Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1)

by Colleen Masters

  Both of our voices swell into a huge groan as he pummels into me once more and comes, hard. I clutch onto him as I feel him spasm and gush inside of me, I gaze up at him as his mouth falls open into a perfect “o”. It feels like a year goes by before we even begin to come back down to earth again.

  Emerson lowers himself down next to me on the bed, pulling me to his chest. I rest my cheek on his hot skin, listening to the wild beating of his heart. I can’t formulate a single word to tell him what this has meant to me, that it was so much better than I ever could have hoped, and that I don’t know how I’ll stand to never have him again.

  But the thing is, I don’t need to tell him. Just laying here beside me, it’s clear that he already knows.

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  I arrange my blonde hair into a hasty up-do, trying to keep from crying. I’ve been on the verge of tears since about five minutes after I woke up this morning—when I remembered what today is. Our parents’ wedding day. The day that Emerson and I become step siblings.

  I’ve changed into my maid of honor dress, a lavender sheath, and tried my best to apply fancy makeup. We have to head right to the church this morning, just like we promised, and we’re already getting kind of a late start. I lock eyes with myself in the mirror, see the tears shining there.

  “Stop it,” I whisper, “You can’t cry now. You always knew this was coming.”

  But even though Emerson and I had our one night together knowing full well that it would be our last, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  Stepping out into the hotel bedroom, I feel my heart clench painfully as Emerson turns to face me across the space. He’s wearing a simple gray suit, but it might as well be a tux for how good it looks on him. His hair is pushed away from his face, though the signature stubble I love so much is still in place. His blue eyes are shining with remorse for what’s about to happen and elation at what passed between us last night.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice ragged with conflicting emotion.

  “Thank you,” I say softly, “You look amazing, too.”

  “Here,” he says, moving to the motel mini-fridge. He opens it up and takes out a corsage in its little container. It’s a small sprig of lilac tied with an ivory ribbon.

  “What is this, prom?” I laugh tearfully, as Emerson eases the band of the corsage up over my wrist.

  “Just as miserable as prom, probably,” he grins wistfully, lacing my fingers through his.

  “Well, don’t go overboard,” I joke, stepping toward him.

  Without preamble, he pulls me into a tight embrace, pressing his lips ardently to mine. I take his face in my hands, kissing him hard. We both know that this is the last kiss we’ll ever share. It’s closed-lipped, almost sacred. And I’ll never forget it.

  “I don’t know how just yet,” Emerson murmurs, running his hands down my arms, “But it’s going to be OK, Abby. We’re gonna make it through this.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say, shaking my head, “Because right now, I can’t see how I’m ever going to feel alright again.”

  “At least we’ll still be in each others’ lives,” Emerson says, searching for a silver lining. “Even if it won’t be...how we’d prefer.”

  “I hope you know that I’ll never stop wondering what might have happened between us,” I whisper, “You know. If only...”

  “I know,” he says softly, kissing me on the forehead, “Me too, Abby.”

  Knowing that we won’t be able to utter another word without breaking into tears, we silently gather our things. We stand in the threshold together, looking back at the motel room. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be as happy again as I have been here. As Emerson closes the door behind us, it feels like something is being entombed here—some part of me that is lost forever.

  I sink into the passenger seat of the Chevy and stare out the window as we set off on the long drive back to our home town. Hopefully, by the time we get there, I’ll find it in my heart to fake a smile or two for my father’s wedding day.

  * * *

  Things are already well underway at our home by the time we pull up. My dad is waiting on the front steps, looking tense. I recognize my grandparents’ car, and another that must belong to the justice of the peace, in the driveway.

  “There you two are!” my dad cries, beckoning us forward. “Come in, come in. Frank and Gillian are waiting to see you.”

  That’s why he looks tense. He and my grandparents are already sure to be butting heads. I give Dad a quick kiss on the cheek as I pass.

  “You look nice, Daddy,” I tell him, trying to be chipper.

  “You too, sweetie,” he replies distractedly.

  A pang of sadness twists my core at our clipped address. He’s taking so much away from me today, more than he could ever know, and for what? A shadow of the relationship we used to have? I force myself not to think of it as I hurry toward the kitchen with Emerson in tow. Stepping inside, I spot my grandparents huddled over the counter. They’re dressed to the nines—Grandpa Frank in an Italian wool suit, Grandma Jillian in her favorite fur stole. They’ve always looked to me like first class passengers on some old-timey luxury cruise line. The only things unappealing about their appearances today are the twin scowls they try to cover up as I approach.

  “Abigail,” Grandma Jillian smiles, air-kissing both of my cheeks. A soft wash of her signature Chanel perfume brings back a million memories of tense family gatherings and etiquette lessons. I love my grandparents, but there’s definitely a lot of pressure that goes along with trying to meet their expectations.

  “You look gorgeous, dear,” Grandpa Frank says, giving me a swift kiss on the hand. They’re a beautiful couple, and look much younger than they actually are. Grandma’s perfect crown of platinum blonde curls, Grandpa’s swoosh of silver hair, and their bright white smiles make them look like an advertisement for the swankiest retirement community around.

  “Grandpa, Grandma, this is Emerson—Deb’s son,” I say, glancing Emerson’s way. He’s got both hands shoved into his pockets, and his mouth is a hard, solemn line.

  “Ah,” Grandpa says, without warmth. “Well. Hello, Emerson.”

  “Hey,” Emerson nods.

  “I’m Jillian. It’s nice to meet you,” Grandma says, offering her hand for Emerson to kiss. I watch, trying not to laugh, as he takes her hand and gives it a good solid shake instead.

  “And here’s the man of the hour himself,” Grandpa says, looking up as Dad walks into the kitchen with the justice of the peace—a balding man with a cheerful red face.

  “Are we starting soon?” Grandma asks, “The girls are playing bridge at three and I’d really prefer not to be late.”

  “We’ll start as soon as Deb is ready,” Dad replies curtly. “I’m sure she’s just putting the finishing touches on—”

  “I’m all set!” Deb sings out from the stairs.

  We all turn to watch her grand entrance as she clatters down the last few steps and struts her stuff our way. I can practically hear my grandparents’ jaws crack against the tile floor as Deb meets us in the kitchen. Her rhinestone-encrusted heels must be five inches high, and fully visible beneath the micro minidress that’s serving as her wedding gown. A huge, flowing bustle trails along behind her, and her already voluminous blonde curls are stacked a mile high in a hairdo that would make the most seasoned pageant girl raise an eyebrow. Her makeup looks painted on, most especially her hot pink lipstick. She looks positively ecstatic...but not exactly the picture of the blushing bride we all had in mind—especially my grandparents.

  “I can’t believe our wedding day is finally here!” she squeals, leaping into my dad’s arms. She kisses every inch of his face, leaving little smudges of pink all over. I’m a little concerned that my grandparents have literally turned to stone beside me. Dad manages to pry Deb off of him long enough to turn her Frank and Jillian’s way.

  “Deb,” my dad says through a force
d smile, “These are my parents.”

  “Oh. My. God,” Deb breathes, splaying her hands out over her heart. “You are just about the fanciest people I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

  “Yes. Well,” Grandma says, unable to form any additional words.

  “That is...some dress you’ve got there,” Grandpa attempts.

  “Dad,” my own father hisses warningly.

  “Oh, you like it?” Deb chirps, giving us all a little spin. “I got in at forty percent off. Still a rip off, if you ask me, but heck—it’s a special occasion, right? And it’s not like Bob here is hurting for money.” My grandparents’ eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into their hair lines. Deb falters, looking back and forth between them. “I’m sorry. Was that tacky?”

  “Ah, so you are familiar with the word, then,” Grandma says coolly.

  I glance at Emerson, embarrassed by my grandparents’ icy behavior. But his face is totally unreadable—I have no idea if he’s even listening. Deb, not knowing what to do with my grandparents’ disdain, turns to Emerson and me with a tight grin.

  “Now you two look so darling,” she sighs tearfully. “Our big happy family, at last.”

  I catch grandpa rolling his eyes as the justice of the peace claps his hands.

  “So!” the jolly official says, “Shall we head to the backyard for the ceremony?”

  Deb grabs hold of my dad’s hand and yanks him out the back door. They’ve set up a flimsy white altar in front of the pool, which is filled with floating flower blossoms. Emerson walks out ahead of me, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and my grandparents bring up the rear. Deb’s heels sink into the grass as she teeters toward the altar on my dad’s arm. Emerson stands beside her, and I take my place next to Dad. The justice of the peace stands between them, and my grandparents move front and center, all but wrinkling their noses.

  The wedding of the century, indeed.

  I can’t make myself focus as the justice of the peace starts rattling through the motions. Emerson and I stand facing each other, looking over our parents’ shoulders. I’ve never seen him look so miserable. More than being upset for my own heartbreak, I hate our parents in this moment for causing Emerson so much pain. He’s been through so much already, and now this fiasco? It’s more than anyone should have to bear.

  “OK then,” the justice of the peace goes on. “If we could have the rings...”

  Emerson thrusts them into my dad’s hand. Our parents slip the gaudy trinkets onto each other’s hands, grinning like two teenagers. The words of their vows and even their “I do’s” fade into white noise as Emerson finally lifts his eyes to mine. We stare at each other, laid bare in this anguished moment. Our gazes say what we never got a chance to: “I care about you more than anything in this world. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.” And as our parents share their first kiss as man and wife, I try my best to tell Emerson one more thing with my silent, pleading eyes:

  “I love you.”

  And as I look on, my heart breaking, I could swear his blue eyes tell me, “I love you too.”

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  By midnight, the house is all but silent once more. Leftover food and cake clutters every surface of the kitchen, crushed petals stain the floors, and the plastic flowers on the rickety altar out back have started dropping off, one by one. Dad and Deb have flown the coop, off on the first leg of their honeymoon in New York City. Grandma and Grandpa beat a quick retreat after a bite of cake and three brandies each. The house, my home, feels like a crypt now. But I suppose that’s appropriate—I’m certainly in mourning.

  Emerson and I, still dressed up in our wedding day best, sit side-by-side at the kitchen island. There’s an open bottle of vodka and a gigantic round of wedding cake sitting between us, and we’re helping ourselves to an abundance of both. Neither of us can think of anything productive to say, but are loathing to be alone tonight. We sit there in silence, being careful not to brush elbows or even look at each other for too long. As of this afternoon, when the ink dried on our parents’ marriage license, our relationship can only be strictly platonic.

  I haven’t been this miserable since my mom passed away. This feeling of running up against devastating injustice is something I’m all too familiar with by now.

  Without a word, Emerson refills our glasses of straight vodka. He snatches up his glass and downs his booze in one swallow. Tearing off his necktie, he staggers to his feet. I stare at him as he turns to leave.

  “Where are you going?” I murmur, the room spinning as I stand up after him.

  “Bed,” he growls, not looking at me.

  “That’s it?” I ask around the sudden lump in my throat, “It’s just gonna be one word answers from now on?”

  “What did you expect?” he replies, keeping his back to me.

  “I expected you to...to be...”

  “Your friend?” he scoffs, shoving a hand through his hair. “That was never going to happen, Abby. You know that as well as I do.”

  “We have to at least try,” I say softly, reaching out to touch him. At the slightest brush of my fingers, he rips his arm away from me, spinning around with fire in his eyes.

  “I can’t do that,” he rages. “No fucking way can I just be your friend.”

  “Don’t yell at me,” I say, steadying myself against the counter. “You’re drunk. You’re upset. This isn’t you talking—”

  “As if you know the first thing about me,” he fires back, shaking his head. “One fuck, and you think we’re soul mates or something?”

  “Stop it,” I tell him fiercely. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to hurt me. Trying to drive me away so that you don’t have to deal with what’s happening. Well too fucking bad. I’m not going anywhere, Emerson. You can’t scare me away.”

  “No?” he demands, stepping toward me. He plants one hand on either side of me, caging me in against the counter. “You really think so?”

  “Yes. I do,” I whisper, keeping my hazel eyes trained on his face.

  Our lips are mere inches from each other, our bodies all but pressed together. The sudden proximity of him sets me to trembling. I can’t be strong enough for both of us. I need his help.

  “Please, Emerson,” I say, blinking away the tears that blur my vision. “Could you just...hold me? Just for a second.”

  He stares at me, his blue eyes frozen over. But as the first tear rolls down my cheek, I watch the ice crack. The fight goes out of him, making way for the despair he’s been trying to cover up with aggression.

  “Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms to me.

  I rush to him, throwing myself into his embrace. He enfolds me in a fierce hug as the tears come hard and fast. He kisses the top of my head, pulling me tightly against him.

  “You can’t disappear on me like that,” I cry, burying my face in the front of his suit. “I can’t get through this without you, Emerson.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rasping. “This is just...It’s so hard, Abby. What am I supposed to do without you in my life? The way I want you to be, I mean...?”

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I say miserably.

  We hold each other, each unwilling to be the first to break the embrace. As the sky begins to lighten, we finally trudge upstairs, entirely spent. I walk ahead of Emerson, my body tired and aching. The prospect of sleeping alone tonight is too much to bear. It’s hard to believe that it was just last night that I fell asleep next to Emerson, my cheek resting against his bare chest. It feels like years ago that our bodies met, collided, moved as one. It was, without question, the best night of my life. And would you look at that? It’s being followed up by the worst.

  Emerson and I reach the top of the stairs and pause, each glancing at our bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. Turning away from each other now seems like the final step, the last nail in the coffin sealing up our barely-formed relationship. After the wrenching, brutal escapade that was our
parents’ wedding ceremony this afternoon, I don’t know if I can take it.

  “You know,” I say softly. “Today was sort of like a nightmare.”

  “That’s for fucking sure,” he murmurs, glancing my way.

  “And after a nightmare...isn’t is usually OK for a little sister to crawl into her big brother’s bed?” I ask tearfully.

  A slow, sad smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Nice justification, weirdo,” he teases softly, offering me his hand.

  I lace my fingers through his. Silently, we walk down the hallway toward his room. We don’t even have the energy to change out of our clothes. With vodka-clouded heads and heavy hearts, we collapse onto his bed. Emerson wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. There’s no question of things going any further between us now, but this simple comforting embrace is a balm for my battered soul. In an instant we’ve fallen into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  I’m jerked out of slumber the next morning by the sound of screaming voices. Prying open my eyes, I notice two things straightaway. First, I am massively hungover, having eaten next to nothing yesterday and had half a bottle of vodka to drink. Second, I’m still lying beside the sleeping Emerson, despite the fact that it’s Monday morning and school is set to start in a mere twenty minutes.

  But before I can worry about my attendance record, the crash of shattering glass catches my ear from downstairs. Two hysterical voices rage at each other as other objects go hurtling around the ground floor. Emerson’s eyes fly open at the sound of the unfolding chaos, and we turn to look at each other, at a loss. I recognize Dad and Deb’s voices at once, but I’ve never heard either of them so irate.