Chapter 16 Jackson
Now
Tae’s feeling the best she’s felt since her surgery a little over a week ago so we’re going to a coffee shop down the road from my house before heading to Target to get some things she’s running low on.
Ryan stayed for the first week following surgery to help her with pretty much everything from washing her hair to sitting in bed and holding her while she cried.
I’ve been trying to research as much as I can about the ways to help her recover and what to expect when caring for someone who had a hysterectomy, but I’m pretty sure from what I’ve picked up on that Tae’s crying has more to do with the fact that she’s unable to carry her own children and the uncertainty for how her egg retrieval will go.
The meds they prescribed her can only help with her physical pain, but they can’t heal the emotional heartbreak she’s experiencing.
When she told me she was feeling better this morning, I couldn’t help but smile and feel hopeful that today would be a good day for her. I’m also not sure if she’s put two and two together on what today’s significance is.
“Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to push yourself too hard before you’ve healed,” I say to her, opening the door to my truck and helping her step up into it.
“I’m sure. Stop being such a worry wart. If I start to feel like I’m overdoing it, you can always carry me with your big, beefy muscles.”
“Hey, I am not ‘beefy.’ I’m fairly lean as far as muscle tone goes, especially in comparison to Bennett.”
“Yeah, but he’s a giant. You’re still bigger than both Griffin and Carson,” she points out and then rolls her eyes when I reach across her to buckle her seatbelt.
Before she can give me shit for that, I quirk a brow and ask, “And how would you know I’m bigger than both Griff and Carson? I certainly wasn’t bigger than Griffin last time you saw him.”
I wait a moment for her to answer, and when she signals as if she’s zipping her lips, I shut her door and get in the driver’s side. Starting my truck, I turn to her. “Have you kept tabs on me all these years?”
“Define keeping tabs . . .” Taevin trails off.
“Have you watched me play on TV or something since I’ve been in the league?”
She bites the inside of her cheek, debating whether she wants to disclose that information or not. “I may or may not have caught a game or two over the years.”
“Caught as in you came to a game or two?” I question, eyes wide at the thought that she could’ve actually been in one of the crowds I’d continually searched without really thinking I’d find her.
“A few times when you played in Nashville, and then if my tour schedule happened to align with your away game schedule, I’d make an appearance.”
“A few means more than one or two. How many are we talking exactly?”
Tae shrugs as if this is no big deal. “I don’t know, maybe a dozen.”
“There’s no way. I’ve searched the crowds for you over the years and if you’d been to a dozen games, there’s no way I wouldn’t have seen you—no way that you wouldn’t have been on the jumbotrons or had a news story leak that you were there.”
“Yeah, about that . . . I always purchased nosebleed tickets and made my former body guard, Josh, dress normal and wear a jersey. And then there’s the disguise I have with a blonde wig and jersey to hide my tattoos.”
“Whose jersey do you wear?”
“What?” she questions, stammering over the word.
“Which team?”
“The Wolverines,” Tae murmurs reluctantly.
“And whose name is on the back of your jersey?”
Folding her arms over her chest, she sighs. “Wilson.”
Yeah, I don’t even try to hide my smile. “What I wouldn’t give to see that.”
I don’t even know how many times I’ve imagined her wearing my Wolverines jersey with my name splayed across her shoulders. So everyone in the arena would know Taevin Gray is mine.
“How come you didn’t ask me which number was on my jersey?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
“Because I know my own number,” I state blankly.
“That’s great, but the number on the back of my jersey is seven.”
Did she just say seven? As in my big brother’s number? Nah, she’s fucking with me.
“Sorry, I think I misheard you—you said twelve, right?”
“No, I never did care much for double digit numbers.”
“Lies. Your birthday is on the twelfth.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to prefer the number. By the way, what a weird coincidence that your hockey number is my birthday. I could’ve sworn you were always seventy-seven.”
“That was taken when I got signed by the Wolverines, so I went with my favorite number instead.”
“Since when did twelve become your favorite number?” she questions with a teasing lilt to her tone. That is, until she must realize the answer to her own question.
Instead of waiting for her to say the conclusion I’m sure she’s come to, I let one of my secrets spill. “Since the day I found out your birthday is on the twelfth, and then we went ahead and got married on the twelfth of August. It appears I’ve been pining for you all these years, Thorn.”
Leaving her to process that little tidbit, I press the playlist on my phone and turn up the volume as “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac plays through the speakers. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel to the bass as I contemplate how I want things to play out today.
Since I brought her home from her surgery, I haven’t tried to hide behind my feelings for her; I’ve decided to go for it. Besides, it’s not like she can hurt me more than she already has. And if all I get is this one shot while she’s forced to be in my orbit again, I’m taking it.
I just wonder if she’s also remembering today is technically our tenth wedding anniversary.
“T, you just had major surgery and this is the first day you’ve been feeling okay, I feel like this is too much too soon,” I tell her as we pull into the Target parking lot.
“Besides, do you really think your baseball hat and sweatsuit are going to disguise you from your borderline-psychotic fans? I swear with the way the teenage girls at the coffee shop were gawking at you, they had to have taken pics and shared them all over the internet already.” I’ve been trying to plead with her the entire drive from the coffee shop to Target, but she’s a stubborn little thing.
Tae pats me on the arm. “Ah, that’s cute that you think those girls were looking at me.
They were most definitely drooling over you.
You’re Jackson freaking Wilson, after all.
” She leans her head against the headrest and turns to face me with a dopey look on her face.
“Makes me feel nostalgic thinking back to all the times girls would try to throw themselves at you while we were together.”
I quirk my brow at her. “And how did that turn out for them?”
She smirks before trying to hide her reaction by biting the inside of her cheek.
“Hey, I never told you to damn near stiff arm them.” Shaking her head, she throws it back and braces her hands against her lower stomach.
“Oh my god, do you remember that time you yelped and nearly fell off your deck when Rosie Phillips tried to hug you at your beginning of summer party?”
I guffaw at that. “I did not yelp.”
“Oh, you yelped, Bear. But let’s drop it and go inside before I rip a stitch from laughing.”
“I’ll take the small wins where I can get them.” I smile at her and then get out and quickly round the truck so I can help her down.
I’ve got to give it to her, Tae does a pretty good job of keeping a low profile for the most part while we go through the first few grocery aisles.
“Do you think they have your latest album on vinyl here?” I ask her, tossing a package of Double Stuf Oreos into the cart. Then, thinking better of it, I grab three more packages and toss them in too.
Looking up, I see Taevin shake her head at me. “I see you haven’t gotten over your addiction.”
“Why give up a good thing? Oreos have always been there for me.”
“You’re something else, you know that?” she mutters as she slowly turns the corner.
“Hey, you never answered my question. Do you think they have it here?”
Instead of answering me, she walks toward an end cap a few aisles down that’s filled with the exact thing I’m looking for.
Grabbing one of the special edition vinyls in my hand, I turn it over and marvel at the black and white portrait of her.
She’s got her head turned slightly to the side with a black cowgirl hat lowered over her eyes and her long, raven hair is windblown across her face.
I swallow past the emotion clogging my throat and breathe, “Tae, this is so fucking cool. Seeing you like this—knowing you got to live out your wildest dreams—it’s surreal. ”
Biting my quivering lip, I try to compose myself so no one sees me losing it in the middle of Target.
Turning to her, I pull her in my arms and kiss the top of the ball cap she’s wearing.
“I know you’ve probably heard this a million times from everyone around you, but I’m so fucking proud of you.
God, you really did it. Everything we talked about all those years ago. ”
In spite of everything she put me through so she could get where she is today, I like to think I’m still one of her biggest cheerleaders.
She admitted she came to several of my games over the years, and someday I’ll tell her how I went to as many of her concerts and performances as I could, hoping like hell she’d somehow see me in the crowds that grew unbelievable in size each time I’d go to see her.
Watching her live out her dreams while I was going through the motions—paralyzed by the loss of her—was bittersweet in the worst way. I mean, yeah, I worked hard to become a professional hockey player, but if I’m honest, I’ve been a shell of the man I was when I was hers.
With Tae’s arms wrapped around my waist, I feel anchored in a way I haven’t been in years. She was my stabilizing force back then and now it’s my turn to step up and be hers.