying it.

Maybe it was better anyway. I’d said it with the thought that Dylan wouldn’t have married a woman who wasn’t a good person deep down. If she was a good person who just lost her way, who got dragged down by Leo and in over her head with drugs, then she shouldn’t be unfairly punished. She should get the help she needed. I wanted that for her, but even more for Dylan. I wanted to help him move forward from the crushing guilt he was feeling. I wanted peace so we could move forward. But he was happy that she was going to jail. He wanted her punished. And for me to be safe.

And yet, even though I was safe and proud of myself, Dylan was still too caught up in his self-recrimination and worrying to celebrate that with me. I understood it in the beginning, and I appreciated everything he did to help make my recovery easier. But it was time for him to move on. Back to normalcy. Back to believing I could take care of myself.

I was starting to realize how much my dyspraxia affected Dylan. For someone who would do anything in his power to protect the people he loved, my dyspraxia made his job a lot harder. I loved him for how much he cared, and considering how much he’d worried pre-Kayla, he should’ve been commended for how infrequently he’d let glimpses of that show. But now... Now, I felt the weight of his worries, and it felt a lot like doubt. Like he no longer believed that I was capable. Love and protection and guilt and pride were all tangled up, and I needed to help us untangle it. That’s why I was so eager to return to work. I needed to show him I was still as strong as he’d always believed I was.

A light knock on the bathroom door interrupted my musings, and then Dylan was there, standing behind me. With his hands on my shoulders, he pulled me against him, my back against his front. I tried to turn towards him, but he held me in place, his chin resting gently on my shoulder as he held my gaze through the mirror.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

I trembled under the rumble of his reverent tone, from the love that shone in his eyes.

He gently traced his finger across my lips and over my scar.

“You are beautiful, inside and out, and nothing could change that. Hold your head high, go to work, and be your kick-ass self.”

I laughed, as I knew he intended.

He turned me to face him. “Are you nervous?”

“A little. There’s going to be a lot of attention on me. I’ll be okay though.”

“You’ll do great, baby. Send me texts when you can, let me know you’re doing okay, and call me after work.”

“I will. I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too. I hate the reason for it, but I enjoyed being with you and taking care of you the past few weeks.”

I knew he meant every word. My insecurities might’ve been snowballing from his over-the-top protectiveness, but it all came from a place of love. I smiled up at him.

Dylan kissed the top of my head. “You got this, baby. Let’s go.”

I paused outside the door to the therapy room, took a deep breath, and pictured Dylan and me in the mirror this morning. I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high. I could handle answering questions about what happened. I could handle questions about my injuries. I could handle repeating myself if my speech was worse than usual. It was time to move on. Strong as fuck. I smiled, imagining Dylan smiling at that as I walked in.

“Welcome back!” Katie met me at the door, hugging me long and hard, before I was passed around from one hug to another. Everyone spoke over each other asking if I was alright and telling me how great I looked and how glad they were that I was okay. “Come into the office. We brought in breakfast for you.”

I followed them through the main therapy room into the office and stopped short in the doorway. The table was overflowing with bagels and cream cheese, donuts, muffins, orange juice, and coffee. “Oh my God, you guys! Thank you!”

I sat down with the plate they prepared for me and told them the whole story, and by the time I was finished, I couldn’t even remember why I was so nervous.

When everyone started trickling out of the office to get the first students of the day, I quickly checked my phone.

Dylan: Everything okay?

Me: Wonderful

Dylan: Knew it would be. Happy for you

The rest of the day went just as well. Everyone seemed really happy I was back, even people who I was surprised would notice I was gone at all. There were a few awkward comments, but I barely had time to give them any thought. I was swamped with work, which had the weird effect of making me feel really important and needed as the lead therapist.

There was only one thing on my to-do list I was still nervous about. I had a message from a few days ago that a parent was concerned about her child’s lack of progress in OT. The previous conversations between the mom and therapist hadn’t gone well, so I emailed the mom and offered to meet with her at the end of the day if she could come early for pick up.

A half hour before the end of the day, I was sitting at my desk, reviewing that student’s paperwork and trying to catch up on all the emails I’d missed, when the security guard called to say she was there for me.

My heart beat loudly in the unusually quiet hallway, with nothing to distract me from my runaway thoughts. I pasted a smile on my face as I approached the front desk.

“Hello, Mrs. Alfonsi?”

“Yes. Ms. Smythe?” Her voice was all business. Angry business. Shit.

“Yes, that’s me. Thank you for coming today.” I impressed myself with how professional I sounded. “I’ll get us set up in a moment and then we can talk.”

I walked carefully to the security desk. “Hi. Can you call Dr. Garcia and ask her to meet us here?” I said to the security guard. He immediately called the principal and a minute later, she was there. Since when do I have that kind of power?

We settled into the conference room and briefly exchanged awkward pleasantries before Dr. Garcia got down to business. “I understand you have a concern with Anthony’s progress in OT?”

“Yes. As in, he’s made none. I get notes saying that he had fun on the scooter or making a craft. But nothing about his writing. He doesn’t need to use a scooter or color a picture. He needs to be able to write.”

“Um, I understand your frustration. I know it looks like he isn’t working on his writing skills, but if you’ll give me a moment, I can show you how he is.”

She nodded tersely, waving her hand in a gesture that looked more dismissive than anything else.

“He can practice writing letters all day, but if he doesn’t have the strength or fine motor coordination to hold the pencil with control, his letter formation won’t improve. That’s why he works with small manipulatives and propels the scooter with his hands. He brought home a tree craft the other day, right? To do that, he drew a circle and a rectangle, then colored them in. Those are prerequisites to writing. Then, he tore the tissue paper, which is good for improving his bilateral coordination and pincer grasp. He rolled each piece into a ball, which improved his in-hand manipulation skills, squeezed glue on the paper, which increased his hand strength, and picked up each little piece to place on the glue, again addressing his grasp. Also, he works on mazes and hidden picture activities, which are great for...”

My voice faltered as it hit me that I’d been barreling along and no one else had said anything in a really long time. I hadn’t even looked at them in a while. Or paused. Shit. I looked at Mrs. Alfonsi, the heat of a blush spreading across my face, dread pooling in my stomach as I prepared myself to meet her blank stare. “Um...”

“What skills do those address?” she asked. Calmly. Interested. With understanding.

I fought back a smile. “Visual motor skills. Those are the skills needed for looking at letters and words and being able to copy them accurately.” I paused for a moment, no longer feeling the need to rush through. “Those foundational skills are the basis for writing. If he improves those fine motor and visual motor skills, writing will come easier when he’s ready.” Another pause. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, I do. How can I work on those foundational skills at home? And can you be Anthony’s OT next year?”

My heart was going to explode. I tried not to grin like a loon, but I don’t know if I succeeded. She understood. More than understood. She learned from me. Respected me as an OT.

I offered a few suggestions for simple activities to do at home, and then I said, “I’d love to work with Anthony, and I can try to arrange that, but I only work with a few students. As lead therapist, I oversee all the therapists, though, so either way, I’ll be involved.”

“I can accept that. It’s great that you can spread your knowledge and positivity to everyone.”

Wow. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. It was so nice to meet you, and I’m so glad I was able to help you feel better about Anthony’s therapy. His OT told me he’s doing great.”

We exchanged some more pleasantries that were actually pleasant this time, shook hands, and then Mrs. Alfonsi left. I was about to follow her out, but Dr. Garcia stopped me.

“Thank you, Juliette. I’ve worked with many OTs over the years, and I’ve never heard it explained so well.”

Oh my God. “Thank you, Dr. Garcia. I’m glad I was able to help.”

I would’ve skipped back to my room and out to my car if my ankle could have handled it. I’d been so nervous for the meeting, and it might’ve been the best thing I’ve ever done as an OT.

I called Dylan as soon as I left work, but he didn’t answer. Damn. I wanted to share my good news with him. My first day back was an even bigger success than I could have imagined.

Inspiration hit me as I almost drove past a grocery store. I quickly hit the brakes and turned in. What better way to celebrate than with cookies? I could bring them to the station for Dylan, and to thank all the firefighters who covered his shifts so he could be with me, and for his friends who’d been calling and visiting us. They were an amazing bunch of men and women, and I understood why Dylan thought of them as family. I’d bring some over to Station 7 too, with extras for Sledge to bring home to Beth. I owed them all so much. I owed them my life.

I reread the chocolate chip cookie recipe for the third time. I usually used a mix and just added butter, an egg, and extra chocolate chips. I trusted Betty Crocker more than myself. But still floating on a high from work, I’d stopped in the flour aisle of the grocery store, looked up a recipe, and bought all the ingredients.

I was regretting that now, as I stopped to Google how to cream butter and sugar. Five precarious minutes later, I had a bowl full of beautiful fluffy, yellow creamed butter and sugar. I did it! Amazing.

I finished baking dozens of cookies, tasted one from each batch, just to be sure, and proudly packed them to bring to the fire stations.

I pulled up to Station 9 first, eager to see Dylan and tell him about my day in person, but before I even parked the car, I saw the bays were empty. I went in anyway, calling out as I did in case anyone stayed back. Empty. They must’ve been called out during dinner, judging by the mostly empty dishes on the table and the pans of baked ziti and chicken parm on the counter. I quickly covered the leftover food and put it in the fridge and rinsed and loaded the dishwasher. I didn’t start it, though. I’d leave my dishwasher on unattended, but I didn’t know if the firefighters would approve of that. I left the cookies on the table with a note and headed out, a little disappointed that I didn’t get to see Dylan, but also excited imagining his reaction when he found the cookies.

I headed over to Station 7 next. It looked like they were there, and I knocked hesitantly, hoping it was the crew that I knew. It would be awkward to explain who I was and why I was there if it wasn’t. Dylan said they usually worked the same shifts, but I didn’t know if that was always the case.

Just as my nerves threatened to get the best of me, the door opened, and I breathed a sigh of relief to see Taco.

“Juliette, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“I’m good. I made cookies.” I held the Tupperware out to him.

“My second favorite food,” he said.

“Sorry it’s not tacos.”

Taco laughed. Hard. Happiness bubbled through me.

“Hey guys,” he called out. “Juliette’s here with cookies.” He put a friendly hand on my shoulder and led me into the station.

Penelope ran up and enveloped me in a hug. “I’m so happy to see you. How are you feeling? I’ve been so worried about how you were coping after what happened!”

“I’m okay. I feel fine, and I know Kayla can’t hurt me again. Dylan’s been amazing. I had to talk him down from his guilt though.”

“Yeah, these guys protect us hard, don’t they?” she said with a look at Moose.

Moose kissed me on the cheek and settled a hand around Penelope’s shoulders. “When you love someone, their happiness and safety is everything.”

The rest of the guys came over and I was hugged by everyone. I was blown away by their warm welcome. They all said that their women would be so happy to hear I was doing so well.

I wanted to tell Sledge to thank Beth for me, but it was too much with everyone there all together. I truly appreciated how she’d helped to get Leo out of the picture—imagine if we’d had Kayla and Leo both after us—and I wanted to make sure she felt good about it and wasn’t taking on any misplaced responsibility, but that was a lot to say. I swallowed back the disappointment in myself. I was here with cookies I’d baked for them. That was enough.

A few minutes later, we said goodbye, and everyone said they were looking forward to seeing us in a few days at the Sloppy Cow.

“Don’t be surprised if the women smother you a little when they see you. They’ve been worried,” Crash said.

“That’s sweet. I’m excited to see them too.”

I started walking out when I saw that Sledge was still close by, and I quickly turned to give him a hug. He looked surprised for a moment before he hugged me back. I leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Bring Beth cookies. Tell her I said thank you.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell her. She’s so glad you’re okay. We all are.”

“I’m okay. It could have been so much worse if Leo was there. Make sure she knows that.”

Sledge’s arms tightened around me, and I wondered if I was right in thinking she needed to hear that, or if he was thinking about what Beth had been through. “Dylan’s a lucky guy,” he said, then he released me and walked me out to my car.

I drove home feeling proud. I’d never be the person to barge into a room and shout out what was on my mind, but I didn’t really like when people did that anyway. I just wanted to be the best version of myself that I could, and I was already at a point that I couldn’t have even imagined before. Today alone, I started the morning feeling so loved by my amazing boyfriend. I’d killed it at work, baked homemade cookies for the first time, delivered them to the fire stations, and talked to everyone there. Even if I had to wait to talk to Sledge alone, I’d said everything I wanted to say. Who was this girl? I liked her. I liked her a hell of a lot.

My phone rang as I pulled into my spot at my apartment building. Dylan. I hesitated for a moment, a feeling of deja vu washing over me.

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure? You sounded weird when you answered.”

I didn’t want him to be upset that I was thinking about Kayla, but I wouldn’t lie to him. “I was just parking and on my way in when you called.”

“Oh, baby, I get it. I was just calling to thank you for the cookies and to hear about your day. Go ahead inside, lock up, get comfortable and then call me when you’re ready.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Juls. Go on inside now.”

I limped inside, my ankle aching after all the standing and walking. When I was settled on the couch in my pajamas with a cozy blanket and a cup of tea, I called him back, excited to tell him all about my day, knowing he’d be just as happy and proud of me as I was. Hope filled me. We were going to move on just fine. Today hadn’t just been a normal day back—it was even better.