I don’t waste time. I don’t lock my house. I just grab my keys and go, speeding all the way until I skid into her driveway.
I race up her steps, and knock. It goes unanswered, but her car is in the driveway. I call her name a few times, but I detect no movement in the house indicating she is coming to answer.
“Emily! Just let me know you’re okay, all right?”
Nothing.
Finally, a bark from the backyard. I walk around the side. Lucy greets me at the gate, pawing at it, scratching to get out. I reach through the slats and pet her on top of the head.
“Hey, girl … hey, girl.” It occurs to me how weird it is that she would be outside at night. She barks at me, her barking growing louder, more vicious as I ask her what’s wrong.
“It’s just me, girl. You know me.”
Her barking continues as I search for the latch on the gate door and open it. Lucy rushes out, stands on her hind legs and paws at me, then runs across the yard.
My eyes fall on the lifeless body in the grass—on the muddy clothing, closed eyes. I run to her.
Oh my God, he was right. Oh my God, please don’t be dead.
I shake her. “Emily!”
I shout her name, but she doesn’t move. I check her for a pulse, feeling a wave of adrenaline as I find it. It is faint, but it is there. Thank God. Thank fucking God. I run to the hose, and turn it on, then spray her all over her body, attempting to rouse her further.
In a choking gasp, she is jolted awake, her frantic eyes finding me, sputtering for breath. I drop the hose, then rush to her side. My clothes get soaked when I pull her close to me.
“Oh my God. Oh my God, I thought you were dead.”
She pulls back from me, and I wipe the wet hair from her face. “What … what happened?”
“I don’t know. You don’t remember?”
She shakes her head, clutching me with her tiny, wet body as she shivers all over.
“I found you out here. I thought you were—do you remember how you got here?”
Her hand rises to her forehead, a gesture of pain. “No, but I … I must have passed out.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get you inside, okay?”
I take her into my arms, and carry her through the back door, which was thankfully unlocked. I set her on the toilet, and start the shower for her.
“You didn’t take anything, did you? No pills or anything?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
I search the house, especially the kitchen and bedroom, looking for any narcotics she could have injected—anything she could have taken. I don’t find anything, so I go back to the bathroom, and help her peel off her clothes, then set her into the bottom of the shower. She is breathtaking—even as much of a mess as she is—and I feel guilty, but our time at the beach flashes through my mind.
She is weak, and struggles to moves, so I wash her hair, help scrub the dirt from her skin. Once she is clean, I shut off the water and get her a towel. Carefully, I find her some pajamas and help her dress.
I get her to the bed, and lay her down, then text Jared to let him know she is okay. I tell him I will hit him up tomorrow so we can talk about it.
He isn’t a bad guy, I think. Maybe I misjudged him.
I tuck the blanket around Emily’s shoulders. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here—on the couch.”
She nods weakly at me and smiles before instantly falling asleep.
The chirping birds wake me up. I roll off her couch, and creep to her bedroom to check on her. She is gone, but Lucy is in her bed. Briefly, I panic, wondering if she has left, but then I hear the toilet flush.
She comes out of the bathroom in shorts and a tank top, a cautious look on her face.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay other than the headache, I guess.”
My arms cross against my chest, aware of the awkwardness that now hangs between us. “That’s good.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but … why did you come? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, honestly.”
“Jared messaged me on Facebook, and told me to check on you.”
“Jared?” His name is whispered from her lips.
“Yeah. Apparently, you two had some sort of argument last night. You don’t remember?”
“No.” Her head turns toward her shoulder as her eyes appear to search for answers. “What would I fight with him about? We never fight.”
I press my lips together. “You know as much as I do. Maybe you got blackout drunk, and that’s why you forgot? Or maybe you hit your head...”
Her shoulders lift. “I have no idea. I’ll call him and find out.” Her eyes scan the room, lifting blankets and moving pillows, searching for the phone. She’s going to exhaust herself with all the moving around she is doing being as weak as she is.
“Hey, it can wait. I told him you were okay, so let me take you to get some food so you can get some strength. If you want, you can call him from mine after you eat something.”
I can tell she isn’t thrilled with the plan, but she nods and agrees. I ask her where she would like to go, and she says I can choose, so I opt for what I know she likes. We walk in The Flying Biscuit, a location that is closer to her house, and I snag us a booth in the back.
Immediately, the waitress approaches the table and asks what drinks we would like. “Waters—with lemon, right?” I ask Emily. She nods. “Yeah, so waters with lemon, and let me also get a veggie omelet for her, and nothing for me.”
I fold the menu, and hand it to the waitress, her curly hair falling from her bun.
“You remembered what I like to eat?” Emily smiles at me from across the table.
I smile back, tilt my head to the side. “I have a good memory.”
“Thank you for checking on me. It means a lot.”
I want to ask her about the book—get answers as to why she was using it. But now is not the time. I won’t press her until it has been a couple weeks, until she is better. Honestly, I am not sure any answer she could give me would change anything, but I am willing to let her explain.
“You’re welcome. It’s—” A text sounds from my pocket, interrupting my thought. I pull out my phone, and my breath hitches at what I see. The number isn’t in my contacts anymore, but I know that number.
Your new gf is fucking crazy, just FYI. She just keeps on ruining lives. Guess you’re her next victim. Call me ASAP.
What the fuck? I think. I am confused, but I decide to deal with this later. I really don’t want to create any unnecessary drama, and Eliza lives on that stuff. An uneasy feeling washes over me, but there are a million ways Eliza could have found out about Emily and me, and her text is probably part of some scheme to come between us.
Eh … maybe I won’t call her.
“Here you go,” the waitress says.
She places Emily’s omelet in front of her after setting down the waters. Emily sucks her glass down, so I push mine to her, as well. I wish she would be just as greedy with the food, but she only takes a few bites.
When the check is brought, I fill in the tip and drop the pen on the table.
“Gonna use the bathroom. You need to go?”
She shakes her head, and slurps the remaining water in the glass I gave her. “No, I’m good.”
After I take a piss, I look at my phone again, and re-read Eliza’s text. So weird, I think.
I wash my hands and push open the bathroom door, my shoes squeaking against the tiles. Emily is sitting at the table still, thank God, and has a smile on her face. Good to see her smiling, at least.
“You ready to go?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
Carefully, she sweeps the waitress’s pen across a napkin before dropping it. She pushes up from the table, and grabs her purse. I pick up one of the cups and dump some ice into my mouth. My eyes flit to the napkin, and my head juts back, my pulse thudding in my veins.
I gesture toward it. “Where’d you learn
to draw like that?”
She shrugs, her eyebrows raising. “I don’t know.”
My head cocks, my eyes squinting at her. “You’re not friends with someone named Ivy, are you?”
Slowly, she shakes her head, her eyes moving back and forth as she tries to place the name. “No.”
I lean across the table and pick up the napkin, swallowing as I take in the ornate sketch. “Do you have a thing for pandas or something?”
The waitress grabs a plate from the table as she answers, “Not really. I mean, they’re cute. Just drew one.” She shrugs.
“Huh...”
“What?”
I shake my head, and put the sketch back on the table. “Nothing, just … never mind. You’re talented.”
A small smile appears on her face. “Thank you.”
I place a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you home. You need to rest.”
Disappointment flashes through her eyes, followed by a somber nod, before she spins on her heel and heads to the door. I hesitate, my feet not moving, my head stuck on the drawing. I don’t know why I feel compelled to do it, but I snatch it from the table, fold it, and put it in my pocket.
His hand stays gripped on my arm as we climb up the porch and step through my front door. I crave his lips on mine, his bare skin on top of my body, but I fear neither will ever happen again, all over a stupid mistake—a grave misunderstanding.
It crushes me, pulls the marrow from my bones. I blame myself, knowing I’m losing him. He didn’t touch me on the walk to the car after breakfast, never attempted to hold my hand. It’s beginning to sink in that we’re over, and daggers dipped in the best parts of him rip through my heart.
I sigh, breaking free of his grip, the silence deafening. I feel his eyes on me, digging into the back of my head as I close my own and fight back tears.
“Hey, are you … okay?” His fingers brush my shoulder, but then quickly retreat.
My arms fold across my chest, my head shaking—a commitment not to cry. “I’d be lying if I said yes, Brooks.”
He spins around, our eyes matching marbles of pain. “Emily, I’m—I don’t want you to hurt. Okay? That was never my intention in any of this.”
A ball slides up my throat, and I blink away the salt threatening my eyes. “This is my fault. I did this. But I really, really mean it when I say it was nothing—Mr. Ronderful and me. He was nothing. It was just...” I hold up my hands. “I know I could say it a thousand times a thousand different ways, and you probably won’t believe me, but it’s true.”
His eyes move to the floor, hands stuffing into his pockets. “We both fucked up, Emily. We’re both to blame.”
“But?” I whisper, waiting for him to finish.
His eyes sweep to me again, jaw stiffening before he pulls his lip under his teeth. “We had something. At least, I felt like we did. And I am a total asshole for saying this, but Kate has consistently been the way I keep my mind off you. That’s all. It’s only physical between us, and she knows that. But don’t take that the wrong way. We’ve never—we haven’t done anything. But you and me,” he sighs, “it just feels wrong, you know? As much as it feels right to be with you … as much as I would love to be with you … it feels wrong to want to. There are too many reasons why we shouldn’t be anything more than Eliza’s ex-fiancé and Eliza’s ex-friend to each other. Plus, the manipulation—that has been a shock, and I simply don’t know if I can get over that.”
“Manipulation? I don’t—”
“Let’s not rehash it, okay?” His thumb reaches up to wipe a tear sliding down my cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you yesterday, but I think we both need space to clear our heads of everything that has happened.”
I chew my cheek. “And Kate?”
He shrugs, his head turning to the side. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think we should talk about her or Mr. Fucking Ronderful. The truth is, you and I aren’t in a relationship, so neither of us should have reacted the way we have. Really, I am not concerned with him so much as I am everything else. Makes it hard to trust.”
“Everything—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He grits his teeth. “Look, I’m gonna get out of here before we end up arguing. I don’t want it to end that way.”
He turns, and I tug on his hand. Pull him back to me. “Wait, so this is it?” My stomach begins to shake, the room beginning to spin around me. “This is the end? We go to the beach, we make love, and a couple of mistakes, and now we’re just done … for good?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t say that. I don’t know how I will feel in a week or two, but if I am being honest, it doesn’t look good. I don’t want to lead you on by telling you otherwise. Things are pretty grim on my end—at least right now.”
I say nothing, his statement paralyzing my tongue.
“Just … give me some space, all right? You need it, too. It’s best for both of us.”
The breath is sucked from my lungs as he walks outside and drives away, his daggers plunging deeper into my chest.
Depression. Hopelessness. Pain. All are symptoms of grief.
Grief.
It’s feeling as if a giant sinkhole is beneath your feet, and you’d just as soon dive in, before the pain swallows you. Grief is being stuck on a rusty roller coaster in the freezing darkness with no operator to stop it—only a crowd of spectators in thick coats yelling they are sorry.
Grief is love that you can’t give, but love that you want to give.
I throw the covers off my body and drag myself to the kitchen, Lucy sprinting ahead of me, knowing she’s about to get food. I fill her dog bowls and grab my phone from the counter. Scroll through Brooks’s Facebook. My heart crumbles at the sight of his morning selfie with Janie. He got her back. He looks so happy, so content. He doesn’t seem worried about us at all. He isn’t, is he? There are over three hundred likes on the photo and tons of comments from mostly gorgeous women. He could easily replace me, even though there isn’t anything to replace, because we’re nothing.
I need to get away for a few days. A mini vacation would do me a lot of good.
Suddenly, the lights in the kitchen shut off. Fear briefly pulses through me, wondering if whoever broke into my house is lurking, ready to slice me into thin chops, but logically, I know it’s probably only because I maybe forgot to pay the bill.
Shit.
I stand up, crossing the tile to get to the designated junk drawer, and begin sifting through the mail. I flip quickly through the envelopes until I reach something strange—a photo of a little girl, holding a panda drawing, with her parents.
Hmm. Where’d this come from? I cock my head. The pandas resemble the ones I doodled the other day, which were similar to the panda family in the sketch on Brooks’s shelf. Maybe I’ve seen this before but wasn’t paying attention. I turn it over in my hand, the back of the photo blank, leaving no clue as to when it was taken. I shrug, and then toss it back into the drawer. Brooks must have dropped it out of his wallet, and perhaps I absentmindedly scooped it up with my mail that I tend to let collect on the table. Has to be his cousin or niece or something.
Whatever. I don’t have energy to waste on that right now. I’ll get it back to him eventually.
I pull up my electric bill on my phone and frown at the past due balance. My finger hovers over the button to pay it when my eyes are pulled from the screen at the sound of Lucy’s water bowl toppling over.
“Lucy!” I scold her—sad, dark eyes peering back at me, her tail tucked between her legs.
I pull the dish towel from the stove and clean it up, my hands wiping vigorously over the mess before I pause and collapse against the cabinets. The towel drops from my hands, my palms rising to my eyes, tears beginning to leak. My body knows sadness well now—the constant burn in my eyes, the grease in my hair, the shooting pains in my chest, and the hunger in my belly. The only thing that can satiate me is the person I want who doesn’t want me.
We�
��re over, aren’t we?
No, the truth is we never even began. He was Eliza’s and not mine, and I was Deacon’s and not his. We crossed a line we shouldn’t have, and maybe he’s right. Maybe the spark we had at the concert all those years ago is where he and I should have ended. What if crossing paths again wasn’t meant to be anything more than that? Perhaps I mistook the world being small for destiny, soul mates, true love, because, in reality, I feel like a pawn of the gods in one of those Staci Hart novels.
Lucy lays her head on my lap, and I trail my fingers through her fur. “What do I do, girl?” Her tail wags, her eyes sympathetic but not understanding why I’m broken. “Should I go after him or not?” She nuzzles her nose against me, her tongue slipping out to lap against my skin as if to say yes.
Ever the romantic I am, I can’t stop the seed of hope from sprouting within. I know Brooks said he needed space, but every moment apart feels as if we are one step closer to never seeing each other again. It would be tough, no doubt, but couples have overcome far bigger issues than ours, right? I mean, it isn’t as if I was married to Deacon and he actually married Eliza. And Mr. Ronderful—he has to know that entire night was a Band-Aid to my pain and nothing more. Brooks and I have feelings for each other. That’s out in the open now. Do we throw that away, or do we fight?
I reach up to the counter and grab my phone, moving to his Facebook page again. Maybe there’s nothing to fight for. How can he post selfies at a time like this? I study the crinkles in the corners of his eyes and the easy grin, my breath hitching as I notice something in the bottom corner.
Two fingers on Janie—fingers that can’t be his. Slender, feminine fingers.
My breath rushes from me, my hands beginning to tremble. This isn’t good. I bet it’s that woman from his house again … Kate.
I pull myself up, rushing to swipe my keys before grabbing my shoes and slamming the door.
As my car nears his house, I see something that causes me to react so greatly I slam on the brakes—my body jerking forward as a family of four gives me dirty looks. I paste a broad smile on my face, and wave a hand at them. Cut my eyes back to the driveway, and lean over the steering wheel in disbelief.
The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) Page 24
