12
Emery
One year ago
I’d just changed out of the bridesmaid dress and into pajamas when I heard the growl of tires on gravel at the back of my house.
The alarm clock on my bedside table read 01:16.
Who on earth …
I hurried to the window that looked down on my driveway and watched as a large figure pushed open the door of a Mercedes.
A Mercedes I recognized.
Jack?
He practically fell out of the car.
Oh my God.
Hurrying downstairs and out onto the porch, I watched as Jack stumbled on the gravel, steadying himself against the hood of the car. He snort-laughed under his breath and cursed.
He was drunk.
“Jack,” I hissed, hurrying down the porch steps.
He looked up from watching his feet and gave me a wobbly smile. “Em, how did you get here?”
Jesus Christ. “Jack, you’re at my house. You drove to my house. Drunk.” I was furious.
He moved toward me and I rushed to put my arms around him as he stumbled.
Holy hell … he was drunk.
“Yes, I nee-needed to see you.” He didn’t slur his words but drawled them out like someone who was falling asleep.
Concern overcame my shock and with great difficulty, I helped him up the porch and into the house.
“You smell so good.” He tried to bury his nose against my neck as I grunted beneath his weight. The man was huge! “You feel fucking good too.” His hand slipped down to my ass and I yelped as he squeezed it. “You have the greatest ass in the world. I’ve fantasized a million times about your ass.”
Flushing hot, I neared my sectional and pushed him to it.
He flopped heavily onto it and stared up at the ceiling. A few seconds later, he asked, “How did I get on the floor?”
“You’re on the couch,” I snipped. “I’m going to get you some water.”
“Don’t leave, Em.”
He sounded so forlorn, I felt more than a prick of sympathy. Damn him! “I’ll be right back.”
When I returned, he hadn’t moved and his eyes were still glued to my ceiling. “Jack, take this.” I sat near his head and held out the glass of water.
He didn’t take it.
“You hate me,” he said instead, sounding distraught and not at all like the self-possessed, thirty-seven-year-old man I knew. He sounded young. And lost. “You’re supposed to hate me. It’s for the best. But I hate that you hate me.”
Tears brightened my eyes. “I don’t hate you, Jack.”
“The real Emery does. She hates me.”
“The real Emery?”
He turned, pushing himself up just enough to lay his head in my lap. I studied his handsome face, the length of his lashes that cast shadows over the crest of his cheeks. And I ached for him. Hours after finally telling him off, and here he was, and here I was.
Right back at square one.
Goddamn him.
“Jack.”
“You’re not the real Em. You’re Dream Em.”
I frowned. “Jack, you’re drunk and you’re really here at—”
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
I stopped, biting my lip. He was drunk. And I shouldn’t take advantage of that. I shouldn’t. “Protect me from what?” I winced. This was so unfair of me.
“You know what,” he said, as if exasperated with me. “Rebecca. The murder. The same reason I pushed Coop away.”
The murder?
He was joking, right?
This was drunken silly talk.
Right?
Trepidation crawled through me and all thought of playing fair dissipated. “Tell me about it again. It’ll help.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m tired, Em.”
“It’ll help to talk to me about it … since you can’t talk to me in real life.” I was going to hell.
Head still on my lap, he looked up at me now. His pupils were dilated. I stroked the hair back from his face, hoping he didn’t feel the tremble in my hand.
“It was the night we made the date. Do you remember?”
How could I forget? “I remember.”
“Ian called right after.” His drunken words were slow, languorous, and I itched with impatience for him to reveal the truth. “I’d been on my way to tell Cooper that Dana came onto me.” His gaze moved to the ceiling as he remembered. “Rebecca had brought a tourist back to the pool house. Some guy she barely knew. And he attacked her. Tried to rape her.”
The words ricocheted around my living room and finally clipped me in the heart. “Oh my God,” I breathed, shocked to my core. “Poor Rebecca.”
Anger shrouded Jack’s words. “She fought back. She hit him with a dumbbell a few times and she accidentally … she killed the guy.”
Of all the things I expected Jack to reveal, this was not among the possibilities.
“Stu and Ian covered it up. But they pulled me into it. Used it against me. Rebecca isn’t Ian’s, you see. My mom had an affair.”
It was like an air raid of bombs of explosive information.
“He doesn’t give a shit what happens to Rebecca. He sent her away and covered up the murder, but he’s got it rigged for her to go down for it if I don’t play my part in the family. I had to sell the business, go work for him. Sometimes I just drive around Hartwell, wondering where they buried the body. Knowing it’s out there somewhere. It fucks with my head. It’s fucked with my head for years.
“Cooper knew something was up. Something big. Knew I was haunted, just didn’t know by what. He kept trying to figure out the truth. He couldn’t know the truth. I couldn’t make him party to murder. Couldn’t have him wondering every time he drives on the outskirts if the body’s in a particular spot he rests his eyes on. I couldn’t have this sickness touching his life, just to protect my sister. To protect me. And Dana … she was a disloyal piece of shit, and I …”
Understanding dawned. “You deliberately set it up for Cooper to find you with her.”
“Yeah.”
“Two birds. One stone,” I whispered.
“Exactly. He deserved better.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I realized how much Jack had sacrificed for his sister. The depth of his father’s evil was shocking. All this time I’d thought Devlin was a ruthless son of a bitch. But he was more. He was worse.
“Oh, Jack.” I bent over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, flinching at the overwhelming scent of whisky wafting from him.
Our eyes met as I pulled back.
The sick feeling in my gut grew and grew as I considered how he’d feel if he remembered this in the morning.
“I’m a vault, Jack. I won’t tell anyone.” I wouldn’t. I would never jeopardize him or his sister like that.
A murder.
I could barely wrap my head around it.
“Of course you won’t,” he whispered, his eyelashes fluttering closed. “You’re just a dream.”
I groaned as Jack’s soft snores drifted into the room.
He would be so pissed in the morning when he realized what he’d done.
Or should I say … what I’d manipulated him into doing.
13
Jack
One year ago
He was a coward.
Jack had never felt that more than when he woke up in a house he didn’t recognize, saw a photograph of Emery on the wall with an older woman, realized it was her house, and hightailed it out of there before she appeared.
Waking up fully clothed on Em’s couch was one thing. Seeing his car parked right up against her porch, wheels turned out, proving he’d driven here drunk, was another.
Wondering what he’d said to her didn’t bear thinking about.
Even though he shouldn’t have, he drove back to his place.
He promptly threw up in his bathroom, thanking God he hadn’t thrown up at Em’s. He hoped. Downing Tylenol and one of the smoothies
he drank after a workout, Jack sat for a bit to keep it down. And he tried to think. Tried to remember.
Nada.
Getting ready for the day with the hangover from hell was difficult. His hands shook as he showered and trembled as he dressed, and his legs didn’t feel steady. Part of Jack wasn’t even sure if it was just the hangover.
What the hell had he said to Emery?
Jack remembered their encounter on the boardwalk. She’d cut him to the quick. He’d gone home, cracked open the whisky. Fucking downed a ton of his best bottle. Eighteen-year-old Macallan in a sherry oak cask.
That shit was expensive.
Groaning at the thought, Jack checked his phone, which he’d left at home while he was doing whatever he was doing at Emery’s. There were missed calls from Ian, Stu, Kerr, and Vanessa.
Two missed calls from Vanessa.
An image of Emery’s face flashed across his eyes. Her expression when he approached outside the hotel—he’d known right away she knew about Vanessa.
“I … I guess she was just a reminder.”
“A reminder?”
“Of how you see and treat women. I’m not special to you, Jack.”
Not special to him.
He was enraged she’d said that … but then what the fuck else was she supposed to believe?
Ignoring the missed calls, Jack stuffed the phone in his pocket and set out to run on the beach. Maybe it would help with the hangover. Maybe it would make it worse.
He didn’t care.
As he took off from his house, he did so tentatively at first because every pound of his feet on the sidewalk was a beat of pain in his throbbing head. After a while, he picked up the pace and soon he was on the beach, the sand creating resistance.
That’s when the memories came back in fragments.
He saw Emery on her porch, coming toward him.
He saw her above him, like he was lying with his head in her lap.
What the hell did he say to her, though?
Her sweet voice filled his head. “I’m a vault, Jack. I won’t tell anyone.”
That wasn’t from last night, Jack argued with himself. Emery had said that to him years ago. Right?
“Of course you won’t. You’re just a dream.”
Uneasiness built in Jack and he ran harder, faster, the sweat soaking his shirt as his body pushed out all the toxins from the alcohol.
“You deliberately set it up for Cooper to find you with her.”
“Yeah.”
“Two birds. One stone.”
Fuck! Jack stumbled to a halt, bending over, hands on his thighs to catch his breath as it came back to him. Emery helping him into her house. Putting him on the couch …
Coaxing the truth out of him.
Horror slammed through Jack as he bit out a curse, running his hands through his sweat-soaked hair.
He’d told Emery everything.
Suddenly, he was running again, but this time with a clear direction. It was too early for her to open the store, so she’d be at home. Jack ran miles down the beach to her house, jumping over the locked private-access gate and taking her porch steps two at a time.
He pounded his fist against her screen door.
Not even a minute later, she appeared through the hazy screen, her frown disappearing when she realized it was him.
“Jack.” She opened the door, standing before him in nothing but a tiny tank top and short shorts. Her hair was piled on top of her head, but long strands fell around her neck and face. It was also clear from the slight pebbling of her nipples that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Jesus Christ.
The whole visual was sexy as hell, but he wasn’t in the mood to be distracted. He pushed past her without waiting for an invitation. Em’s place was exactly how he’d imagined. Open plan, modern, elegant but comfortable. He stopped in the space between her dining and living rooms, glowering at the huge sectional he’d woken up on.
Jack didn’t know whether to be pissed at her or pissed at himself.
Because he remembered everything.
Emery had manipulated the truth out of him.
He heard her close the door and turned to face her.
Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and her eyes widened ever so slightly. “You remember.”
“Oh, I remember.” Jack took a step toward her but stopped when she retreated as if wary of him. “Fuck,” he bit out. Was she afraid of him now? Did she think because he’d covered up this murder, he was capable of hurting her?
“I won’t tell anyone, Jack,” Em promised.
His eyes narrowed. “Because you’re afraid of me, of my family?”
Her lips parted in shock. “I would never be afraid of you. I won’t tell because I won’t destroy you and your sister over a stranger who tried to rape her.”
Surprise flickered through him. “Some people would call that morally wrong.”
“Those people would be right.” Em crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’m not obligated to do what’s right for ‘people.’ I’m obligated to do what I believe is right, period.”
Rage flooded him. “But now you have this secret, Em. You tricked this fucking secret out of me, and now you have to live with it.”
Her expression softened. “I did trick you. And I’m so sorry. That was wrong. And now these are my consequences.”
“And you feel sick to your stomach?”
“For you, yes.” Her eyes brightened with an emotion that made his throat thicken. “I’m incredibly sad for you, Jack. I’m sad you’ve had to sacrifice so much for your sister … and I’m in awe of you.”
Fuck!
Jack bowed his head, not able to see that look on her face. He felt her words. He felt them all over, and as much as he didn’t want to feel them, they were like salve on a festering fucking wound.
Someone saw him.
Not the shitty, horrendous actions he’d taken in the name of his father or the self-destructive ones that were a tool to push away the people he cared about.
Someone saw through it all to the truth.
And not just anyone.
Emery.
It was a relief that Jack didn’t want to feel.
“So, you’ll keep this quiet?” he asked, staring at the floor, his voice hoarse.
“Yes. I promise.”
And he believed her.
His eyes flew to her and saw she’d crept closer.
Whatever she recognized in his expression made her face crumple. “Oh, Jack.” Tears slipped down her cheeks seconds before she threw her arms around him.
He hesitated a second before realizing resistance was futile.
Jack wrapped his arms around her. Tight. Crushing her against him. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and breathed her in. She smelled of faded perfume and coffee. Em shook a little as she cried for him, and the ache in his chest expanded until he could barely breathe through it.
Eventually her shaking eased, as did her tears.
Then she turned her head, and Jack’s breath stopped altogether at the feel of her lips on his neck. He moved to lift his head away but her lips caught his throat, the tip of her tongue teasing his skin.
Jack groaned as heat flooded his groin.
His fingers clenched at her tank top, pulling the fabric up until he felt her soft skin beneath.
“Em …” He meant to stop her. To push her away.
He did.
But she pressed her beautiful mouth to his and he tasted the salt from her tears in her kiss, tears she’d shed for him. And Jack was lost.
He let himself drown in their fiery, hot kisses, his hands disappearing under her top, caressing the smooth skin of her back, itching to rip the damn thing off. He felt the tug of Emery’s hands on his T-shirt and he was being pulled forward.
“Couch,” she huffed breathlessly.
Not wanting to break the kiss, Jack shifted his hands to her ass and prompted her to hop up into his arms. Her long legs wrapped around his wai
st and his dick grew impossibly hard with the need to be inside her.
His mind was a haze. Thoughts, rationale, all completely overwhelmed by her scent and the soft, supple feel of her in his arms.
And her kisses.
Fuck, the woman could kiss.
He hit the sectional and they fell onto it, his dick pushing between her legs with the movement.
“Oh!” she moaned, breaking the kiss, her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed.
Jack thought he’d lost it before.
Now he lost it. He kissed her deeper, dirtier, hungrier as he rubbed his dick against the heat between her legs. His skin was on fire, and every time she whimpered, he swallowed it in his kiss and he got one step closer to spending himself like a fucking prepubescent kid.
Needing more of her, Jack took hold of the hem of her tank top and tugged it upward. Em scrambled to sit up halfway to help, taking over and pulling the thing off, her full breasts bouncing with the movement.
“Holy fucking Christ,” he muttered hoarsely as she laid back on the couch, waiting for him, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. Her beautiful face was soft with need.
She was perfect.
She was so fucking perfect, it was a wonder she was real.
His hands itched to reach out and cup her, to fondle and squeeze, to hold her to his mouth so he could taste and suck. But his reason was returning. Slowly, through the haze of desire, he was remembering why they couldn’t do this.
Then Em sat up, reaching for the waistband of his jogging pants, her hand dipping inside before he could stop her, brushing his dick.
Jack bit out a curse and grabbed her hand, holding it away from him.
She winced and he released her, realizing he was holding on too tight.
Emery blinked at him, confused. “Jack?”
Pushing off her, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the pain between his legs, Jack reached for the blanket she had thrown over the coach and he held it to her.
This time when she blushed, he felt like hell.
Her gaze lowered in humiliation as she used the blanket to cover herself.
“I’m sorry.” He stood, turning away from her, afraid if he kept looking, he’d just say fuck it and take what he wanted. “This can’t happen. Ian would use you against me.”
The Truest Thing: Hart's Boardwalk #4 Page 10
