by Jenna Mills
I drove. I drove west of the city, into the mountains. I drove along narrow roads, until I could see no lights, not from other cars and not from the city. Only the stars glittering above. And then I drove some more, toward the place, the one place where I could be alone.
I drove while my phone beeped and texts poured in. I drove when I should have stopped, checking messages as I glanced back and forth between my phone and the winding road. It was dumb. I didn’t care.
From Zoe: Are you okay?
From Lexi: I heard what happened. You can’t keep letting that asshole do this to you.
I drove as memories ripped free, and all those little places inside me started to tear.
From Dr. Rivers: I talked to Zoe. Call me. Call someone. You don’t have to do this alone.
From my sister Haley: Josh was here. He’s looking for you… Seems really upset. What’s going on?
The tears flowed harder, until everything blurred. Gasping, I pulled to the side of the road and sat there staring straight ahead—and saw the lily.
Tucked under my windshield wiper.
Shredded by the wind.
I was still sitting there when the next text came in.
Gradually lights returned, illuminating the sleepy subdivision like the glow of a fairytale. Grateful for something else to focus on, I turned onto the street I’d driven countless times and parked in front of the big, beautiful house—the mansion of my girlhood—and stepped into the night.
It was crazy the way my heart thudded, as if I hadn’t walked the flower-lined path hundreds of times, lifted my hand to the heavy, castle-like door, and knocked. Waited. For him. But as I stood there in the soft puddle of light from the gas porch lamps, each second throbbed deeper than the one before, driving home that something was different. Something had changed.
Because of the coffee shop, I knew. There was no way to pretend that hadn’t happened.
At least, I told myself it was the coffee shop.
No sound came from inside, not until the lock clicked and the door opened, and then he was there, standing between me and the glow beyond his shoulders. Not running, I realized abruptly. Whatever his change of plans was, why ever he suddenly needed a sitter, he wasn’t going running. He was wearing jeans, not gym shorts, a snug-fitting charcoal Henley…not a t-shirt.
A date, I realized with a quick twist inside me.
Coach Grimes was going on a date.
“Hey,” he said, and his eyes, darker than usual, sought out mine. “I was hoping you wouldn’t change your mind.”
There was no reason for my throat to tighten—but that was a lie. There was a reason. There were a lot of reasons. And it did.
“Of course not,” I said, pretending. Pretending everything was normal. That nothing had changed. That a thousand jagged pieces weren’t slicing around inside me.
Pretending that I could breathe.
That I wasn’t bleeding out.
That I hadn’t been bleeding out every day for the past five weeks, since the night an innocent surprise twisted into a nightmare.
Warmth blazed from the chocolaty-brown of his eyes. “Come on in then,” he said, stepping back so that I could slip past him into the foyer.
Stillness. That was the first thing I noticed as I made my way toward the dimly lit family room. It was like the middle of the night, when the house itself seemed to sleep, leaving you feeling like you’re the only one in the world. No dolls sat forgotten on the floor. No crayons lay abandoned. No discarded princess sandals blocked my path.
You cleaned, I started to say, then remembered it was probably the housekeeper.
The chandelier and TV were off, leaving only the muted haze of the lamps and the quiet strains of jazz from the hidden bluetooth speakers. A bottle of wine sat on the rustic coffee table, two crystal glasses nearby.
And then I realized that maybe he was having someone over, instead of going out. That maybe my job was to keep Brinkley and Delaney upstairs, or maybe take them somewhere else, like to his sister’s house, thirty minutes away.
“Where are the girls?” I didn’t realize I’d lowered my voice until the breathy words settled between us. “Did they fall asleep?” I asked, glancing toward the curved staircase. That happened sometimes. They were out before I arrived.
“No.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard them this quiet,” I murmured, like we were in a library or church—but totally not.
Coach Grimes stood there, this man I’d known for so long, but different somehow. The way he looked at me, the heavy-lidded eyes and languid smile. “They’re not here.”
Three words. That’s all they were. But I felt them, felt each one of them brush up against me like a hand to my body. Stopping me. Holding me. Holding me tight.
Slowly, dreamlike, as if the oxygen had suddenly become thick and viscous, I made myself turn toward where he lounged, by the windows, watching me.
Holding.
Holding me.
From across the room.
It shouldn’t have been possible.
But was.
“They’re with Jillian,” he said, seeking out my eyes with his own.
And I didn’t understand.
Didn’t understand anything.
I knew I was a little out of it, but he’d texted me. Asked if I could come over…
Hadn’t he?
“After that scene at the coffee shop,” he said before I could say anything, ask anything, “the last thing you needed was two little girls climbing all over you, demanding your attention.” He hesitated, letting the jazz-infused silence breathe between us. “Or anyone,” he added a long heartbeat later. “…demanding anything. I would never put you in that position.”
Mechanically I closed my hand around the friendship bracelet tied around my wrist, and tried to understand. “So…why’d you ask me to come babysit?”
“I was worried about you, Emmie.”
Emmie.
“After what happened at The Java Joint,” he added, still standing there, just standing there, the entire width of the room between us, a big room, cavernous, but with every breath I took, the walls locked in on us, tighter, closer. “I didn’t want you out there alone.”
A dark, dangerous whisper tore through me.
Or was it a warning?
“You made it up?” The words sounded crazy even as they left my mouth. But I had to be wrong, mistaken. I had to misunderstand. “There’s not somewhere else you need to be?”
“No.” Finally he moved, stepping not toward me, but the big, buttery gold leather sofa. “No place else. Only here.” At the small table, he hesitated. “Making sure you’re okay.”
I swallowed hard, but the burn, the one at the back of my throat, wouldn’t go away. “Why didn’t you just say that then, when you texted me? Why didn’t you ask me?”
A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Would you have told me the truth?” he asked quietly, hesitating a moment, long enough for my mouth to open, but no words to come out. “Or would you have told me what you’ve been telling everyone since the accident? That you’re fine. You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong.”
I stiffened.
“I was there, remember?” he said, pressing on, pushing, pushing as he always did, never stopping when it was uncomfortable. “At The Java Joint. I heard how he talked to you. I saw the look on your face—I see it now. You’re not okay.”
A thousand denials tripped through me. You’re wrong. I am okay. Today was no big deal. I’m over Josh. He can’t hurt me… But they wouldn’t form, not a one of them, leaving me standing there, naked with a truth I didn’t want anyone to know, see.
Not even myself.
“That’s why I called you,” he said, lifting the bottle of wine and tilting it toward one of the glasses. “That was the change of plans.”
I stood there, frozen, frozen on the outside, frozen on the inside, watching the deep red liquid splash against crystal.
“I though
t you needed quiet. To decompress. To catch your breath.”
Here. At his house.
Alone.
With him.
“You can go if you want to,” he said, pouring a second glass.
Something dark and forbidden played through my mind…
Wrong.
It was so, so wrong.
“But I wanted you to know you had somewhere else to go. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where you could let your guard down.”
He was an older man, my coach.
And I was the good girl, the rule follower. The one who hated risks and always did what I was supposed to. Who didn’t go to those parties. Who stayed away from those people. Who’d never even experimented with weed, not even a single gummy.
And yet…I did wonder. It was impossible not to. What would it feel like to live life in color, versus black and white? What would it feel like to veer outside the tight little lines that defined my life? What would happen…if I left the box altogether?
“I didn’t want you out there alone,” he said quietly, and this time…this time when he stepped toward me, I didn’t step back.
Chapter 7
I WATCHED HIM, couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t stop the images from playing, the shadowy ones from my mind, couldn’t stop the two from blurring, fusing…
“How did you know I didn’t go home?” I barely recognized the sound of my own voice. “That I wasn’t with a friend?”
His smile was slow, wide—the one that could touch, and tempt. The one that could strip the breath straight from every cell of my body.
“Because I know you.” He crossed to me, didn’t stop when he should have, when everyone else would have, but took one step closer, bringing him so close I could feel without touching. “I know you don’t like anyone to know when you’re hurting.” So close I had to tilt my face to see his. “And…I drove by your house on my way home. Your car wasn’t there.”
He drove by my house.
On his way home.
To check up on me.
Him.
Coach Grimes.
He was looking down at me now, looking down at me with a glitter in his eyes I’d never seen before, at least not like this. Standing so close. “I can follow you back there, if you want.”
My throat squeezed. My chest squeezed. Everything. Everything inside of me squeezed. Squeezed so tight.
“No.” It was more breath than word, so I tried again. “No…I-I…don’t want to go.”
He smiled. Softer this time, gentle—and handed me the glass of wine. “You’ve been crying.”
I tried to look away, look away before he could see anything more—I hadn’t even glanced in the rearview mirror before coming inside. But he was right. I’d been crying. I could only imagine how I looked—smeared mascara, red nose, stringy hair…
He was faster, lifting a finger to the side of my face and stopping me.
“Emmie, don’t. Don’t pretend. Not with me.”
I felt my throat work.
“He’s not worth it.”
Against the delicate stem, my fingers tightened. “I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, suddenly, horribly self-conscious.
But he rolled right on. “It’s a good thing I didn’t see him at the hospital after the accident,” he said, and there was a roughness to his voice, a hard edge that made my breath catch.
“Why?” I heard myself ask, but even as the words came out, it was like I was somewhere else, somewhere outside my body, watching, rather than living. Because that wouldn’t have been me. Couldn’t have been me, standing in the soft light, alone with Coach Grimes. “What would you have done?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The quickening was automatic, part thrill, part something I didn’t want to name.
“What matters is what happened today,” he said. “You need to stay away from that boy.”
That boy.
Josh.
“That’s kinda hard with him back in town,” I pointed out. “It’s like he’s everywhere.” Without thinking I turned and crossed to the windows overlooking the beautiful Grecian pool, so still in the moonlight. “Maybe even here…last night.”
“What?” A few steps and he was behind me—through our reflection, I could see the hot burn in his eyes. “Josh was here?”
The words spilled out of me, the feeling of being watched, the lily on my windshield, and with each one, the lines of his face hardened even more.
“You need to report him,” he said. “Call the police—”
“No-”
“That’s stalking.”
Stalking. It was an ugly word. A scary one. And it stabbed like a cold, sharp knife to everything I’d once thought I believed. “It’s Josh.” I’d known him forever.
“Doesn’t make it okay. Actually, makes it worse.”
I turned away, toward the fairytale lights twinkling from the trees. Somewhere beyond, the Flatirons hulked. I’d always found comfort in that, in knowing that no matter what changed, what broke, the mountains were always there. Always the same.
“He would never hurt me,” I whispered, but with the words came the twist of truth. I didn’t know that, not anymore. Didn’t know anything. Didn’t know Josh—didn’t know myself.
Didn’t know Coach Grimes.
I didn’t realize he’d moved, either, not until his hands found my shoulders, and the warmth of his breath slipped against my neck. “He already has.”
I swallowed hard.
“If he does anything else, I want you to tell me. I’ll make sure he never goes anywhere near you again.”
Silence poured in between us. It was what I wanted. Josh. Nowhere near me.
Wordlessly, I stared up at Coach Grimes.
He stared down at me. His eyes were narrow, concentrated, blazing with a light I’d never seen before, not from him. “You’ve always been very special to me,” he said, stepping closer. “You know that, don’t you? Not like the other girls at school.”
My heart kicked hard. My mouth went dry. Real, I told myself. This was real, not a fantasy. Not a dream. We were really standing in the soft light of a nearby lamp. He was really looking down at me like that, with an intensity that scrambled my thoughts.
Forbidden. It was so, so forbidden.
Wrong.
Or at least the old Emily had always thought so.
“Ah,” he said softly. “There she is.” And then his hand was there, gently against the side of my face. “Beautiful Emily.”
A dream-like haze settled around me. It was me standing there, but it wasn’t me, not the girl who’d stood there less than twenty-four hours before. It was him, Coach Grimes—but not him. I’d known him for years, first as a man I babysat for, then as a teacher and coach at school. But he was a stranger now, new and mysterious, not treating me like a child or little girl, but looking at me with an intensity that fired through every nerve ending.
What if he touched me?
What if…
“I’ve missed seeing that,” he murmured, “your smile.”
Part of me wanted to turn and run away, break the moment, break it before it broke me. But more and more I didn’t want to be that girl anymore, the one who ran when she was afraid, who’d run from the coffee shop hours before, who’d run from her boyfriend’s betrayal all those weeks ago, and almost got herself killed. Who’d been running her whole life. I was so tired of that girl, of running from things that scared me—I wanted to be in pursuit for a change, to be the one chasing what I wanted, instead of fleeing like a coward. I wanted to know how it felt. I wanted to take chances, to be bold, not cautious.
I wanted to live.
“It’s killed me the past few months, seeing what he’s done to you, twisting you up then tossing you out like garbage. You don’t deserve that.”
But I didn’t want to think about that, about him. Josh. Breathless, I stepped closer. “What do I deserve?”
“So much,” he whispered. “Everything.” The
brown of his eyes was deeper than usual, and in them I knew I could drown.
Excitement…thrill…anticipation. I didn’t know, wasn’t sure.
Not unease, I told myself. Fear, maybe, but not the bad kind—the exciting kind, like sky-diving. Free falling. All I could think was…this was Coach Grimes, and he was looking at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. And I could hear Lexi whispering—if you want your life back, you have to go for it...
“This,” he said, and then somehow I was in his arms, pulled close and held tight, against his body. Moving to the music.
Mindlessly I lifted my own arms to curve around his waist, and the heat streaked deeper, liquid lightening through every cell of my body. I held on, held on so, so tight, stunned by the hard, sculpted feel of him.
“So perfect,” he murmured, running a hand up my back to tangle in my hair. “I’ve imagined this so many times.”
His hands settled against my shoulders, the warmth of his breath feathering against my neck.
“But you were too young at first,” he said with a soft kiss to bare flesh. “And I was married.”
I shivered.
“But you’re not a little girl anymore,” he said, nibbling, “and I’m a free man.”
Drowning. It was all I could think. I was drowning, drowning.
Everything was different, all the boundaries from before, the lines, gone. There was just him and me, alone, with nothing standing between us.
This, I realized. This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for, the chance to be the person I wanted to be, someone who went after life, what she wanted, and didn’t look back.
He was right. I wasn’t a little girl anymore.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against my hair. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hold you like this?”
No, I tried to whisper, but the words wouldn’t form, not as his hands roamed my body, his mouth pressing little kisses along my jaw. There was only a wash of sensation, and scrape of breath.
Dream, some part of me thought. This was all some wild, mixed-up dream, not really happening, couldn’t really be happening, but then his mouth was on mine, his whiskers scraping along my jaw, and I could feel him pressed against my belly, and I knew that it was real. That he was real. That what was happening—what was about to happen—was real.
