by Brenda Novak
You fucking bitch! You’re trying to ruin my life.
She leaned against the counter for support.
Have you ever heard of a boomerang? You started this mess, and now it’s coming home.
I swear to God you’re going to wish you’d never met me.
Emery could feel the hatred oozing through those words and hesitated before blasting back another knee-jerk response. She felt safe while she was in Aiyana’s house, an hour and forty-five minutes away from LA. But she’d have to go back to the city after Christmas and stay until she could figure out what else to do. She was only a few months into an annual lease and, after helping her mother and grandmother, she didn’t have the money to buy it out. Even if she could scrape the necessary funds together, she wouldn’t also have enough to put down a first and last month’s rent and security deposit somewhere else.
She needed to be careful or, with Ethan behaving as volatile as he was, she wouldn’t feel safe in her own home. I already do, she wrote. Then she refused to engage again, even though he kept texting her, and what he said grew steadily worse until he was screaming obscenities at her in all caps.
“What’s the matter?”
At the sound of Dallas’s voice, Emery shoved her phone in her back pocket.
“What is it?” he said when she didn’t answer.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I—I have a headache—that’s all. I’ll have to get in bed early tonight.”
He walked over and lifted his hand to feel her forehead. But while she was distracted by that, he used his other hand to reach around and grab her phone.
“Dallas, don’t,” she said, but he wouldn’t listen. His eyebrows came together as he read her exchange with Ethan. She’d changed the name attached to Ethan’s contact record to Voldemort, but the context of the conversation made it easy enough to identify him.
“This bastard doesn’t know when to quit,” he muttered, sounding incredulous, and the next thing she knew, he hit Call.
“Dallas, no. I don’t want to drag you into anything. You’ve got enough going on,” she said, and tried to take her phone away, but he easily fended her off.
“Hello? Is this Ethan Grimes? My name is Dallas Turner. I’m a friend of Emery’s, and I need you to understand something... If you ever lift a finger to hurt her again, you’ll have to answer to me, not her. Do you understand? So stop with the nasty insults and the threats—stop contacting her at all—or you’ll be the one who’s sorry.”
He hit the red button to disconnect the call and handed her back her phone. “Don’t let that asshole upset you.”
She gaped at him, wondering how Ethan was going to respond to that.
Her phone buzzed. Ethan.
Who just called me? Are you seeing someone else already? Tell that bastard I’m not afraid of him.
You should be, she wrote back.
“What’s he saying now?” Dallas reached for her phone again, but she was afraid the two would wind up having a serious conflict if she allowed this to escalate.
“Nothing,” she said and was relieved when Aiyana walked in.
“You’re finally back?” she said to Dallas, distracting him.
“Just pulled in.”
“Did everything go okay in Santa Barbara?”
“It did.”
“Thanks for going.” She put down her purse and crossed to the fridge. “What should we do for dinner?”
“It’s my turn to cook,” Emery announced. “I was going to make stuffed bell peppers—a recipe of my mother’s—if you think the boys will eat it.”
“The boys will eat anything,” Aiyana said.
“Then you go rest—or do whatever you need to do to keep the wedding on track. I’ll call everyone when the food’s ready.”
“Really?” she said gratefully.
Emery smiled in spite of her recent exchange with Ethan. “Really.”
“Thank you,” Aiyana said. “That’s very nice.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Aiyana looked at her son. “I still don’t have all of my Christmas decorations up. Maybe I’ll take this opportunity to finish. Dallas, would you mind lifting a few things down for me in the garage?”
“Of course not.” He walked out with his mother as Emery got the groceries she’d brought home out of the fridge. She made some good progress on the meal, but after about fifteen minutes, she couldn’t help taking another peek at her phone.
Ethan hadn’t typed another word.
* * *
Her mother needed more money. Already. The request came via text after dinner, when the boys were helping Aiyana finish decorating for Christmas in the living room and Emery was doing the dishes. Connie was probably humiliated that she had to ask yet again, and it was easier to type such an unwelcome entreaty than to ask over the phone. She did add that a better offer would be coming from Emery’s father soon—that she’d been promised as much by her attorney—but after talking to Marvin, Emery wasn’t convinced it would be significantly improved.
Sure, I’ll Venmo you another couple hundred. It’s no problem.
She added the last words so that her poor mother wouldn’t have to worry about her dwindling reserves along with everything else. Emery had never been a spendthrift, but it was expensive to live in LA, her job hadn’t paid all that much to begin with—she hadn’t been there long enough to work her way up the pay scale—and she hadn’t anticipated losing it. She hadn’t been prepared for such an unexpected and serious setback.
Her phone rang. Apparently, she’d been so nice her mother now felt safe to call.
“Thank you, honey,” Connie said as soon as Emery picked up.
“Of course. No worries at all.”
“Grandma is only getting worse,” her mother complained. “Each day, she slips a little further away. It’s so difficult to watch the woman who raised me regress into someone so childlike and lost. I’m just...beside myself,” she admitted.
It was hard to hear about her grandmother, but the hurt and bewilderment in her mother’s voice was even more difficult. “That’s terrible.”
“And someone broke the window out of my car last night. There wasn’t even anything in it to steal! I hate to accuse anyone, but I wouldn’t put it past that tramp your father has taken up with. Deseret seems to think he shouldn’t have to pay me anything—as if his money is her money, and she’s the one who can call the shots. After more than thirty years of marriage, this is what I get. She’s what’s making everything so much more difficult than it has to be.”
Emery recalled her father saying that he had more people to consider then just his original family and had to admit her mother could be right. Deseret wasn’t helping. But would her father’s new girlfriend really go so far as to vandalize Connie’s car?
Maybe it wasn’t Deseret. Maybe Marvin had done it. It could be that he was so frustrated that he couldn’t please the new woman in his life—and so afraid he might lose her—he’d broken the window himself.
Where would it all end? Emery asked herself. “I’m sorry, Mom. You don’t deserve what you’re going through.”
“How are you doing?” Connie asked, but that question came across as somewhat timid—as though she was afraid of what she was about to hear.
Emery thought of Ethan’s vile texts only an hour earlier but put some energy into her voice to make her response believable when she said, “I’m doing better. Much better. I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“What’s changed?” her mother asked in surprise.
Dallas. Emery now had someone she could lean on. He’d come into her life right when she needed him most—but she wasn’t about to mention him to her mother. She was afraid Connie would read too much into it. “Staying with Aiyana has given me a chance to catch my breath and recoup.”
“Any word fr
om Ethan?”
“No,” she lied.
“Are you still going to sue him and the station?”
“Yeah, but my attorney will take care of that. I don’t have to do anything, except wait to see how it all turns out.”
“That’s a relief.”
“It is. And you know I’m working again. So...see? Everything’s looking up. You don’t have to worry because you have me. Just let me know if you need more money.”
Her mother started to cry, which made Emery cry, too. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, honey.”
“We’ll both get through this.”
“I hope so.”
Emery had hung up and was just blowing her nose and wiping her eyes when Dallas ducked into the kitchen. “Would you like to join us in the living room for a glass of eggnog?” he asked as he got the carton out of the refrigerator.
She kept her face averted so that he wouldn’t be able to tell she’d been crying. “No, I’m okay. I’m just going to finish up here and go to bed.”
“You still have that headache? Can I get you a painkiller?”
She tried to staunch more tears as she rinsed the last of the suds down the sink. “No, I’ll be fine. Go ahead and enjoy your family.”
He came over and caught her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “What’s going on? That asshole isn’t bothering you again, is he?”
She shook her head. She was afraid her voice would crack if she tried to speak.
“You’d tell me?”
She nodded and he kissed the top of her head before pulling her into his arms. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,” he murmured. “You’ll see.”
She closed her eyes as she rested her cheek against his chest and tried to absorb the warmth of his body, to somehow use his strength to bolster hers.
“Should we make some hot apple cider, too?”
Emery broke away from Dallas as Aiyana entered the kitchen and quickly returned to her work. She was fairly certain Aiyana had seen the embrace, but Dallas’s mother pretended she hadn’t. “Can you join us?” she asked Emery.
“Not tonight,” Emery said. “I’m going to turn in early.”
“Is everything okay?”
She managed a smile. “It’s great,” she said, but the only thing that was great in her life right now was Dallas.
And she had a feeling even that wouldn’t turn out to be a good thing in the end.
* * *
“You know I was hoping that you and Emery would make a connection,” Aiyana said.
Dallas arched an eyebrow at his mother. Emery and his brothers were in bed. Bentley had school in the morning; Liam and Emery had work. He was sitting in the living room with his mother in front of the Christmas tree, its lights sparkling in an almost hypnotic fashion. It was past the time she usually went to bed, since she had work in the morning, too, so he’d guessed she had a reason for staying up late. Apparently, this was it—a word in private. “You’re always trying to play matchmaker.”
“Because I want what’s best for you,” she pointed out.
“And that’s Emery?”
“That’s having the love of a good woman and, eventually, a family. Only...”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“I admit that what I saw in the kitchen earlier makes me a little nervous.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about, Mom.”
“Emery’s in a difficult situation, Dallas. I don’t want her to get hurt—again.”
“We’re just friends. I’m not going to hurt her.”
“I know you would never intend to...”
“But I might not be able to resist?” he said sarcastically.
“I’m not saying that. I’m merely pointing out that she might not understand how much you struggle with commitment.”
“I don’t struggle with commitment.”
It was her turn to lift an eyebrow.
“I struggle in general,” he said. “So I would never put myself forward as someone who would be good for Emery. She needs a different kind of man, someone who’s willing to settle down and work a regular job. Someone who isn’t as restless as I am.”
“You don’t have to be perfect to be perfect for someone. Lord knows I’m not perfect. And neither is Cal. But we’re better together.”
“Not everyone is going to find what you two have.”
“No, but you don’t have to sabotage your own happiness.”
“I’m not. I’m coping the best way I can, and I’m being honest—with you and everyone else. I’m not going to give up climbing.”
“You don’t have to give it up. Can’t you just...do a little less of it?”
“A little less? That wouldn’t be enough to make anyone I’m with happy, and you know it.”
“You can figure out how to get what it gives you while being there for someone else. You’re here for me right now, aren’t you?”
“It’s winter. Besides, you don’t require nearly as much as a spouse would require, and you know it.”
She said nothing.
“Not everyone has to walk the same path,” he said.
She frowned. “Then I hope you’ll stay away from Emery.”
He knew as long as they were living in the same house he probably wouldn’t be able to do that, so he didn’t make any promises. “Did you know my father is out of prison?” he asked. He’d been going to wait until after the wedding to mention this development but couldn’t resist. She was the one person who would truly understand what this would mean to him.
She looked as though she didn’t want to answer, but he could tell by her face that she wasn’t surprised.
“You did know.”
“Yes.”
Robert must’ve included the fact that his parole had been granted in her letter, too. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“Not until after Christmas.”
“Because...”
“I didn’t see any reason to ruin the holidays.”
He supposed he couldn’t blame her. She had her wedding coming up, too.
Dallas stared at the blinking lights on the tree, remembering another Christmas tree—the one his father had pulled down in a drunken rage, breaking most of the ornaments, only two months before he killed most of his family. And that memory, like falling dominoes, took Dallas’s mind back to the terrible day when he was hiding under his sister’s bed. Shaking. Terrified. Trying not to breathe for fear his father would hear him. He could still remember the cupboards slamming as his father searched for him. If their neighbor hadn’t reported the gunshots and then come over to see what was going on, his father would’ve found him eventually. And then... “I can’t believe a man can kill his wife and young daughter, and try to kill his son, and ever be allowed to go on with his life.”
“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” she agreed. “But the penal system is rife with inconsistencies. Someone can be put away on a drug charge and spend as long as your father did behind bars. Others can rape and murder and get less than ten years. I suppose we should be glad he served as much time as he did.”
“It’s not enough. I never expected to have to deal with this—not for another decade, at least.”
She scooted to the edge of the couch, where she studied him as though she wished she could read his mind. “You wouldn’t ever want to see him, would you?”
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately, unequivocally.
“Because it would bring it all back?”
“Because I’d be afraid of what I’d do.”
“He isn’t worth going to prison for yourself, Dallas.”
“Some days, I’m not so sure about that. I feel like I owe it to Jenny.”
“That terrifies me,” she admitted.
He
stood. “To be honest, it does me, too.”
21
Thursday, December 17
Over the next few days, Emery put her name into Google’s search engine morning and night to make sure Ethan hadn’t posted anything new and to send takedown notices to any website that still offered a link to the original video. When Ethan first posted it, she’d been absolutely dedicated to getting it removed. Her initial reaction was to do anything she could to get it down as fast as possible, which was why she’d quickly filed a copyright. According to the information she’d found as far as how to combat what’d happened to her—from support groups formed of people who had gone through something similar—that was the first step. But as the scandal grew, and she couldn’t get ahead of it, she began to feel as though her actions were futile. As soon as one website took it down, another put it up.
Then she lost her job, and depression and despair washed over her like a tidal wave. That was when she gave up and did the exact opposite—stayed away from the internet so that she wouldn’t have to be confronted with the reality of what she’d find there. Had she kept her social media pages, she had no doubt she would have found some supportive voices—fans who argued with her detractors that it was her life and her choice whom she slept with, that she and Ethan were dating at the time, that it didn’t hurt others and, therefore, wasn’t anyone else’s business except her own. Those advocates had been there from the start. But from what she’d seen, any attempt to defend her only inflamed her critics. She still couldn’t bear the thought of looking at Instagram, Facebook or Twitter and reading what people were saying about her.
Now that she was working again, however, even though it was only at a cookie store, she was feeling better. And as she regained her equilibrium, she felt fresh determination to fight the people behind the websites that kept the video circulating.
“How many tonight?” Dallas asked.
She set her laptop aside. They were naked in his bed, which was no longer unusual. They made love every opportunity they had. They knew their time together was short. She figured that must be what increased her desire for him, because she couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone else quite so much. Providing she was in a relationship, sex had been a part of her life—since she’d become an adult, anyway—to a greater or lesser degree. And it had always been an enjoyable aspect. But sex with Dallas was somehow different, more fulfilling, more all-consuming.
