I hear Robbie behind me, on the ground, rasping for air. It brings a new pulse of anger to the surface, and I have to force the feeling back down into me. I don’t pity him. He made the bed he’s lying in. He and Lucia both did. And the beds they’re lying in are made of deception and disgrace and intemperance. It was clear that Lucia didn’t regret anything she did. There was no remorse on her face. In the end, all she wanted to do was save her own ass, and she tried to do it with more lies, which only made it worse. Did she honestly think telling me she loved me and saying she was sorry would fix the mess she made? Did she think a pile of new lies would bury the old ones?
I saw the way she touched Robbie’s bloody face. I saw the way she wanted to protect him, trying to pull my body off of his. I didn’t see fear in her eyes, nor did I see regret. I only saw a need for self-preservation. A need for escape.
Robbie is here, even though he shouldn’t be. He was supposed to be clearing out his shit and getting the fuck out of his apartment. That was supposed to be their punishment. That was supposed to be my revenge. But when Lucia texted me, saying we needed to talk, I couldn’t stop myself. I told her to meet me on the 9th Street Bridge at eleven o’clock—and I only said it because I was angry. Because I completely destroyed Robbie’s apartment and got him evicted, and it still wasn’t enough. It didn’t take the anger away. It didn’t make things better. I bought a backpack and filled it with concrete. I put zip ties in my pockets. And still…it wasn’t enough.
And then tonight, when Robbie came running at me, when he landed his first and only punch, an overwhelming bolt of rage ripped through me. All my anger turned into searing, primal fury, and I couldn’t stop. I’ve never lost control before. Not like I did tonight. And yet, it fixed nothing, because here I am, standing on this bridge, still full of anger. Screaming into the night and wanting the world to know how much it hurts.
This city was supposed to be a new start. A step closer to freeing myself from who I used to be. A step away from Anna and all the others, and a step away from everything I once was. But now, after this, I can’t help but think that maybe I can’t step away. Maybe this is who I am. Maybe this is what I was made for. Maybe this is all I’m meant to be. Not long ago, such a realization might have made me sad, like I was after Jenny. It’s the same despair that washed over me then, and I imagine that it’s the same feeling my mother felt. Trapped in a life she couldn’t escape, a destiny she couldn’t remake. Just like mine. But different. The trouble is, sadness and despair are no longer a part of me. I exiled them long ago, on that bridge, after Jenny. Because it was the easiest thing I could do. And so, what am I left with? What do I feel now? Is there anything other than anger and hurt? What do I do with this realization? With the knowledge that maybe this is all I’m meant to be?
Either I live with it…or I don’t.
I turn away from the river and look down at Robbie. His head is slick with his own blood, and his eyes are swollen shut. His chest sucks in another shallow breath of air, and suddenly I want to jump.
I want it all to end.
But if I leave him here, alone on the pavement, he’ll die too.
I crouch down next to him, poke his arm, and try to shake him awake. But he doesn’t budge. His eyes stay closed, and his breathing is shallow and rhythmic. He’s unconscious. Knocked out cold. I lift him up and toss him over my shoulder, feeling the weight of his chest against my back. I walk, and when I get to my car, I put him into the backseat and drive.
Chapter 43
David—Present Day
This ought to be good.
Part of me really does want to wear a Batman costume tomorrow night, just to watch Matt’s reaction. But I know Emma would tan my hide for embarrassing him in front of Hadley.
Hell, this may be the man’s first real chance with a girl. I’m proud of him for sticking his neck out like he did. Emma says he gave her his number at poker on Tuesday night. Which means she only waited three days to text him. He must have made quite an impression. I don’t know the girl very well, but she was recommended by a couple of my long-time dealers so she must be at least semi-normal. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night.
I left Jackson’s Hardware three hours ago with a bag full of parts and a mind full of appreciation. Appreciation for Clive and his ability to say the right words at just the right time. His words sank deep. So deep, in fact, that until Emma called to tell me about Matt and Hadley, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. And not just his words about wanting me to be happy, but also the ones about choosing the good parts and leaving the past behind, about only making good choices from here on out, and about how the grown-up me needs to move past his bad decisions and only look forward.
But if I listen to Clive and do all that, it means I need to forget about Ricky and pretend he doesn’t exist. It means I don’t go through with my plan.
As I work throughout the day, I think. I think about whether or not I can live with an open end. If I can live with a risk like Ricky still in place, knowing he’ll always be in the back of Emma’s mind. I don’t know the answer, and it weighs on me. The old me wants to get rid of him like I planned, to protect Emma with the absoluteness of it. But the new me, the one that Clive believes in, now knows that doing so isn’t the best option. It isn’t the grown-up option.
But still…I have to make a choice. Soon.
I pick Emma up from work at six, and we head over to the South Side to grab some dinner. We spend a good part of the meal reviewing my “rules” for tomorrow night. She’s adamant about me not stepping over the line and making it awkward for Matt. The whole thing was her idea, she says, and if I make her regret it, there will be hell to pay. I stop eating, raise my right hand in oath, and promise once again to be on my best behavior. She’s a shit-ton serious about it. It’s like I’m swearing on the Bible. But without a Bible.
The rest of the evening is spent watching The Wolverine on her couch and drinking far too much Cabernet.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Saturday arrives, and for some reason, Emma seems nervous. I tease her, telling her it’s like she’s the one going on a date with Hadley. We clean her entire apartment and make an afternoon trip to the grocery store for some chips and salsa. And to the liquor store for an assortment of booze. She says she wants to be prepared, in case Hadley decides not to show up and Matt needs to drown his sorrow. I assure her Hadley will come, reminding her that Hadley made the first move, after all.
“And,” I tell her, “in my experience, when girls make the first move, they always show up.”
“Very funny,” she says, no doubt remembering the genesis of our own relationship. “But Matt isn’t you. And Hadley isn’t me. Maybe she’s a flake or something. Maybe she’ll change her mind, not realizing how much it’ll hurt him.”
She’s putting all the bottles of booze into the cupboard above her sink, lining them up in a perfect row. Just like I would. Labels to the front, evenly spaced. Like someone important is going to see them. I walk up behind her and wrap my hands around her waist, sliding them under her shirt and against her skin.
“She’ll be here,” I say into her ear. “’Cause she knows if she doesn’t show up, she’s out of a very lucrative Tuesday-night job.”
“Aww,” Emma whines, turning herself around in my arms. She’s facing me now, looking up at me with worry, my hands clasped around her waist. “Why the fuck did you have to go and say that? Now you got me thinking that maybe that’s the only reason she’s coming.”
“Emma,” I say lightly, “you need to stop. I think you’re more nervous for tonight than Matt is.” She lets out a long sigh, puts her hands around my neck, and scuffs my nape with her fingernails. It sends a shiver of evocation down my spine.
“You’re right. I probably am,” she says with a wince. “It’s just that he’s been so nice to me at work, and he’s been there every time we’ve needed him. You know?”
I know. Trust me, I
know.
Her eyes soften and a small smile crosses her lips just before she adds, “I just feel like he deserves a nice night, that’s all. And because the whole thing was my idea, I feel like if something goes wrong, it’s going to be my fault.”
“If Hadley doesn’t show, it’s not going to be your fault, Emma. That’s ridiculous. And Matt knows that. He knows. But it doesn’t matter anyway. Because she’s coming. Of her own free will.”
Emma turns back around and takes a bottle of Maker’s Mark out of the cupboard, messing up her perfect arrangement. I haven’t seen her drink Maker’s since the night she saw Michael’s phone number on my cell phone. The night she lost her shit. The night I almost lost her. The sight of it makes me worry. Just a little bit. She cracks open the wax seal and pulls two shot glasses from the same cupboard, filling them both with whiskey and handing one to me. She raises her own into the air in a toast.
“Here’s hoping,” she says. “To Matt and Hadley. And to showing up.”
We clink the shot glasses together and down their contents. My tongue and throat burn in all the right ways. Before I can put the glass down on the counter behind her, Emma’s mouth meets mine. The kiss is more powerful than ever, raw with the taste of whiskey. Slick and arousing. Epic and right. I press her body against the counter and wrap her head in my hands, holding her face and absorbing her body straight into mine.
---------------------------------------------------------------
At 7:55 Emma’s door buzzer sounds. She jumps off the sofa like it’s made of needles and heads over to push the door release button. As she’s opening her apartment door, she looks back at me with wide, bright eyes. She’s excited. And it’s cute as fuck.
Matt walks around the corner and stops in Emma’s doorway. He’s wearing a short-sleeved plaid button-down and a pair of jeans. He looks sharp. Poindexter-y, but sharp. On his face, however, is a look of defeat. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders are wilted. Disappointment is written all over him. Damn. I hope I don’t have to find a new bartender before Tuesday. But most of all, I hope Matt isn’t about to get burned. Because he doesn’t deserve it.
If Hadley doesn’t show, I’m pretty sure that Emma is going to hunt the woman down and shatter both her kneecaps. Probably with her bare hands.
Matt’s lips are closed tight, and he raises his eyebrows at Emma as he walks in the door.
“What?” Emma says, lifting her palms to the ceiling. “What happened? Why do you look like she isn’t coming?”
“Because she isn’t coming.” Matt sighs, closing the door behind him and stepping farther into the apartment.
“What do you mean she isn’t coming?” Emma says. I see a touch of pink begin to creep across her skin. Her body tenses and she inhales a sharp breath. She’s already thinking about breaking that pair of kneecaps.
“She just texted me and said she’s not sure if she can make it.” He shrugs his shoulders and walks over toward the sofa. I stand up from my seat and extend a hand out to him in both greeting and commiseration.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Emma asks as he grabs my hand and shakes it. His skin is cool. So very different from hers.
“I think it means she’s backing out. She said something came up and she’s trying to work it out, but it doesn’t look good. She’s going to text me later.” He releases my handshake and rubs his palm flat against the front of his thigh. Emma looks at me from behind his back. She mouths the word “See?”
“Shit, man. That sucks,” I offer.
“Yep,” he says.
Emma’s already headed for the kitchen.
I motion for Matt to have a seat on Emma’s couch. When he does, I see him take notice of the bowl of chips and salsa on the coffee table.
“Sorry you went to all this trouble,” he says, aiming his face and voice toward the kitchen.
“No trouble at all.” Emma comes around the corner with a bottle and three shot glasses. “It’s a bag of chips and a jar of salsa. No big deal. Sounds like there’s a chance she may still be able to come though, right?”
“I guess. But I’m not gonna bank on it, that’s for sure.”
“Well, then we’ll just hang out here and wait to hear from her,” Emma says, clearly forcing herself to sound positive. I doubt Matt senses the anger bubbling beneath her words, but I do. I see it on her skin and hear it in her voice. It makes my scalp prickle with pleasure.
She puts the glasses down on the coffee table and fills them each to the brim with Maker’s. One of the glasses sloshes over and splatters onto the table. She absentmindedly wipes the spill away with the sleeve of her hoodie. It’s such an instinctual motion, and yet it’s fueled and meaningful. The pace of her movement tells me she’s running on high voltage. She’s definitely thinking about smashing Hadley’s kneecaps.
She hands a glass to each of us and lifts the remaining one between the thumb and index finger of her right hand, hoisting it up into the empty space of air between us.
“To showing up,” she says, a look of I told you so aimed straight at me. I return it with a right you are nod that makes a glimpse of a smile touch her lips.
The glasses clink together and each of us downs a single, overflowing swallow. A shot of ninety-proof therapy. Sympathy in a bottle.
Forty-five minutes later, I think Matt has pretty well given up on hearing from Hadley. I knew he’d come to that conclusion the moment he picked his phone up from its prominent place on the coffee table and stuck it back into his pocket. We’ve each had two beers since then, and we’re actually having a good time talking about some of the crazier things that have happened at poker over the last year and a half. I thought Matt might feel a little awkward being alone with just the two of us, or that he might rush out of here in a hurry as soon as it was obvious that Hadley wasn’t coming. But he seems right at home with us, smiling and chatting. It’s clear that he and Emma have become friends over the past few months. I watch the two of them talk to each other. There’s no flirting, and neither is trying to impress the other. It’s like they’re cousins. Not quite as comfortable as a brother and sister would be, but not as foreign as mere coworkers. I’m struck by it. Struck by their ease with each other. But even as Emma is talking to Matt, her hand is on my knee. Pressing into it with reassurance and promise. Reminding me that I am hers and she is mine. Telling me I have nothing to worry about and that covetousness is far from necessary. At least when it comes to Matt.
A few minutes later, as Emma gets up and walks to the kitchen to grab us each another beer, Matt’s face changes. His eyes open wide and his mouth drops open as if in surprise. He stands and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone.
“I believe I just got a text.” He stares at the phone in his hand as if it just spoke Mandarin. “I think tonight’s disappointment is about to be confirmed,” he adds as he enters his passcode.
A few seconds slide by before he says anything else. Emma’s still in the kitchen when Matt announces that Hadley is, in fact, going to show up. Her text simply says, I’m on my way. He shows it to me as proof.
“Shit,” Matt declares, running his fingers through his hair and suddenly appearing to be very worried. He’s looking around the room like a little kid who got lost at the carnival. He doesn’t know what to do next. “Shit. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she’s coming. What do I do?”
“Uh, maybe try calming the fuck down,” Emma says as she’s walking out of the kitchen with three bottles and an opener. “She’s not the queen, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m well aware of that, thank you very much,” Matt says, clearly trying to stifle some kind of mini panic attack. “It’s just that if I thought she was still gonna come, I wouldn’t have drunk so much so fast.”
“She’s not going to care about that,” I say, hoping to settle his ass back down to Earth. I don’t want the poor guy to die of mortification before the woman even gets here. “Hell, you were way more dru
nk than this when you gave her your number on Tuesday night. And she still texted you, didn’t she?”
“Good point.” He raises a flattened palm to Emma as she tries to hand him one of the open beers. “It’s just that I’d braced myself so much for her not to come, that I hadn’t really put much thought into what would happen if she did come. I’m completely unprepared.”
Emma’s trying hard not to laugh at the poor guy. Her lips are drawn tight, curling down at the ends. She’s stifling a smile.
“It’s not really something you can prepare for,” I say eventually, hoping to put both of them out of their misery. “I mean, other than making sure you put your pants on and all.”
“Gee, David. Thanks,” he chides, sinking his hands into his pockets. He really is nervous. I won’t tease him again. I don’t want to cross over into douchebag territory.
“Just relax,” I say as calmly as I can. “It’s gonna be great. You’re gonna be great. You’re a great guy, and if she can’t see that, then she’s the one with the problem.”
Did I really just fucking say that to another guy?
“Thanks, Mom,” he says with a smirk.
Pull Page 25
