Emily (Daughters, Book #4) (Daughters Series)

by Leanne Davis

  “Oh, nothing really. I ran into Harrison and two of his friends on the street. I tried to pass around them. They tossed a few choice words at me, as you can imagine. I get that. But his friends did more than that, they blocked me, grabbed my arm and physically threatened me.”

  “They let you pass by though?”

  “Only after I kicked one in the shin and the other in the balls, yes.”

  I sit up straighter. She claimed she could take care of herself. “I’m glad you did that.”

  “I got away, and all was fine, and probably nothing would have happened. But my mom, well, you can imagine her opinion on the matter. She advised me to report it. So I did. And since then, every person my age that I know has blackballed me for it. Harrison—”

  “Contacted you?”

  She hands me her phone and I read through a dozen messages or more. All of them would have been rated R. She folds her lips together. “I shouldn’t have done what I did to him. Look at how this escalated. We were once so in love with each other. Now he makes my skin crawl. I’m just sad that it went south so fast.”

  I hand her phone back. “Really? They blackballed you?”

  “Yeah. Really. But then again, I did report him and his friends to the police. Nothing came of it, but there is a record of it now. If there are any more incidents, I will have cause for a restraining order. I mean, if I feel threatened. Which seems nearly impossible when I imagine it coming from Harrison. But then again—”

  “It sounds like you already do feel that way.”

  She lets out a breath, running her hand over the back of her braid as if to slick back the wayward wisps. “I replay it in my head. Again and again. Did I really need to be afraid? Did I overreact? I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I know I was scared. I ran off crying but what if that’s all it was? What would they have done? I mean—”

  “I would never hold a girl against her wishes no matter what she did.” I shrug. “Just saying.”

  Her gaze lifts to mine. “Harrison didn’t get involved.”

  “His friends did? And he was silent?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wouldn’t tolerate it. No matter who it was. Silence is part of a crime, just saying.”

  Her smile is small. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that from someone who isn’t a family member.”

  “And that isn’t the attitude you’ve received?”

  “No, not at all. Quite the opposite. I wronged him first, so therefore, I deserve this.” I shrug at the reality of it.

  “You know that’s bullshit. Kind of like I’m Mexican so I don’t deserve to be treated with basic decency. But this thing with Harrison? Just because you bruised his ego doesn’t mean you deserve to have to fear for your safety or lose friends.”

  She glances down, and red blotches fill her cheeks as she asks, “I still owe you a meal. Wanna go out for dinner?”

  “So desperate for friends, huh?”

  Her smile is quick. “Completely. Want to?”

  “Sure.” I get onto my feet, my heart thumping in response. Why the hell would I go to dinner with her? I’m not sure. If I don’t plan to use her, which seems pretty solid in my mind now, why would I have dinner with her? No good reason that I can find. I don’t even know what I should do. The crime Will Hendricks committed and got away with sits like a knot in my gut. Like a foul, rotten piece of meat, it stinks. It’s disgusting. It’s a crime. I can’t release it because of how wrong it is. The reason he went down there was to right a wrong, but his final act was just as wrong. All the wrongs in the world can’t justify another wrong.

  I have no damn idea how to enact my plan since I don’t have any kind of… anything. Yet. I thought my luck had changed when his daughter practically fell into my lap, but I still don’t know how to use that chance to my advantage.

  Why? Because it would be wrong. I know that. And to utilize it to right my own wrong means I’m no better than the terrorist, Will Hendricks. My revenge has to be justified and nonviolent, totally the opposite of the revenge that Will Hendricks took.

  He’s the main reason I came to this town. I had no other connection. Nothing. I have no affiliation for the city or its occupants. I certainly didn’t intend to work although I do work now. And study. And live here. I’m technically part of the community now, but that was never my intention. Ironically, it all happened because of Will Hendricks.

  Pursuing a friendship or anything more with Emily is stupid. Our entire meeting was a lie. Our histories are linked in a grotesque way and I can’t imagine working through them or unraveling the differences with a satisfying conclusion. We are doomed. We can only look to a future as arch enemies, just like her and Harrison. That entitled asshole punk, thinking he and his friends could strong-arm Emily because she publicly embarrassed him. I’m proud of her for facing him and rejecting his bullying. It’s nothing less than impressive that she didn’t simply freeze and take it without contest. She wasn’t lying to me that first night; she can protect herself.

  We leave and go out to dinner together. She drives. The night is warm and pleasant and the sun lingers on the horizon. I spot the best taco wagon in town. It travels around, never stopping in the same location twice. “Best tacos in the world?”

  She grins and nods. “You’re such a cheap date.”

  “Oh, you don’t even know,” I answer, wagging my eyebrows flirtatiously.

  Smiling, we walk up and order. They serve the meals in paper trays and we take a seat at the park close to her car. She sips her soda and takes a big bite of the warm, steaming taco. I detect a little sound in her throat as she chews and shuts her eyes. She looks like she’s having an orgasm. I stop and watch her, my own mouth dropping in surprise. Then her eyes flutter open. “Oh my God. That is so good.”

  I nod, biting into mine and chewing so I don’t say anything inappropriate. We sit staring out towards the jungle gyms where the young kids play. Their yells, laughter and ear-piercing shrieks fill the air. A woman jogs by, and a couple strolls past us with their two dogs. The hot sun sinks into the horizon.

  “So, I started working.”

  “Yeah? Where?”

  “My dad’s company.” She ducks her head down as if embarrassed to admit that. I picture her set up in her dad’s office answering phones.

  I nod. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “It’s even harder than I thought it would be. I fall onto my bed at night and can hardly get up to eat something or even take off my work clothes.”

  I’m internally rolling my eyes until she says she’s the only woman there and then starts describing her first day on the job and how when she tries lifting bags of concrete mix to take to a job site and almost falls over. I’m shocked as I start to understand exactly what she’s doing at her dad’s company. She means she’s actually working out in the field. It’s not at all what I pictured of her.

  I frown, eyebrows lowered. “You mean your dad has you out in the field? Working physical labor? Like on his job sites?”

  She shrugs with a cheeky grin. “My official title is warehouse manager. I often take supplies, tools or materials out to the different jobs they have running. I assist with whatever is needed, wherever it is. The concrete on that first day was needed to pour a slab to put a heat pump on. The variety of things done to install or service these systems are endless and varied, and I feel stupider the longer I do it. My dad says he often has to hire extra people temporarily without the necessary… paperwork. You know? Anyway, I mentioned you. That is, if you ever need some extra work—”

  “Me? Work for your dad?” My eyebrows jut upwards. Is she for real? It’s so much better than her falling into my lap. This is her dad.

  “Yeah, he just pays the temp employees under the table, with no questions asked. Competition is fierce and costs have to be cut sometimes to stay in the game. You know the drill. I mean, you might be fine, but I just thought if you ever needed…”

  She pushes a business card across the tab
le towards me. I stare at it for a second, restraining the urge to snatch it. Once I go down this road… I seem to have some trouble using my fingers to pick it up.

  “You’re really working there?”

  “Yes. I really am.” She gives me a cheeky smile and explains more about it. She seems almost excited to work there. She also relays her conversation with her dad about why he never considered his three daughters when he thought about retiring from his business. “Wasn’t it you who told me to get a job and figure out what I want to do?” Her smile slips a little. “I guess working for my dad isn’t exactly getting a job.”

  “Kind of is. At least, it’s outside of the typical. Are you any good at it?”

  “I’m good at anything I attempt. I don’t do anything half-assed,” she says with a small, cocky grin, waving at the business card. “So? Would you be interested?”

  “I might be,” I say, unsure yet what I’m planning to do.

  “Want to walk for a while?” she asks. We finish eating our tacos and get up from the picnic table to start wandering down the street. The air is comfortable as the sun sets and orange streaks color the buildings and trees. They seem to glow as we cross the pristine grounds of Central Washington University. Brick and ivy, tall trees and long fields surround us. We talk of small things, walking without any purpose or haste, just making conversation. It is odd how easily we can discuss anything, especially considering how little we have in common.

  She glances up. “Thanks for tonight. It is so nice not to feel like a pariah.”

  I nudge her with my elbow. “It’s nice to hang with a pretty white girl, too.”

  She rolls her eyes as I expected. “What if I said it was nice to hang out with a pretty brown boy?”

  I grin. “I’d ask, how pretty? Like a puppy? Or someone you want to hit on?”

  Her entire face turns red. “It sounds condescending and rude coming out of my mouth.”

  My smile fades. “You know, Emily, it’s just between us. It doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is. It can be jokes. Making fun of society or being like this. People are so confused whether they should be politically correct or ridiculously offensive. I’m making fun of it with you. I’m accentuating the gap between us. I like how puzzled and unsure you become when you don’t know how to react to me. I throw you off balance. It’s so sweet to watch the way you grope around, trying so hard not to offend me while I can say whatever I like to you. I guess, the point I’m trying to make is that you don’t have to try so hard.”

  “But, I don’t really know you. I certainly don’t want to offend anyone.”

  “That’s the thing, you always offend someone no matter what you do. You can’t control that. They’ll either agree with you, or tell you you’re not politically correct enough, or you’re indulging the PC stuff too much. You can’t win. So don’t try. Just be yourself. Don’t keep second-guessing what you say and do so often. Maybe if you didn’t try to keep the peace and do what people expect of you, you wouldn’t have had cause to run away from your wedding.”

  Her face burns up. “You’re saying my desire to avoid hurting anyone only ended up making me hurt everyone?”

  “Yeah, actually,” I say. For some reason I feel compelled to touch her shoulder and squeeze it. She is so earnestly listening to me. “But mostly, you hurt yourself.”

  Her face wrinkles in visible confusion. “That’s harsh… and probably also true.”

  “Look, you strike me as a nice person. I thought so the first time you spoke, even if you were leaving that guy high and dry on his wedding day without any explanation. But I see a girl who won’t ask herself what she wants until it is absolutely too late. Consider this—maybe you should try to be a little less politically correct and nice and a whole shitload more real.”

  Her shoulders slope down as if they are overly burdened. “That’s entirely accurate.”

  I bump into her, playfully. “So now you can insult me.”

  She scowled. “You’re a jerk.”

  “Weak.”

  “I don’t have any desire to insult you.”

  My smile fades. “Words don’t matter that much, Emily. Lots of actions offend me. But getting my nose tweaked by how someone I don’t know speaks to me? No. I ignore small-minded racists who stereotype me. Aren’t they just broadcasting their fucking ignorance? What do I care what they think?”

  “Maybe as an adult, you can choose to let it roll off your back, but what about little kids? If it’s out there, and generally accepted, then it will eventually be said to little kids. No, you’re wrong. Words do matter.”

  I throw my hands up. “Okay, you have a point. Of course I don’t think kids should be targeted for racism. Neither should women be on the receiving end of men strong-arming them. I just mean, between you and me? We can kid around. Remember, we don’t have to solve the world’s problems. And just so you know, we probably can’t anyway.”

  Her face crumbles. “No, we probably can’t.”

  I have an irrepressible urge to wrap her up in a hug. She seems so despondent over the obvious.

  “But we can be friends,” I add, obeying the inexplicable desire to cheer her up. I want to see her smile, and watch her brown eyes sparkle again. My statements evoke a small, begrudging grin from her lips.

  “Yes, we can be. We are. Friends.”

  “Don’t forget— I did save you.”

  She rolls her eyes, “That’s right. My knight in shining armor. Now if you’d just kick Harrison’s ass…”

  I laugh, surprised she’d say that after all her worry over how to address me. “I could, right? How big is he?”

  She smiles. “Bigger than you, actually. He’s taller, wider, and very athletic. He is a runner, too.”

  “I’m athletic, too. Except I hate to run.” I take the offensive and hold up my arm. Thankfully, I’m in short sleeves as I try and make my muscles bunch up. Okay, not so impressive. She laughs. She flexes her bicep and hers nearly out-bulges mine. I squeeze her bicep more gently. “Impressive, snowflake. You could protect me.”

  “I don’t want to kick his ass. I just want him to ignore me.”

  “Maybe he got it out of his system and the visit from the cops might make him think twice.”

  Her smile is tight like she isn’t sure of that, but she nods. We circle back towards where she parked her car and get inside. We drive back to my trailer without conversation. When she pulls in, I dig around in my jean pocket for my keys. She watches me and I quit moving as our gazes collide and seem to hang onto each other. It’s dark outside now. There are no streetlights nearby and the outside lights on my neighbor’s house have long ago burned out. The dim bulb over my door is small and insufficient.

  “Thank you, Ramiro. You cheered me up. Considerably. Something you managed to accomplish that night as well.”

  I smile. “Let me see your phone.” She gives it to me and I type my number in. “There. Now you don’t have to endure all these excruciating weeks without me.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “Why did you pick me up that day when you found me crazily hiding in a car with my wedding dress on?”

  I reach over, unable to resist the urge to touch the side of her face with the knuckle of my index finger. “Because you’re so pretty. I can’t resist that smile.”

  Her eyes narrow. But still, a small smile shines through. “You couldn’t have even seen my smile until you walked up to the car window. And I’m sure I didn’t smile even once when you first met me. You’re messing with me.”

  I smile. “Yeah. I am. You’re getting better at this. But you are pretty. And very funny. And something unique for a Saturday night, I’ll give you that.”

  “You say these things. But yet, I don’t think you’re flirting with me. I can’t— I can’t fully get a read on you.” Her eyes are squinting. She’s not dumb. She’s fully aware of my flirting, and my kidding words might ring slightly true. I do have an agenda where she is concerned, so I don’t fully flirt like I m
ean it. Because I can’t commit either way.

  “You might come here one day and find I’m gone, Emily. Think of that. Don’t get too attached.”

  Her face falls and immediately grows somber, because she’s that kind of person. She takes everything seriously. “Please contact me beforehand if that were ever the case.”

  I don’t answer. She sets her hand on my lower arm. I glance down. She has small, soft hands and my body instantly reacts to her touch. I suck in a breath of surprise, having a hard time being flippant when I suddenly can’t breathe. All because of a sweet gesture of friendship.

  “Please?” she repeats.

  “Yeah. Sure. You going to come to my rescue then?”

  “I would. I would definitely try. I would be your friend like you were to me when you had no reason to. So, yes.”

  “You realize there’d be nothing you could do for me.”

  “I could be there for you, as you were to me. There was no reason for you to go out of your way for me. I would have a reason to, however, for you and I would do whatever I could to help you.”

  I’m so puzzled I can’t even think of the words to reply. I grab the door handle before my hormones insist that I find out how far the friendship line can stretch. “See ya, snowflake. Stay out of trouble this time, okay?”

  That earns me another small smile and she waves and watches me as I lope up to the front door and disappear inside. Her headlights flash over my front windows and I know she’s gone. What the hell? I shake my head. The girl came here to offer me a job. No real reason either. Nothing in it for her. She thought of me. It was sweet and odd so I don’t know what to think. At least I’m on summer break from school right now, so she probably won’t guess what I’m really doing here. Which isn’t anything like she imagines.

  Being a sophomore at Central Washington University isn’t exactly the image she has of me, and I haven’t let on about it. I work the landscaping as a side gig for living money, but my real focus is school.

  I crumple her father’s business card in my hand after withdrawing it from my pocket. I stare at it. A gift simply dropped into my hand. I can’t believe my luck. I didn’t even have to devise a plan or ask for it, she simply provided it for me. Access. Information. Opportunity.