25. Emery

25

EMERY

Thankfully, Stevie and Woody only needed to stay the night for observation, and Stevie’s doctors reiterated how much Woody’s quick thinking prevented bigger problems. Two days later, and we were celebrating Stevie’s birthday in our kitchen.

The only reason we were home at all was because of Woody. I’d put in a call to the county regarding the killer bees, only to find out that Woody had already called them from his hospital bed and lit a fire under someone’s ass. An emergency crew had come out and cleared the area before we got home.

Mom said she’d told me about it at the hospital, but I hadn’t remembered until she pulled into my driveway instead of her house. Funny how the memory works when your entire world is a child-sized hospital bed.

Mom and I had quickly decided on a slightly more low-key lunch celebration, but that was more for the traumatized adults than anything else. Stevie was fully recovered and, now that she’d eaten and opened her presents, was champing at the bit to dive into her birthday cake.

Speaking of...I’d requested a sparkly, horse-themed decoration from the local bakery and realized a bit too late that I should’ve been more specific. What I ended up with was a very realistic birthday cake in the shape of a horse’s head. Despite the glittery purple mane and large, curving lashes, it was more reminiscent of the Godfather than any reasonable person would want for an eleven-year-old’s birthday cake.

This was confirmed when I showed it to Mom and Rowdy and they nearly pissed themselves with laughter. I couldn’t wait to see what they thought when they discovered Stevie’s newest obsession: red velvet cake.

I blamed Woody’s Steel Magnolia T-shirt for last month’s sobfest and subsequent attempts at the movie’s infamous armadillo groom’s cake. We never did quite hit the mark, armadillo-wise, but Stevie had particularly enjoyed the gore of eating the cake’s “guts.”

Ah, well. Maybe a decapitated horse’s head wasn’t so bad in comparison, and anyway, it was too late to change anything. Still, I held my breath as I opened the bakery box for Stevie. Her eyes widened, and I prepared myself for the meltdown.

“Oh. My. God. Dad! This is the best birthday cake ever!”

Fucking hell. My shoulders drooped and her maniacal laughter put to bed all the anxiety and fear of the last several days. I mean...I should probably make sure that she wasn’t developing any troubling tendencies, but that was a problem for another day.

Before I could weep from relief—so dramatic—Woody walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a Central Perk T-shirt with the black beaded friendship bracelets Stevie’d made to replace the ones he’d lost, old jeans, and broken-in boots.

Despite the way our last conversation went, I was so fucking happy to see him. He, on the other hand, carried himself like a scolded child, which I didn’t like one bit.

In his hands was a present wrapped in purple and pink—Stevie’s favorite colors. While she bore no evidence of her reaction to the bee stings, Woody’s face and neck were still slightly puffy, embellished with a freckled constellation of marks from his many, many stings.

Rowdy’d been staying with Woody since he got home from the hospital, and he’d suggested that I give Woody some time to recover before we had any important conversations.

Rowdy had been right about Woody’s need for space—he’d ended up sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours straight after he got home. He then spent most of yesterday splitting his time between napping and reading on the porch while Rowdy took care of the chores. Rowdy sent me updates, including videos of Woody and Bandit snoring away in bed, at the kitchen table, and on the front porch.

I’d been surprised, then, when Woody texted me last night.

Woody: Rowdy mentioned you’d moved the birthday party to noon tomorrow.

Woody: That is, if you still want me to come.

Me: Yeah, we’re keeping it simple.

Me: And of course I want you to come.

Me: You saved my daughter’s life, silly.

Me: You’ve got a standing invite to all McAvoy family gatherings.

Me: Can I call you?

Woody: I’m actually pretty exhausted right now.

Woody: But tell Stevie that I’ll try to stop by tomorrow if I can.

His brush off had hurt more than it probably should’ve, but I’d honored his request. I’d tried to put him out of my mind as I’d gone through the birthday errands this morning, with very little success. Then, when Rowdy said Woody couldn’t make it to the lunch part of the birthday luncheon, I’d accepted that I’d probably pushed it too far and he was staying away on account of me.

I’d never been so grateful to be wrong, even if Woody was currently achieving Perseus vs. Medusa-like levels of eye contact avoidance.

Stevie jumped up when she saw Woody and tackled him with a hug. “Woody! You made it!”

“ Oof .” He winced but made no complaints as he returned her effusive greeting with an expression so sweet I could weep. “Of course I did. Someone left these bracelets on my door this morning, so I had to at least stop by to say thank you and happy birthday.”

She beamed, clearly proud of herself. “I’m glad you like ’em. Do you like my new boots?” she asked, showing off her grandmother’s gift. “They’re purple and they’re so shimmery!”

“Well, look at that,” he said appreciatively. “They do shimmer. Though they’re too pretty to do any real work. You might need to wear something else to help me finish up the gate.”

Only then did he send me a fast look, a silent request. We hadn’t discussed it yet, but he was right: Stevie should see the project through, sooner rather than later. She and I had learned the importance of getting back on the horse immediately after a fall, and I didn’t want her to associate fear with this place we’d grown to love.

I nodded, and just as quickly, his eyes darted away.

Stevie stroked her chin, the picture of sagacity. “That’s probably why Dad got me some working cowboy boots, just like yours,” she said, pointing to the other box on the dining room table.

“That was real nice of your dad,” he said, walking over to take a look.

“Yeah, well.” She rolled her eyes. “He says there’s another present waiting for me when I train Tim to take a bit, though I don’t know why I should hafta wait for another present because of one stubborn zonkey. It’s my birthday, dammit.”

Before I could say anything, she lifted her chin at me. “Curse words are free on my birthday.”

Rowdy, Mom, and I laughed, but Woody had pulled out one of the cowboy boots I’d purchased for Stevie, examining it closely. His hand went to his mouth as she continued to make the case that curse words were free and all presents had to be given to her on her actual birthday, or it didn’t count.

“These are the exact same boots as mine.” he said, talking over her. “Same brand. Same style.”

Stevie paused her soliloquy on the unfairness of withholding gifts and gestured at him. “Duh. You’re the only one who knows what you’re doing around here.”

Rowdy threw up his hands. “Excuse me?”

She giggled and gave him a side hug. “You, too, I guess. But your boots aren’t as cool as Woody’s. And you really need to upgrade your T-shirt game.”

Rowdy picked her up and spun her in a circle, sending Woody a soft smile. “You might be right about that.”

After Rowdy set her down, Stevie pointed at the pretty box Woody had set on the table. “Are you gonna make me wait for my present, too?”

“Uh, no. Course not.” Suddenly nervous, he grabbed the box and pushed it into Stevie’s hands, crinkling the ribbons that cascaded over the side. “I got this for your EpiPens. So you can have them with you when you want to ride Blanche or whatever.”

Stevie’s eyes lit up as she tore into the box, ribbons going everywhere. “Yes!” she shouted, holding up a shimmery purple leather fanny pack. “It matches my fancy boots!”

“How did you get an exact match like that?” I asked, completely thrown. “Did you go to Jo’s?”

“Uh, yeah?” he answered as Stevie handed him the fanny pack. “Stevie likes it when her things match.”

“Help me put this on,” she commanded.

Woody set about unbuckling the pack and wrapping it around her narrow waist. He glanced at my mother, who sent him a wink.

“Uh, what is going on?” I asked the room.

Mom answered, “Woody texted me and asked what we were getting for her birthday.”

Wait. What?

I turned to Woody, stunned. “You have my mother’s number?”

He kept his eyes on the fanny pack as he tightened it. “She said I should have it in case of an emergency. Or if I needed a recipe.”

“Mom?”

“Oh, Emery, hush. So I decided that the man who’d saved the lives of both my son and my granddaughter needed to be in my Contacts list. Sue me.”

Mom ignored my gape-mouthed stare and busied herself with setting candles in the mobbed-up birthday cake. Rowdy was laughing into the crook of his elbow while Woody stood, then draped his arm across Stevie’s shoulders. She leaned into the embrace, her face shining with happiness.

I took in the scene, imagining what kind of poem Woody might write about it. He’d say something about the golden light streaming through the windows, the unmatched joy on all our faces. I wondered if he’d include words like love or family or forever .

That I hoped he would led to a nearly overwhelming realization: This moment right here was why I’d never considered a serious relationship before.

Never once would I have ever considered inviting any of my previous lovers to my daughter’s birthday party. Nor could I have pictured one of them risking life and limb to keep her safe. I’d certainly never dreamed that she’d have felt this comfortable with any of them.

To be clear, I’d had a roster of good men. Decent men. But not a single one of them could hold a candle to what Woody meant to my family.

I waited until his eyes met mine and pressed my hand to my heart.

Thank you , I mouthed.

He shifted in his stance, then kissed the top of Stevie’s head. You’re welcome.

Rowdy’s shrewd eyes caught the exchange, so I plowed forward, not trusting whatever was about to fall out of his mouth.

“Okay, fine, Stevie-girl. You’ve convinced me. I hid your bonus present in the hall closet upstairs.”

“Yes!” She pumped her fist, then scrambled out of the kitchen and up the stairs, her fancy purple boots striking the wooden treads like gunshots.

Rowdy let out the laugh he’d been holding back. “You two are not subtle.”

Woody went beet red and looked up at me like I was gonna save him, though I had no such intentions. Stalking over to him, I grabbed him by his T-shirt and pulled him toward me.

“Wha—”

I cut him off with a fierce, short kiss that left his eyes glazed over. Turning to Rowdy, I responded, “I never was good with subtle anyway.”

Mom clapped and Rowdy—sporting his usual man bun—tossed an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder. Still, the sound of boots thundering down the staircase had Woody and I taking a few steps apart. We had a few things to discuss before bringing her in on our relationship.

Stevie raced into the kitchen with her arms flung out in victory. “I love my fancy hat! It matches perfectly with my boots and my fanny pack! I love matching!”

Laughing, we surrounded her in an impromptu group hug until she pushed us away.

“Don’t crush my hat!”

I raised my brow and Stevie grimaced.

“But thank you for my birthday presents!”

Everyone laughed as Mom started lighting the candles on the cake.

“Rowdy, hun, can you grab the blinds? We need to cut this cake and get on the road.”

“I still can’t believe you’re stealing my child on her birthday, Mother. Two days after she just got out of the hospital.”

“Oh, don’t ‘Mother’ me,” she said, hip-checking me out of the way as Rowdy closed the last of the blinds. “Besides, I’m calling grandma’s prerogative. We’re going to San Antonio to do a little shopping, then we’re going to my house to make cookies. And boys aren’t allowed.”

Grinning, I turned off the overhead light. Despite the large room and the bright day trying to make it past the edges of the blinds, there was something cozy about our small circle.

“Yeah,” Stevie said, smiling at me over the flickering candles. “No boys allowed.”

We laughed and sang to our girl while she clapped and twirled, the smile never leaving her face. She then squeezed her eyes tight and made her birthday wish, sending me and Woody a meaningful look when she blew out her candles.

Maybe she knew more than she let on.

Mom started cutting into the horse’s head, then stopped and glared at me.

“What the hell is this cake?”

“That’s a dollar, Grandma!”

From a process perspective, starting at the bottom of the cake had been a reasonable decision. Unfortunately for Mom, the red velvet innards gave the already creeptastic cake the fully decapitated look it had been missing.

And I’ll be the first to admit that the addition of strawberry filling was, objectively, a bad idea.

Rowdy took one look at the thing and fell to the floor, wheezing with laughter. Stevie joined him, and soon both of them were snort-giggling uncontrollably, which only made them laugh harder. Woody placed his fist against his mouth, his eyes bright even as they found mine. Mom, however, glared at me, pointing to the horse’s head with a dripping, strawberry-and-red-velvet-stained knife.

“This is so fucked up,” she hissed, shaking her head. Before Stevie could say anything, Mom pointed the knife at her. “And if curses are free on your birthday, then they’re free for all of us.”

With that, we all lost it. Even Woody had to lean on the counter for support, he was laughing so hard. We laughed until our sides hurt, until we thought we couldn’t laugh any more. That is, until Mom declared that she had a schedule to keep and started hacking into that thing like she was Freddy Krueger.

Gruesome didn’t even begin to cover it as we stood around the kitchen island, eating our red velvet decapitated horse cake on Barbie dessert plates with bejeweled plastic forks. The weirdness, however, didn’t end there.

The second Woody ate the last bit of his icing, Mom placed a taco on his plate.

“I set this aside for you, dear. Eat up. We need to put some meat on your bones.”

“Mom—” I started, but she held up her hand, then reached out and patted Woody’s cheek.

“He saved her life. I can fuss over him. End of discussion.”

Woody sent me a smug little grin and took a big bite of the taco. “It’s delicious, Dawn. Thank you so much.”

I looked between the two of them, shaking my head. “I do not approve of this friendship, or whatever this is.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Stevie said, appearing with her overnight bag over her shoulder. “Grandma says he’s one of us now.”

Woody flushed at her words, reminding me of his expression when I’d taken him on the stairs and called him a good boy as he came. We shared a glance, then looked away, neither of us hiding a damned thing.

Mom cleared her throat. “Time to start putting things away,” she said in her best Mom voice.

We all hopped to, organizing the gifts, washing the dishes, and putting away the leftovers in record time. Stevie, who was no doubt focused on shopping, barely let me kiss her forehead before she dragged her overstuffed bag out to Mom’s car with that determined gait of hers.

I watched her go as conflicting emotions arose in my chest. Despite the hilarity and joy of the occasion, it was impossible for me not to imagine how different this day would be had we lost her.

Mom cleared her throat. “We’ll be heading out, son.”

I cleared my head and gave her a hug. “Have fun in San Antone. Call me if y’all need anything.”

She squeezed me tight, then grabbed my shoulders. “Dear, I’m not just doing this for her. I’m doing this for you, too. You’ve slept maybe a handful of hours since this happened. Use this time to get some rest and maybe figure out a few other things,” she said, looking at Woody, who was focusing on his cuticles like they held the secrets of the universe.

I’d argue, but she was right, as usual.

“Okay, Mom. I will.”

She kissed my cheek and then left with my daughter and a couple of EpiPens. As I watched them disappear around the bend in the road, Rowdy opened the front door and jogged down the front porch stairs. I followed as he walked across the yard to Shadow, freeing her from the hitching post.

“I’m spending the night at Woody’s again and leaving the Mule for him. And hopefully I won’t see him until tomorrow,” he said, popping his brows.

“Ah, jeez,” I muttered, not entirely unhappy about his—and my mother’s—interference.

“You’re welcome,” he said, then climbed onto Shadow and took off toward the cabin.

I made my way to the house, glad to see Woody leaning against the doorframe, waiting for me.

“Hey,” I said, approaching him carefully.

“Hey.”

He stepped out onto the front porch, closing the distance between us. We wrapped our arms around each other and stood there for a long, long time.

“Thank you for taking care of the bees. Again,” I whispered into his hair.

He gave a wry chuckle. “Pretty sure I put the fear of God into whoever’d answered the phone. I’m just glad those assholes seemed to have moved on.”

“Me too.”

We went quiet again, though this time the stillness felt like reticence, like Woody was working up to something. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I—I need to apologize for what I said to you. I shouldn’t’ve kicked you out like that. I just...I couldn’t face you.”

“Why?” I asked, proud of myself for keeping my voice level.

“Because I”—he let out a long breath—“assume that everything bad that happens in my vicinity is my fault. According to Rowdy.”

“That’s just ’cause Rowdy’s been paying attention,” I said, kissing his forehead.

“It’s annoying,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I just wanted to?—”

“Do you even know how to be loved, Woody?” I asked, cutting him off.

He seemed startled by the question, and his eyes—those damned silver lightning eyes—caught on mine. Frozen, like one of his prey animals.

“I used to think so,” he answered, careful with his words. “Then a guy who I thought loved me left like I didn’t mean anything at all.” He gestured to me. “I thought I could be your fuck toy and that would be the extent of it. I thought I could be Stevie’s friend, and well...” He fiddled with the bracelets she’d made for him. “We see how that worked out.”

I rolled my eyes, even though I was beginning to understand him. “Then why are you here, Woody? Give me the real answer,” I demanded softly.