by Hart, Rebel
“I’m not going,” Emmett announces from the other corner of my room.
“I didn’t think you would,” I answer listlessly as I try to remember if I even own another black dress.
He can’t face Liam, Bernadette, and his mom all while pretending to care that Malcolm is dead. He hates him even more than I do. Which is sad since they were childhood friends. Emmett should be able to say goodbye to that part of him at least, even if its been dead for a while now.
“Why are you going?” he adds.
“For Bridgett,” I sigh. We’ve had this discussion twenty times already.
“But she can’t even talk to you while you’re there,” he argues. “No one’s supposed to know you two are friends, remember?”
“Does any of that even matter now that Malcolm is dead?” I wonder out loud as I dig through my closet.
“Another one always pops up in the old one’s place,” he grumbles.
The funny this is…Malcolm is the one who popped up in Emmett’s place.
“Well who’s next in line now, you think?” I yell out from the back of the closet, tossing out garment after garment. “Bernadette? One of those new guys?”
“Who cares,” he huffs.
I finally find a pair of black dress pants and decide those will have to do. I’m not in the mood to dress up too much anyway.
“Anyway…even if I can’t talk to Bridgett, I should at least be there as…I don’t know. A sign or something. It might make her feel better to have me around,” I explain as I slide on a dark, sheer sweater. “She didn’t like Malcolm any more than we did, but he was still her cousin.”
I leave him to sulk as I finish getting ready in the bathroom. He’s still sitting there looking miserable when I come out.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, walking over to drag him out of the chair.
“Jameson Automobiles,” he answers quietly, looking almost shameful. “I guess I shouldn’t care. But at least with Malcolm around, I knew things would be in his hands when Liam croaked. Even if Malcolm was just as messed up as his dad. Now who will it go to? One of those strangers they brought into town? Malcolm may not have been a blood relative, but we still grew up together.”
“Why wouldn’t Bernadette take it over?” I suggest.
“Yeah right,” he scoffs. “She’d never sign up for something like that.”
“I don’t know…she seemed pretty concerned with the welfare of the company when she was working to rob you of everything,” I remind him. “Why do you care anyway? Jameson was fucked the moment they stole it from you. I’d think you’d enjoy watching it crumble right before their eyes.”
He stares off into the distance. “It’s bred into me to care I guess,” he shakes his head. “Even if it’s not mine anymore, it’s still my family’s legacy.”
I want to comfort him, but I’m still angry with the way he teamed up with the rest of my family to attack me. Pile that on top of everything else that’s been going on, and I don’t exactly feel like a top-notch girlfriend at the moment. I just want to get this funeral over with and pick a school so I can get the hell out of here. I don’t care anymore about whatever happens with these car companies or the Elites after that.
“I better get going,” I tell him. “You staying here…or…?”
“No,” he snaps to. “I’m going home.”
I head for the door, hating how lost Emmett looks. Ordinarily, I’d drop everything to try and help him find his way, but I just don’t have it in me right now.
The funeral service is cold and traditional. As is the burial afterward. The men stand around in their expensive suits and the women in their big black floppy hats. Everyone in sunglasses, as if it’d be too awful to imagine anyone seeing the Elites and their friends and family showing real emotion. They have to hide their tears like ice queens.
I still feel out of place, even as I sit and stand among them. I wonder if I’m welcome at all, so I stand back a ways from the burial site. Once it’s over, I wait for the rest of the crowd disperse before leaving. But as I wait, I notice I’m not the only one lingering in the cemetery. A tall, dark figure stands over the grave in privacy. As I walk closer, I realize it’s Coach Granger. I want to leave him alone and get away without disturbing him, but a twig snaps under my shoe as I turn to go.
“Ophelia,” he calls out for me.
“Oh, hey,” I spin around in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s no bother,” he says, looking back down to the grave. “I was wondering if you’d be here or not.”
“I’m kind of surprised you’re here, honestly,” I confess as I step closer. “After what Malcolm did to your son…”
“It’s sad any time someone young dies so suddenly,” he replies. “My son…Malcolm…my heart hurts for both of them.”
“But your son would probably still be here if it hadn’t been for Malcolm,” I blurt without thinking, quickly realizing it was probably a harsh, unnecessary reminder.
He nods with a somber sort of acceptance. We’re both quiet for a moment as we stare down at the fresh dirt. I wish I had more thoughts on his death. I wish it brought up feelings about the meaning of life and the shortness of it, and why are we all here anyway? But all I can think is I know exactly why this happened. One way or another, Malcolm is just another victim of Jameson. I don’t trust any event like this being a natural occurrence. Not anymore.
“You’ll be the last runner I ever train, Lopez,” he says suddenly. “Once you’re gone, I’m retiring and leaving Jameson.”
“You can’t!” I plead. “You’re such a great coach. You could help so many more students.”
“I’m tired,” he says sternly. “I knew what I was getting myself into at WJ Prep. I thought if nothing else I could take a few of the spoiled brats and be one of the only people in their lives who demanded genuine excellence from them. The only person who didn’t put up with their twisted hierarchy and let them get away with their games. But I didn’t count on finding people like you mixed up in it all. And then…my son.”
I stare back down to the flowers piled on top of the grave and wish Malcolm’s death would change something, but Emmett is right. When one goes down, another one pops up in their place.
“It’s a shame,” he adds somberly. “If Malcolm had been given a chance, maybe he could have changed eventually.”
“People never change,” I scoff.
“We all change,” he turns towards me with an insistent look. “You’ve changed since you came here. I’ve changed. All we ever do is change.”
We stand there quietly for a long time before I finally say goodbye and leave him alone to think. I decide to skip the gathering afterward, assuming I wouldn’t be invited anyway since it’s at the Henderson Estate. But as I’m driving out of the cemetery, I see a long black dress blowing in the wind up ahead. It’s Bridgett. What is she doing walking out here all alone?
“Hey, need a ride?” I ask as I roll my window down, checking to make sure no one is watching.
“Yeah, thanks.” She jumps in, looking happy to see me. “I was going to call a cab when I got back to the main road. My family was driving me crazy. I couldn’t stand the thought of being locked up in a car with them.”
“I’m sorry. You’d think they’d chill out for at least a little while…considering the circumstances.”
“No way. They’re too paranoid about what happened to Malcolm,” she says.
“Paranoid?” I repeat. “So they suspect foul play?”
“Of course. As you would with any death around here, I guess,” she replies. “But an accidental car crash? They’re not buying it. They’re convinced someone did this to him.”
“No one told me it was a car crash,” I blink, feeling certain their suspicions are right. “Where did it happen?”
As Bridgett describes the area of the crash, I realize it was the exact same spot where my car went spiraling over the edge.
“Wh
at was he doing before that?” I ask frantically. “When did it happen?”
“He was leaving school after some kind of study group,” she looks at me with curiosity. “Why?”
“Did the cops happen to fish my car out of there while they were pulling him out?” I ask bitterly. “I’d say your family is right. If the brakes had been tampered with on the car, that’d be about the spot he’d lose control at. I know from experience. Which means…” I trail off as my mind races.
“What?”
“I assumed the Elites were responsible for all these threats to my life,” I explain. “But if they were…Malcolm would be the main one behind it all, right?”
“Probably so,” she nods. “But if the same thing happened to Malcolm, then…”
“You don’t think one of the other Elites would have tried to take him, do you? Like some kind of weird power struggle or…I don’t know.”
“I guess it’s possible,” she looks out her window, thinking it all over. “But,” her eyes cut over to me in hesitation. “Never mind.”
“Tell me,” I insist. “What is it?”
“Just…what I said before,” she stares down at her feet. “You don’t think Emmett would do this?”
I want to say he would never try to kill me or anyone. But that’s not true. He did play a hand in his own father’s death. And when he was told to by his father or the other Elites, he was capable of hurting me many times. If it had come down to it and they asked him to kill me, would he? And as for Malcolm, we all know he has plenty of motive for wanting to do something like that.
Then the words of Marissa’s diary ring through my brain, and I’m filled with even more doubt. Is Emmett inherently fucked-up because of his upbringing and genetics? Does he have this dark side always lingering beneath the surface now that he’s claiming to be a changed man?
“I can’t believe he’d do any of these things,” I proclaim, trying to convince myself just as much as Bridgett. “It’d be easier to believe that Theo would.”
Once again, Theo has reasons for wanting to harm the Hendersons. They stepped up to fill the shoes of the former Elites he managed to erase. I never did find it easy to accept that he’d stop there. I always thought he’d just keep going and going, power-hungry and aimlessly stomping out whatever new figure popped up in Thomas’s place. And what about his deal with Emmett? They both wanted Thomas dead, but is Emmett indebted to him now?
“Well whoever did it,” she continues, snapping me out of my rising mental panic. “If the same thing was done to your car that was done to Malcolm’s, I’d say whoever killed Malcolm is probably behind your death threats. Which means your number one suspect is dead and the real culprit is still out there. And obviously thirsty for blood.”
“I really am sorry about Malcolm,” I tell her. “I know he wasn’t your favorite person, but…”
“There was always something off about him,” her eyes darken. “I could never put my finger on it when we were younger, but then he turned into a complete monster as we got older. I think he’s a sociopath.”
“Emmett would agree with you,” I sigh, remembering his opinions of Malcolm and their friendship. But does that mean Emmett is just as messed up? Maybe that’s why the two got along so well. And why he gets along with Theo. Could he be a sociopath too?
We’re quiet the rest of the way, playing detective in our minds. But mostly we’re both just exhausted. I feel bad for Bridgett. I want to go home and crawl into bed, but she still has hours of socializing to do among the grieving Elites and the rest of the school.
I drop her off at the iron gate lining the Henderson’s property, shivering to remember the last time I was there. I’m quick to say goodbye and drive off, getting home as fast as I can.
I’m conflicted as I crawl back into bed at home. Part of me wishes Emmett had stayed and that I could curl up in his arms right now where I usually feel so safe. But there’s a part of me that is losing all the trust I have built up in him.
I think over the past few months, all the way back to our first day back to school. His feelings about Malcolm and the new Elites were never resolved. He’s been so shady and withholding, disappearing for all of these mystery errands I never know anything about. And each time he disappears, another threat is made on my life. Then there’s his friendship with Theo. Throwing me under the bus to protect himself when I wanted to tell the truth about my dad and how we met. Going along with that whole intervention even though he knows why I don’t trust Theo.
By the time I get back to remembering his insecurities about money and his future, and the way he was so quick to start blowing through cash the moment he was put on Theo’s payroll, I feel sick to my stomach. More so than I have all day.
And still my heart aches for him. Even with all of my doubts. How could one part of my brain seriously be considering the possibility that he’d threaten my life while the other part of me wants nothing more than to call him and be in his arms again? But I guess that’s the way it’s always been with him from the beginning. He hurts me, and somehow, I only love him more.
I give in to the side I always do and reach for my phone to call him. If I could just see his face and hear his voice, I can convince myself that none of these fears are true.
23
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hi,” I smile as Emmett opens his apartment door.
“Hey.” He leans in and kisses me so deep and soft that I instantly get the relief I need. But a big part of me still wants to cry. I have to stop myself from bursting into tears as he brushes his hand to my cheek.
“How was the funeral?” he asks, pulling me the rest of the way inside before shutting the door behind me.
“Like any other funeral, I guess,” I shrug. “Coach Granger was there. And I gave Bridgett a ride to the Henderson Estate.”
“How’s she doing?” He says the words, but he doesn’t really seem to care what the answer is.
“They don’t think it was an accident,” I explain, wondering how much I should divulge. I’m terrified if I go into detail, I’ll see some subtle admission of guilt on his face.
Emmett picks up on my hesitation and narrows his eyes at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I shoot back too quickly.
“Ophelia, I can tell when something is bothering you,” he groans. “What is it?”
I’ve been caught, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I feel the tears rushing to the surface again as he stares me down. I look away and try to tame my trembling lip.
“Look, I know funerals are tough, but let’s not forget what kind of guy Malcolm was. Do you remember what he did to you? To Lily? Coach Granger’s son? To me?” he rants.
I bite my lip, thinking of all the people Emmett has hurt. “I haven’t forgotten,” I mutter, unable to look him in the face.
I watch him storm around his apartment, flinging things around. There’s something different about him and it frightens me. I’ve seen this plenty of times before, back in the shitty motel he stayed at last semester when we were closer than ever. But even then, I knew how unhealthy this relationship could be at times. Should I have left then?
“Did you do it?” I ask finally with a sharp, shaky breath.
He freezes and looks to me with wide, raging eyes. “What?”
“Did you kill Malcolm?” I say again, more sternly.
His face shrinks into a soft laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he moans, raking his hands across his face in exasperation. “You really think I could kill someone?”
I tilt my head, silently reminding him about his father.
“Ophelia, if that’s the kind of person I was…I would’ve shot Thomas in the head myself,” he argues coldly. “He deserved to die even more than Malcolm did and I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. That’s why I needed your father.”
“So then you admit Theo is the type of person who could commit murder,” I snap back. “But you still have no problems goin
g into business with him?”
“Oh Christ, not this again,” he fumes. “I can’t get into this right now. I’m tired, okay? Is that all you came over for?”
I want to keep arguing, but then that soft part of my heart cries out, longing for him. That’s what I came here for. To feel his warm skin against mine and forget all of the bad that is flooding my mind. Without saying another word, I march up to him and throw myself against his chest. He’s tense and still at first, but slowly his arms wrap around me. His palms spread around my back, lowering to my upper thighs.
I look up into his eyes, and he lowers his lips to mine. Our kiss quickly deepens into a passionate, hurried frenzy. We want to make each other feel good. We want to forget about the complicated mess around us. We haven’t had enough of this lately and our bodies miss each other. Not just the motions of having sex, but the primal connection that used to spark between us. For everything I don’t know, I am certain so much of me still belongs to him and probably always will, no matter what kinds of crimes or wrongdoings he could commit.
He throws me onto the couch and begins to unbutton my jeans. I try to pull him back down to kiss me, but he pushes my hands away. I expect him to go down on me or slide his fingers inside, but the moment he takes off my pants, he starts to remove his own.
“Wait,” I rasp, running my hands across his skin. I want him, but I’m not ready yet.
He ignores me and quickly throws the rest of his clothes to the floor. He touches himself and there’s a mad look in his eye. His nostrils are flaring and he looks angry, but like he wants me just as badly as I want him at the same time. I do want him, but my body isn’t responding. Has it finally caught up to the logical, rational side of me that never thought I should trust Emmett in the first place?
Emmett pushes inside of me, but there’s a sharp pain. I wince and dig my fingers into the couch cushions, trying to go somewhere in my brain that forces my body to do what I want it to. To be wet and excited over him. I think back on how sure I felt of everything after his family cut him off. They knew he wasn’t like them. That he wouldn’t choose money, power, or greed over human lives. When did I lose that certainty? Where is all of this doubt and mistrust coming from?
