Grip My Heart Like My Headboard

Chapter 3

By 4:00 p.m., the team begins trickling out, each stopping by my office with proof of their completed assessments. Luke, lagging slightly behind, gives me a sheepish grin when I catch him nodding off earlier, but I wave him off with a faint smile, letting him go. The hum of the office quiets as JJ finally stands from her chair, gathering her things with her usual precision. I watch as she delicately brushes her hair behind her right ear, an unconscious habit that somehow makes her seem even more grounded, more herself.

She retrieves her phone from her back pocket, glancing at the screen with a flicker of hesitation. Her lip catches between her teeth as her thumbs begin to type, and I can't help but wonder who's on the other end of her message—or what she's contemplating as she writes it. There's a calm determination in her gaze, a private thought she seems to guard closely. The sight stirs something in me, and I feel an inexplicable tug to step forward, to close the distance between us, even if just to ask her what's on her mind. But I stay rooted, watching quietly as she finishes her message and slides her phone back into her pocket.

A sharp chime from my phone startles me, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen and see JJ's name, and my gaze instinctively shifts back out toward her desk. She's just slinging her bag over her shoulder, her expression calm but with a faint hint of something thoughtful as she heads toward the elevator. I unlock my phone, curious, and read her message.

JJ: Hope to see you at Henry's game. Paperwork will always be there.

Her words land with a softness I wasn't expecting. There's an openness in her message that nudges me out of the tension that's wrapped around me all day, a quiet encouragement beneath the simple reminder. I watch her reach the elevator, shoulders slightly relaxed, and I wonder if she's extending me a second chance—not just for tonight but for the small moments I keep letting slip away.

~~~

I step out of my car, locking it with a quick beep of the alarm, and head toward the bleachers, hoping I look more like a casual spectator than an FBI agent with my badge clipped to my belt. I pass through clusters of families, the familiar sounds of cheering parents and the thud of cleats filling the air. A whistle blasts, sending the boys on the field scrambling off each other in a tangled pile-up of limbs. 

Once through the gate, I scan the stands, my eyes searching for two particular blonds. It doesn't take long to spot them—JJ, the woman who has been running circles in my mind, and little Michael standing beside her, practically a miniature of his mother, with that same bright, observant gaze. And then there's Henry, out on the field, his posture and determination mirroring her strength even from a distance. JJ laughs, tilting her head as she speaks to a nearby parent, her whole face lighting up. For a second, I simply stand there, feeling a mix of nerves and warmth before stepping closer, grateful for this small glimpse into her world.

Michael spots me first, his little voice breaking through the crowd with a loud, joyful, "Aunt Emmy!"

Heads turn at his outburst, a few curious looks cast my way as I weave through people to reach him and JJ. I smile, giving him a small wave, trying to ignore the glances of parents probably wondering how I earned the title "Aunt" when we look nothing alike. JJ's face lights up when I squeeze in next to her, her hand finding my arm for a gentle, lingering squeeze. 

"Aunt Emmy!" Michael repeats, bouncing on his feet with infectious excitement. 

"Hi there, Agent Mikey," I greet him with a grin.