Beauty and the Running Back

by Colleen Masters

  “Are you going to say congratulations at least?” my dad asks me flatly, placing a comforting hand on Deb’s back.

  “I...I don’t...” I stammer, looking back and forth between them. “I don’t know what you want from me, Dad.”

  “That...is very disappointing,” he replies, looking as hurt as I’ve ever seen him. But how the hell am I supposed to congratulate them on what is clearly nothing more than an impulsive, terrible decision? They barely even know each other. They’re still in the early stages of recovery. What the hell are they thinking?

  “So ungrateful, both of them,” Deb mutters, marching up the stairs.

  Dad heaves a sigh as she slams their bedroom door. An eerie silence falls over the house, punctuated only by Deb’s muffled sobs from upstairs. My dad and I look at each other across the wide open space. This is as alone as we’ve been in months, ever since Deb showed up on the scene. I wish I could be honest with him right now, tell him how reckless he’s being, tell him how much it hurts me to see him pick up with the first woman he meets without actually giving a shit about her. But I’ve never been able to call my dad out on his bad behavior.

  “This is not how I saw tonight ending,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  “I just wish you would have asked us if we were OK with this,” I say, frustrated tears stinging my eyes.

  “Excuse me,” my dad replies, “Since when do parents ask their children for permission?”

  “I just...You hardly know her! She hardly knows you!” I exclaim. “What is it you even love about her, Dad? I mean, you do love her—?”

  “Of course I do,” he says gruffly. “I love how she looks. How she carries herself. Her eyes. Her hair.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, scoffing, “You like the way she looks? That’s it?”

  “You and Emerson will be adults soon,” my dad says firmly. “Before long, you’ll know what it feels like to want something—someone—so badly that you’re willing to do just about anything to be together. I hope you’ll have the courage to make that leap when the time comes.”

  I almost laugh as he spews theses words of wisdom. He practically just told me to go ahead and jump my soon-to-be-stepbrother’s bones. But as absurd as this all is, I can’t laugh about it just yet. The pain is far too raw.

  There’s a good chance it always will be.

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  It’s three in the morning before I hear Emerson’s car swing back into the driveway beneath my window. In the four hours or so he’s been on the road blowing off steam, I haven’t slept a wink. Haven’t even come close. My nerves have been on a hair-trigger, ready to snap clean in two, as I wait for him to return. The second I hear his car door slam, I throw off my covers and roll out of bed. Throwing my blonde hair into a messy ponytail and crossing my arms over my chest, I pad over to my bedroom window and ease it open. Leaning out into the warm spring air, I see Emerson leaning heavily against the hood of his car, looking up at our house with despair.

  “Hey, Emerson,” I whisper, waving to get his attention.

  “What are you doing up?” he murmurs back.

  “What do you think?” I say, “I was waiting for you. Stay there—I’m coming down.”

  “You don’t have to,” he starts to say, but I’ve already turned away from the window. I take the stairs two at a time, not pausing long enough to be self-conscious about my tiny cotton shorts and camisole.

  I gently pull open the front door and step out into the darkness of the very early morning. Emerson watches as I cross the driveway toward him. He smiles wryly at my approach.

  “Are you trying to kill me with those shorts or what?” he says. Though I know he’s teasing, there’s a frustrated, regretful hunger beneath his words that breaks my heart.

  “Some of us have been in bed for hours now,” I remind him, leaning against the car by his side, “Instead of rending our shirts and bellowing into the wind. Or whatever it was you were doing out there.”

  “That about sums it up,” he replies. “What, are you pissed at me?”

  “It would have been nice to not be stuck alone with our parents after all that,” I point out, “Your mom cried for hours.”

  “It’s one of her favorite hobbies,” Emerson shrugs.

  “You could have at least taken me with you,” I shoot back. “After everything...”

  “I know,” he says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not used to looking out for anyone besides myself, Abby. I gave up on my mom years ago, and I guess when shit gets real, I just look out for me. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” I whisper, reaching for his hand. To my relief, he lets me take it. “You’re back now. That’s what matters.”

  He looks my way, his blue eyes gleaming even in the darkness. I can see a million thoughts swirling behind those eyes, afloat in a churning sea of turmoil and rage. I wish there was something I could do to ease that pain. And maybe, just maybe, there is.

  “Come on,” I say, tugging his hand, “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” he asks, standing stock still. “I’m exhausted, Abby.”

  “Just follow me, Sawyer,” I reply, pretending impatience. “Unless you’re too chicken shit, that is.”

  He rolls his eyes with just enough playfulness to give me hope. Without another word, I tow him away from the car. Silently, we make our way around the perimeter of the house, the expansive back yard, the black water of the in-ground pool. I lead Emerson along the edge of the woods that surround our property, peeling off down a well-worn dirt path. I expect his body to tense up as I drag him into the foliage, but he follows gamely. I suppose he doesn’t scare so easy, Emerson Sawyer.

  “Here it is,” I say, after a few minutes of trudging along through the underbrush. We’ve come to a stop before a thick, sturdy trunk, inlaid with wooden planks that serve as footholds. It’s a place I’ve come to love and depend on as a safe haven. During the worst of mom and dad’s fights, and later the worst of his drunken rages, this is where I’d come.

  “What is ‘it’?” Emerson asks, raising an eyebrow at the makeshift ladder.

  “I’ll show you,” I tell him, grasping a plank and pulling myself up a foot. “Just don’t check out my ass the whole time I’m climbing, now.”

  “That...is not a fair request,” he smiles, as I scurry up the trunk before him. I can feel his eyes raking along my body the whole while. And despite my instructions, I can’t pretend that I mind too much.

  As we hit the point where the tree’s branches begin to fan out, I pull myself onto a wide wooden platform, scooting over to make room for Emerson beside me. This weathered deck was built to last, but it helps that I’ve maintained it over the years. It’s not quite a treehouse, but it does the trick as far as secret hideaways go.

  “Well, this is rustic,” Emerson laughs, swinging himself up onto the platform to join me. “Did your dad make this?”

  “My grandpa did, actually,” I tell him, “Back when my dad was still a kid. This was his and my grandma’s house, before they passed it along to my mom and dad.”

  “Did they...pass away? Your grandparents?” Emerson asks gently.

  “Nah,” I chuckle, “They just decided that Florida was more their scene is all. Didn’t want to go through the hassle of selling this place. They’re, uh, pretty well off, my grandparents. Good people, but loaded as hell.”

  “Not a very typical combination, is it?” Emerson replies gruffly. He looks over at me as I avert my eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean you. I just—”

  “Didn’t you?” I ask softly.

  “Of course not,” Emerson says, reaching for my hand. “I told you not four hours ago how I feel about you, Abby. You’re not just some rich girl to me. Christ, I would never hold you accountable for your family. That would mean you could hold me accountable for mine.”

  “Good point. And I wouldn’t dream of it, for the record,” I laugh shortly. “Though apparently, we’re about to have ou
r shitty families joined in holy matrimony. So...congratulations to us?”

  “Or something,” Emerson grumbles, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible fucking idea. They don’t even know each other. They’re going to make each other miserable.”

  “I know,” I reply, heaving a sigh, “This is why marriage gets such a bad rap. Because assholes like our parents fuck it up for everyone.”

  “Seriously,” Emerson says, pulling out a cigarette. I don’t even have to ask for one this time, he just passes it my way. He holds the lighter for me as I run the tip of my cigarette through the flame. We inhale deeply in unison, peering up at the stars through the canopy of leaves above. Our fingers are still entwined, natural as can be. That might be what hurts the most—the potential of a relationship that feels as easy as breathing, scattered by our parents’ carelessness.

  “It’s not fair,” I whisper, my eyes prickling with tears.

  “No. It’s not,” Emerson replies, pulling me tightly against his side.

  “I mean Jesus Christ, their timing,” I laugh, though nothing about this is funny.

  “No kidding,” He replies, “If they hadn’t shown up when they did...Abby, I don’t know what would have happened back there. I mean. I know what I wanted to happen.”

  “And...what’s that?” I ask softly, unable to look him in the eye.

  “I think you know,” he says, circling my waist with his muscled arm. “But what I don’t know, at least for sure, is what you want out of this. Out of...us.”

  My heart is lodged in my throat as I think of how to answer. I need to be bold now. To tell him the truth. Even if I’ve read him entirely wrong, and he thinks I’m insane for what I’m about to say, we’ll be out of each others’ lives in a few months’ time. So, here goes.

  “If we hadn’t been interrupted,” I say, softly but steadily, “I wouldn’t have stopped until we’d had each other. That’s all I wanted.”

  He glances down at me, and I force myself to meet his gaze. His eyes smolder with wanting me. The intensity of his lust nearly bowls me over.

  “That’s what I wanted, too,” he growls, catching my chin in his hand.

  He brings his mouth to mine, kissing me forcefully, deeply. But there’s a hint of finality in his kiss that nearly brings me to tears.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I whisper, pulling away from him. “It’s Wednesday. No, Thursday now. By Sunday, we’ll technically be siblings.”

  “I know that,” Emerson replies, his teeth gritted in hopeless frustration. “And once that’s the case, we can’t...”

  “I know,” I whisper. “Of course we can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Nothing about this situation is right,” he scoffs.

  “God,” I mutter, “Why couldn’t we have just found each other years ago, before we were out of time?”

  “We’re not out of time. Yet,” Emerson says carefully, as if testing the waters. My heart clenches tightly as he goes on. “Tomorrow is my birthday, Abby. Saturday is yours. That means that on Saturday, and only on Saturday, we’ll both be legal adults. Legal, unrelated adults. Who can argue with that?”

  “Are you...are you suggesting...?” I reply, my eyes going wide.

  “If I don’t at least suggest it,” Emerson says, pulling me into his lap. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. So, yes. This is me telling you that I want you, Abby. I want to be with you. I want us to have each other, if only once in our lives. I’m suggesting that we give ourselves that before it’s too late. You can tell me I’m nuts, or to go fuck myself, or whatever you like. But I have to at least tell you...that, that’s what I want.”

  “Well, Emerson,” I say, struggling to take a deep breath, “That’s convenient. Because I...want that...too.”

  We stare at each other for a long moment before bursting into uproarious laughter. Gut-bursting, tension-relieving, hysterical laughter that almost sends us both toppling off the platform at once. I throw my arms around Emerson’s shoulders as we both roar at the insane, absurd hilarity of this whole situation. A wave of relief crashes through me as laugher wracks my body. God, it feels good to let some of this pressure release.

  “That might be the most awkward thing I’ve ever said in my life!” I crow, wiping tears from my eyes.

  “This may be the most awkward conversation that’s ever occurred between two people,” Emerson replies, “‘Hey, I know you’re about to be my sister, but I really want to do you.’”

  That sets us off again. We collapse into each other until we end up lying on our backs, chests heaving, staring up at the stars. Our hands are clasped, our smiles wide. Despite the crapiness of the whole situation, here we are together. On the same page.

  “Promise me it will happen,” I say to him. “Promise me that on my birthday, we’ll get to be together. The way we want to be.”

  “I promise,” Emerson says, giving me a sweet, chaste kiss on the forehead. “But. Um. I hope you don’t mind if I ask another sort of awkward question,” Emerson goes on, his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly.

  “Shoot,” I tell him, turning my head his way.

  “Well. You know, I’m no novice, when it comes to sex,” he begins, delightfully blunt as ever. “I’ve been with a few girls in my time. But in your case...I guess what I mean is...Have you ever...?” My smiles fades at once as I jerk my face away from his. He senses my entire body tense up in the wake of his question. “Shit,” he groans, “That was so stupid of me—”

  “No,” I cut him off, steeling myself for what I have to say, now. “No, it wasn’t stupid. It’s just...not an easy question for me to answer. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to, it’s just...bear with me.”

  He squeezes my hand, but doesn’t say a word. I take a breath and go on.

  “I was going to tell you this earlier. When we were trading secrets. I wanted to explain what happened at the diner tonight, but I was afraid that you...anyway. The short answer to your question is, yes, I’ve had sex before. The slightly longer answer is that I didn’t really want to. Didn’t want to at all, actually.”

  “Oh, Abby...” Emerson says, his voice as soft as I’ve ever heard it. “Do you mean—?”

  “It was back in freshman year,” I go on, plowing ahead before I lose my nerve. “I was sort of a late bloomer, so I was really only beginning to get attention from some guys at our school. There was one in particular that I’d had a crush on since about Kindergarten. He and I were at the other middle school, not yours. Anyway, he teased me pretty mercilessly through eighth grade—for being smart, for always having my nose in a sketchbook, all that. But come high school, that teasing gave way to flirting. And we started, uh, hanging out.

  Right when my mom died, he was still sort of in the picture. We weren’t dating or anything, but we were spending time together. I went over to his place one night when my dad was wasted, just to get out of the house for a minute. His parents were away, so it was just us. He’d broken into his dad’s liquor cabinet and offered me something to drink. Said it would make me feel better. I had some booze, he gave me more. He over-poured my drinks. I got drunk. Then he started touching me, pushing me further than we’d been before. By then, we’d only really kissed. But he was feeling me up, trying to undress me. I told him to stop, I was too wasted to enjoy it, to want it. But he kept on me. Said that would make me feel better, too.

  He was much bigger than me, and I was so far gone. I passed out in the struggle. When I woke up a few hours later, I was naked from the waist down. He was asleep. Passed out. There was some blood on my thighs, and...you know…everything else. I got dressed, went home, and took a shower. He and I never spoke again. The only other person who knows this besides you is Riley. But I need you to know. It’s important to me that you do.”

  A heavy, thick cloud of silence descends as Emerson’s jaw pulses with rage.

  “This guy,” he says, his voice ragged, “It was Tucker. Wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, “Yes
. It was.”

  “Abby, I’m so sorry,” Emerson says, “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry no one was there to help you. If I’d known—”

  “What, you would have beat him up for me?” I tease, trying to force a little bit of levity into my confession.

  “For starters,” Emerson says resolutely.

  “That wouldn’t fix anything,” I reply. “Even if I’d told someone, no one would have believed me. I only would have gotten a reputation for being a lying whore at school. With his popularity, his family’s reputation in town...I wouldn’t have stood a chance. I’d rather get to leave this place behind and forget about every one of these assholes than give them the satisfaction of dragging me through the mud.”

  “I just...I wish there was anything I could do for you,” Emerson says, “To make things better. Anything.”

  “This is a pretty good start,” I tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “We can’t change the past, you know. But we do get to decide what the future looks like.”

  “Right,” he says softly, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You’re right.”

  The sky is just starting to lighten overhead as we make our way back inside. We have school later today, as mundane as it is to think of. We pause at the top of the stairs, just before peeling off toward our own rooms. Emerson lays his hands on my bare upper arms, looking at me intently.

  “Thank you for telling me everything,” he whispers, “It means so much that you can trust me with that.”

  “I’d trust you with anything,” I reply, taking his face in my hands. Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss him earnestly, swiftly. This time, he doesn’t hold what I want just out of reach.

  We step away from each other and dart into our rooms. As my face hits the pillow at last, I realize the enormity of everything that’s come to pass in these last 24 hours. The diner incident. The impromptu date night and steamy make out session with Emerson. Dad and Deb’s big announcement. My confession to Emerson. Our agreement for my eighteenth birthday.

  “Man,” I sigh, drifting off to sleep, “I’d better give this to Riley in small doses, or else she’s going to lose her shit. Permanently.”