Chapter 27 Steven #2
“Is that something I do? Come here often?” My cheeks flush with embarrassment in not knowing something so simple.
“You used to,” he says. “You helped with summer camps and did our fall assessments. You even helped me when I broke my nose once. You were awesome.” He grins proudly, his black hair falling into his eyes. Then his smile falters. “But…since Josie, you haven’t been around.”
The words are a mallet to my sternum, the force of them so sharp it steals my breath. Haven’t been around. Something tells me that’s not just here at the school either.
I swallow hard, my gaze drifting back to the building. That’s when I see Emma, seated beside a man I don’t recognize. The sight twists a new feeling in my chest—jealousy, immature and unbridled, sparking to life. I’m out of my car before I can talk myself down.
“Awesome,” Travis says, following close on my heels as we head to the doors.
He tells me about the new vending machines and the updates to the gym over the summer, but his words blur and fade with the morning sun once we step through the glass doors.
I turn right, already orienting myself toward where the big window should be.
The door is cracked open, a Teachers’ Lounge sign hanging crookedly off to the side.
I pause for half a second, just long enough to consider turning back, when Travis barrels in ahead me.
“What’s up, party people!” he announces.
Judging by the looks on their faces, his arrival is not nearly as welcome as that kind of entrance suggests.
“Look who I found,” he adds, gesturing toward me like I’m the prize behind door number three.
Emma’s eyes widen, either pleasantly surprised or irritated—I can’t tell.
She sits up from the table, abandoning the guy with arm tattoos she was sitting next to.
The pang of jealousy I was feeling fizzles when he smiles at me.
It’s an easy, friendly smile. One you give someone who is of no threat to you.
Not from someone who might be interested in my wife.
“Steven, what’s going on?” Emma’s hand lands on my arm, running her fingers along the ridge of my tricep. Goosebumps erupt, even beneath my sweatshirt.
“Are you alright?” she asks, and I realize I haven’t answered. I’m just staring at her.
Her green eyes shimmer, emerald threaded with gold, jewels in every sense of the word.
“Steven.” This time, she snaps her fingers lightly in front of me.
“Yeah?”
She arches a brow, a smirk tugging at her mouth as she realizes this isn’t an emergency. “What are you doing?”
“I went on a drive,” I say. “Ended up here.”
“You remembered?” Her face brightens at the possibility, excitement practically buzzing off her.
“Kind of?” I rub the back of my neck, glancing around at the group of people watching us.
“Good to see ya, man,” the blond guy, Malcolm I finally remember, says over the rim of his coffee cup. It’s pink, with a picture of a dog’s face in the center. The contrast is ridiculous—a big, surly guy sipping from a playful cup—and I have to suppress a laugh.
I wave at everyone and lean down to whisper in Emma’s ear, “If this is weird, I can go. I don’t want—”
“Not at all.” She smiles, and it takes my breath away. If a feeling could weave itself through the very vessels of my heart, this is it. Seeing her unabashed smile has become essential to me. It’s as necessary as air or water, something I can’t imagine living without.
Her arm slips around mine, tugging me gently toward the table. Tattoo Guy shifts down a seat, making room as Emma guides me into the space beside him. Across from us, Benny and Ellie chatter quietly, while Malcolm leans against the fridge, surveying the room.
“I’m Rob,” Tattoo Guy says, shaking my hand.
“The new guy.” Malcolm smirks.
“I thought that was my title,” a blonde woman says. The paint-splattered apron she’s wearing nearly swallows her as she shuffles into the room.
“You have seniority by genetics,” Malcolm says, giving her a wink before turning back to the coffee pot on the counter.
Rob stiffens in his seat as the blonde slides in next to him. She reaches over him to shake my hand. “I’m Mackenzie, the new theater arts teacher.”
Malcolm clears his throat, and Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “And that big oaf’s sister.”
“And my future sister-in-law,” Kate sings as she bounces into the room, arms full of plates and napkins. She practically levitates toward Malcolm, pecking him on the cheek while stuffing the supplies into the drawer.
“How are you doing?” Benny asks me, leaning close and resting his forearms on the table. His demeanor is disarming, looking at me like I’m the only person in this room, or even on the planet.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but my eyes dart to Emma. Her smile is sweet, and her lips are wildly distracting. The glossy pink from this morning has worn off, but I know they’re still butter soft. I force my gaze back to Benny. “I have some good moments. But nothing overly concrete yet.”
“I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely devastated at this, sinking back into his chair. Is he always this nice?
“It’s okay. I’m hopeful.”
Emma’s hand snakes around mine under the table, her fingers finding the edge of my sleeve and tugging it up.
Her hands are ice-cold as she presses them into the crook of my elbow.
I flinch, sucking in a sharp breath at the shocking chill that crawls up my arm.
She giggles softly, tracing the veins along my skin.
Every slow, deliberate movement of her fingers against me makes my lungs stutter.
I fight to keep my eyelids from drooping as her touch glides back and forth, the sensation traveling all the way to my toes.
Someone clears their throat, and my eyes snap open in attention. All eyes are on us—eyes that are surely aware of what’s going on in my head.
I straighten, pulling in a breath. Emma’s hand slips away just as the bell rings, sparing us from whatever antagonizing comments that might’ve followed.
“I really hope I didn’t intrude,” I say once we’ve pushed through the barricade of students flooding the halls.
“You didn’t. It was nice to see you.” Emma rubs a hand over my back as we head toward the car.
“Really?” The hopeful lilt in my voice is embarrassing.
“Of course. It’s always nice seeing your husband.” She gives me a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, like there’s something she’s not fully saying.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened with us?” The words, and the regret that clings to them, are out before I can stop them.
“Wh—what do you mean?”
“Did I do something to hurt you?” The question bulldozes over hers. The thought of hurting Emma feels like someone is strangling me. My chest, my throat, my eyes, all of them hurt.
“Do you mean…?” She can’t even finish the word, but I know what she’s asking. Cheated. And God, I wish I didn’t need to ask.
“No, never.” She shakes her head firmly, like the idea alone offends her. “You haven’t done anything to hurt me, Steven. Not intentionally, anyway.”
“But I have hurt you?”
“We’ve been together for fifteen years; we’ve both hurt each other.”
“Yeah, but—”
The school bell cuts me off. Emma’s head whips toward the sound. She grimaces then turns back, grabbing my hands.
“Can we talk about this later?” Her palm cups my cheek, and I lean into it, every cell in my body pulling toward the spot. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
The gold in her eyes flickers under the sunlight, making her look more vibrant.
More alive. The eyes I catch in only fleeting glimpses.
The eyes of the person she used to be. The young, fearless Emma.
The one who never took no for an answer, who dreamed of living in Paris to study art, who was so certain of herself she never let anyone believe otherwise.
Then it hits me. My hands fly to her face, cupping her cheeks.
“What are you doing?” She gapes at me. I probably look wild. I feel wild, staring at her unblinking.
“Stev—”
“Shh, I’m remembering.”
Her eyes go wide, and she clamps her mouth shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. As distracting as it is, I force myself to focus, tracing the green, gold, and brown swirling in her eyes.
Art school. Our first date. Darts. Karaoke.
A sound breaks out of me, half-groan, half-laugh. “Did I stand on top of a table?”
Her hands fly to her mouth, gasping. “You remember?”
“Just bits and pieces.”
Tears spill down her cheeks, and a wide, elated grin spreads across her face. Her lip trembles, but words fail her as her eyes roam over mine, soaking in every line, every expression, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“It’ll come back,” I whisper, still cupping her face, letting my thumbs brush over her cheekbones. “We will be okay.”
She wraps her arms around my waist, holding on like she never wants to let go.
Then another bell rings, and I know I can’t keep her any longer.
She groans into my chest, and I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the faint vanilla scent of her shampoo before she releases, slowly retreating toward the school.
We don’t say anything else. Letting the “we will be okay” hang between us.
For me, it means us, together. We will be okay.
But for her? I’m not sure.
The doors close behind her, and I stand there, staring at the spot she disappeared through, trying to hold onto the memories before I lose them again.
I feel all over the place, with pieces scattered or jumbled entirely.
It might seem impossible to get everything back, but there is one thing I know for sure.
I love her. I love Emma.
I loved her then, and I love her now. That part didn’t get erased.
Every piece of me still belongs to her, and I’m going to fix whatever broke between us.
If it takes time, fine. I’ll cook, clean, play Legos for five hours so she can read her book if that’s what it takes.
I’ve lost enough already. I won’t lose my wife too.