How am I supposed to survive that?
I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I filter through my thoughts, determined not to let this tear me down. Because I’m Emma Mackenzie. I’m strong and fierce. I’m independent, and I don’t need anyone to help save me. I’ve been happy on my own, and I can do it again. I’m done giving out my heart only for people to rip it apart when the chance is given.
No more.
I stand up from the ground, putting the ceramic sunflower on the dresser next to the door. I look back at the door for a moment, the glow of yellow light seeping through the crack at the bottom where two shadowed feet appear.
“Go to bed, Greyson. I’m done talking.” I walk away from the door and climb under the covers, turning away from him. Refusing to hear one more single word coming from his beautiful lips.
I’m going to miss them…
GREYSON
I didn’t listen to Emma when she told me to go to bed. Instead, I sat down against her door and listened to her cry, letting the sound rip me apart because I deserved it. Until her body eventually gave out and she fell asleep.
Then I went toourroom, sat onourbed, and pulled out my phone, flipping through my pictures of Emma, needing to feel close to her in some way.
She said there was no way to fix us, but that’s bullshit. I know it, and she knows it. I’ll make it happen. I’ll do everything I can to prove I never meant to say all those hurtful things. It won’t be easy. I know how greatly I fucked up.
Jesus, I compared her to her mom. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t, that’s the problem.And telling her she isn’t Gracie’s parent when I’ve been making it clear for the past few months that she is. God, I’m an idiot!
Pictures of her and our little girl shine before my eyes—so many pictures. How did I ever doubt she would do anything to my baby? This is proof of how much she loves Gracie and would never hurt her. Proof that she is, in every sense of the word, Gracie’s mom.
Now I just need to find a way to show her that. Erase those imposturous thoughts I’ve put in her head and replace them with authentic ones.But how do I do that? Where do I start? Come on, Ford, think.
This is just like hockey. We’re at the start of a game. I’m in the neutral zone, staring at my opponents, and Emma is the goal.I need to get to her, but they’re in the way, surrounding her. Thick walls blocking my path back to her heart.
I’ll have to get around them before they get the chance to stop me. Guess it’s a good thing I’m a professional hockey player. So who’s my first opponent? The mug. How do I get around this one?
I swipe my hands through my hair, pulling on it as I rack my brain for ways to fix this problem.I need to stop doing that. At this rate, I’ll be bald by next week.
How do I fix a shattered mug that she’s had for the past twenty years… do they even still make them? What if it was hand-crafted?Shit!And even if I do manage to find another, it won’t have that little chip on the rim. It won’t be the same.Maybe I can recreate the fall and hope the outcome is the same. Yeah, that seems achievable… I think.
I exit my gallery and start browsing online for sunflower mugs, not one looking like hers. I go back to my pictures and search for a picture with her mug.I must have one somewhere, even if it’s in the background… There!
I fall on a picture of her sitting cross-legged on our bed. The sheets are wrapped around her waist, her upper body on display and only partially covered by her arms, holding her special mug. I remember that day. It was the morning after Valentine’s Day, and I had brought her breakfast in bed.
I zoom into the picture until all I can see is the mug. Taking a screenshot, I head into my Google image search and attach the photo of the mug and pray the results will be fruitful.Holy shit! I found it!
The first result that pops up is a website I can order from.Perfect. Quantity? A hundred should be enough? Express shipping? Thank you, baby Jesus!I complete my order feeling satisfied.
One problem about to be fixed. Now all that’s left is to add the chip for it to be complete.But fuck, with hockey, how am I going to find the time? Plus, I can’t do it while Bunny’s around, or Gracie. What do I do? I’ll need help…
I quickly go back to my order, modifying it before it gets processed and changing the shipping address to Morgan’s. Then I head into my messages and create a group chat with Morgan, Cecilia, Aubrey, and Ronnie.
Me
Ladies, sorry to message so early. But I really fucked up with Emma… I need your help while I’m gone.
I don’t expect them to answer right away since it’s just after 3:00 in the morning. But to my surprise, my phone instantly vibrates back to life with incoming texts.
Ronnie
FINALLY! A man willing to admit when he’s fucked up.
Morgan
Count us in.
