I feigned outrage. “I was not jealous. I was annoyed that we were together on vacation and my best friend paid more attention to two strange girls than me.” The memory of red-hot jealousy came to me as fresh as if it were happening right then.
With a shrug, Jem threw the photo in the box. “What did you expect from a teenage boy? My hormones were raging and I had very little control over them.”
I frowned. “So, I guess not much has changed, then.”
It was meant as a joke, but Jem swallowed hard and shook his head slowly. “I’m not controlled by my hormones anymore, Emily Rose.”
Better to pretend I didn’t hear the hurt in his voice.
“Whatever!” I bent forward and took another picture from the box, hoping to defuse the awkwardness. “This is a good one.” I couldn’t help but laugh. That photo documented one of the funniest moments in our past. I handed it to him.
The reaction was immediate. “Oh shit! I thought we had burned this one.”
Back then, Jem thought he would show his support for my ethnic/cultural quest by dressing up in traditional Japanese clothes. Not only did he look ridiculous in that flowery kimono, but he had decided that a fake mustache would give him so much more credibility as an older Japanese man. The mustache, a fuzzy, black thing that drooped from his upper lip to his chin, made him look like a comical Confucius. I had taken the picture back then and told him I would keep it so I could blackmail him with it anytime I wanted something from him.
Tears were rolling out of our eyes, and our laughter seemed to swell and continue forever, fed by renewed glances at the photograph. It finally exhausted itself.
“Young people can be so goofy,” I said, willing to generalize Jem’s extreme silliness when I fully knew there were few as silly as he had been as a young man.
Jem had pulled another picture out of the box and was staring at it, head cocked to the side and a dreamy expression in his eyes. “Wow!” he exclaimed, still staring at the photo in wonder. “I forgot how absolutely gorgeous you were when we were in college.”
My heart thumped in my chest, as if trying to get out. “What?” What was he up to now? Would he ever stop trying to win me over to his side?
He sighed and handed me the picture. It was a photograph someone had taken of me—was it Jem?—during my senior year in college. While everyone had gone on spring break to the beach, I had decided to go on a yoga retreat. There I was, in my yoga pants, my black, slick hair—the longest I ever had it—pouring down all the way to my waist, and a skintight top. My cheeks burned. I had never thought of myself as gorgeous. It was strange to look at my younger self through Jem’s eyes.
“Stop blushing like you didn’t know you were a freaking hot babe,” Jem said, a little smile on his lips.
I didn’t. I really didn’t.
“Stop messing with me, Jeremy Peter. It’s not nice to mock an old friend.”
Jem tried to move his foot so he could scoot closer, and he flinched in renewed pain. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said instead. “All my friends begged me to get you to consider them as your dates.”
My mouth fell open. “You never told me that.”
“That’s because I didn’t want any of those jokers to go out with you. Ever.” His voice was quiet and serious, all the joking gone from him.
“Why not?” The question came out unbidden.
“Because, Emily Rose, I was so freaking in love with you I couldn’t bear even the thought of another guy looking at you, much less taking you out.” I had reached out and handed him the photograph. His fingers lingered on mine a little too long, setting my skin on fire.
I dropped my gaze to my lap and played with my hands. Damn you, Jem! Back to awkward.
“I’m going to get something to drink. Do you want something?”
He had no time to answer my question. I jumped to my feet and almost ran to hide in the kitchen. As I turned on the lights, I wondered why it was so dark in there. It was only late morning and it had been sunny just a little bit ago. The window behind the sink was wet and I realized it was raining. Not only raining, it seemed. The wind buffeted the trees outside, forcing them into a frenzied dance, and the sun had been hidden by thick, rolling, ominous clouds that raced through the skies.
As I was turning around to go back to Jem, one of the officers poked his head in. “There’s a big storm brewing,” he said. “Be prepared.”
Be prepared? How do you prepare for a storm that’s already upon you? There was no basement, we were in the middle of the woods with the high possibility of flying branches and falling trees, and Jem could barely walk.
“Stay away from the windows,” the policeman said before closing the door.
Away from the windows? There were windows in every room of that house.
I walked to the adjoining door and knocked. “Excuse me, Officer,” I said. “There are windows in every room.”
“The storage room,” the man said. “Get in there to weather the storm. We’re monitoring it and we’ll let you know if something else happens.”
Jem was staring out the window at the angry wind howling and hissing. “Shit! What do we do?”
A loud, scary thunderclap shook the whole cabin, and I ducked as if lightning had hit me. “We go into the storage room. Come on.”
After I had placed Jem safe and sound inside the small storage, I came back to the couch to grab some pillows, a blanket, and my emergency bag. At the last minute, I decided to grab the box of photographs as well. What if a window broke and the rain soaked the interior of the living room? We would lose all those memories.
I propped Jem’s leg on a pillow and then sat on the floor next to him, leaning on the other. “Are you cold?” I asked, showing him the blanket.
He grabbed the blanket from my hands and grinned. “You’re not my mom, Emily Rose. I’m not a baby anymore, you know?”
God, did I know!
“Just making sure you don’t die on my watch,” I said, trying to defuse the tightness in my gut with a joke.
I settled myself down, fluffing the cushion behind me. The light inside the storage was dim and made everything look gloomy and blurry. I pulled out my book, but I had a sneaky suspicion I wouldn’t be able to read in this light.
A loud thunderclap echoed through the house, shaking everything. A few items, hanging precariously on the shelves above us, fell, and I jumped.
“Are you okay?” Jem asked, looking at me worried. He knew well how storms, especially those involving a lot of wind, made me very nervous. One time my mom and dad had taken us on a vacation to the Caribbean. An awful hurricane had rolled over the island a few days after we had arrived. I had never been able to look at wind the same way again.
“I’m fine,” I said, even though inside I was shaking a little. The booms of the thunder and the sound of the wind, like a banshee on the loose, were making me a bit jumpy.
Jem’s face opened up in a smile. “Do you remember that storm when we were in fifth grade?” I shook my head, thinking but coming up empty. “Yes, you do. We were being dismissed from school and as we were running to the bus, a cloud opened up and we were drenched before we could get to the bus.”
“I do remember.” A memory flashed in my head. “We were so soaked we left a puddle on the floor of the bus.”
“And you kept complaining about your hair—”
“Because I had just spent a ton of money on a hairdo at a fancy hairstylist,” I finished.
We laughed in unison. Until another clap of thunder made me jump again. I was shivering in earnest now.
Jem waved his hand, calling me to his side. “Come closer,” he said. “Come on. You’re shaking like Jell-O in an earthquake.”
“Nice. Comparing me to food,” I protested. But I did switch sides, coming to sit right next to him.
He spread the blanket over my legs and pulled me against him. “Just because we’re at odds doesn’t mean we’re not friends still.”
Hesitantl
y at first, I allowed him to pull my head onto his shoulder in the protective move he had always resorted to when I was scared or hurt. It felt safe in his arms, even after all that had happened.
“I didn’t live with her,” Jem said, his quiet voice breaking the moment of silence.
“With who?” I asked, knowing all too well who he was talking about.
“Tina. I never lived with her.” His other hand had crawled over the blanket to grip mine. “Not here and not in France. We got separate apartments. In fact, after the first year we didn’t even see each other that often.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I didn’t dare look at him.
“Because I want you to know that it was never about Tina—or sex with Tina. It was always about putting some space between us, to stop me from making a fool out of myself and destroying the best thing in my life.”
“How can you be so sure it would destroy our friendship?” I asked, my head stubbornly lowered.
“I can’t, but I was so afraid…. You were my best friend, Emily Rose, and I couldn’t risk it.” Silence fell over us, interrupted every so often by the rumble of thunder and the screeching of the wind.
Finally, unable to contain myself any longer, I whispered, “If you had asked me out I would have said yes.”
I felt him shudder, and my heart clenched—for him and for me. Five years of wasted time, of heartbreak and doubt, had passed, and there was no going back. My eyesight got blurry, and I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand. Jem squeezed me closer and brushed a hand over my head in a gentle, comforting caress.
My anger at him had been finally replaced by a deep sadness. Is it possible to miss something you never had?
CHAPTER EIGHT
__________
Pain and Hope
“I’m telling you, you need to get out of there right now.” Marcy’s voice came through strident and panicky.
What have I done to be surrounded by crazy people?
“Marcy, calm down,” I told her, drawing little circles in the air by my temple. Jem laughed. “Everything is fine. We are perfectly safe here.”
I heard her inhale sharply and then let out a big sigh. “I had a premonition this morning,” she said. “There is a very ugly aura color over you guys right now. Bad news.”
My attempt at sounding patient was not going well. “You don’t even know where we are,” I said. Hell, I barely knew where we were myself! “How can you see this aura?”
I heard Marcy utter an expletive, followed by whispers in the background. “I saw it in my vision this morning. Both you and Jem were surrounded by this nasty puke-colored aura.”
I choked. “Are you sure it wasn’t more like a pus-colored one?” Okay. Maybe it wasn’t very nice of me to mock my sweet, yet oh-so-crazy witch friend, but I couldn’t resist it.
“Don’t laugh,” she chided. “No joking matter. You and Jem are in serious danger. You have to talk to Detective Jarvas and have him relocate you.”
My sister’s voice replaced Marcy’s. “Do what Marcy says,” she screamed. I pulled the phone away from my aching ear. “Don’t be stupid. Marcy’s premonitions always come true.”
Now I was annoyed and had a ringing in my ear. “You mean, like the potion that was supposed to keep Jem away from me?”
Crap! I had forgotten he was right there, just a few feet away. His head snapped up. He didn’t say anything, but I could almost read the question in his eyes. I turned my back on him, determined not to let him see me sweat.
“Must I remind you that the potion actually worked?” My sister’s voice had acquired the usual petulant tone she often used with me when she thought I was being unreasonable. “You are the one who lied about not loving him.”
“Be that as it may, I couldn’t even tell you where I am so I’m pretty sure we are in no danger here. Aura or no aura.” I’d had it with the conversation. I said my good-byes and hung up.
Jem looked up from the book he was reading. “What are the crazies going on about now?” he asked with a grin.
“Apparently our auras are having a color crisis.” I dropped into one of the overstuffed armchairs.
“What?” Jem’s eyebrows shot up.
I waved my hand up in the air, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV. “Never mind. Crazy stuff.”
He was quiet for a minute. “You bought a potion to keep me away from you?”
I closed my eyes and turned my head up to the ceiling. “Oh my God! What is wrong with you guys today?” I jumped off the couch and went to hide in the bedroom.
I must have fallen asleep, because I was woken by a loud popping noise coming from outside, soon followed by a crashing sound. I ran out to the living room just in time to see Jem being grabbed by two strange men in camo uniforms and masks.
My limbs froze for a moment as my brain tried to process what I was witnessing. One man had Jem in a headlock and was dragging him out the door. The other was coming toward me, a gun pointed at my chest.
I turned to run but it was too late. In a few strides, the masked man had caught me in a tight grip. Struggling didn’t seem to have any effect on him, as his hold tightened around me while he pulled me outdoors. In a moment of lucidity, I wondered where our watchmen were. Then I saw them—their bodies lying in a puddle of blood right inside the door to their suite.
I struggled harder. It didn’t make a difference. This guy had muscles that would make the Rock look weak. God knew my wimpy muscles were no match for his. He had me packed into the trunk of their car in no time, not even bothering to tie me up. Jem was already there, lying curled up on his side, unmoving.
“Jem,” I called once the trunk had been closed and the only light was coming from a couple holes in the back. Jem didn’t answer. “Jem, what’s wrong?”
I felt around, shaking him and looking for signs of life, but couldn’t find any. My heart was racing and tears rolled down my face. “Jem, please be okay.”
Images of the cops, injured or dead as we left the area, haunted me. I shook Jem again. Fear filled my heart and I started hyperventilating. Fraught with anxiety and having trouble breathing in the confined space, I slowly felt myself drift into the oblivion of unconsciousness.
***
Coming to was not pleasant. My whole body was cramped from being curled up for so long—or so I assumed. I really couldn’t be sure since I had passed out pretty early on. I was not in the trunk anymore. It was a small room with concrete floors and not much more. Light filtered through a very dirty, very small window up high on the wall, and an even smaller one on the door. A bunk of sorts hung from one of the walls and something that looked an awful lot like a toilet adorned the corner. With a jolt, I realized it was indeed a toilet. Was I in a prison cell?
“Jem!” The memory hit me like a ton of bricks. Still finding it hard to move, I looked around me for the familiar figure of my best friend, but no luck. He hadn’t been moving in the car. In fact, I had not been able to feel a heartbeat. Was he…?
No! No! I couldn’t even wrap my head around that possibility. He was fine. He had to be. I had lost him once already. The idea of losing him again was unbearable.
I checked myself to see if I had a phone on me, but no such luck this time. I had left the burner phone on the living room table. Stupid!
My legs refused to hold me for long, so I sat on the edge of the bunk to catch my breath and clear my head. I couldn’t think straight as pictures of a dead Jem clouded my head. My eyes burned with tears and I hung my head, feeling lonely and hopeless.
A noise snapped me out of my funk. The door opened halfway with a great screech of rusty hinges, and a body was unceremoniously thrown in through the gap. I jumped to my feet and ran to him as the door closed again.
It was Jem. I fell to my knees, ignoring the sharp pain in my joints. “Jem!” I yelled, throwing myself across his prostrate body. Much to my relief, he moved under me.
I gently turned him around so I could look at him, and I choked
up a sob. My heart stopped. His face was a mottled red and purple. His gorgeous blue eyes were so swollen I doubted he could see anything through them, and his lip was busted and bleeding. I shook him gently, afraid to cause him any more pain, but wanting him awake and alert.
A soft moan came out of his ruptured lips, and my heart began beating again. “What did they do to you?”
“Em,” he managed to say, lifting his hand to touch my face. “Are you okay?”
With tears rolling freely and profusely down my cheeks, I nodded, and held his hand against my face. “I’m fine. What happened? You look awful.”
In spite of the terrible injuries to his face, he laughed softly. “Painfully honest, as usual.”
I giggled through my quiet sobs. “I didn’t mean it that way.” I touched his face, checking his wounds. “They did a number on you.”
“That’s only what you can see,” he said. Shit! I didn’t even think about that. He probably had more injuries under his clothes.
Frantically, I began pulling on the edges of his T-shirt, trying to look at his skin underneath. “Whoa, girl. I don’t think I’m up to that right now,” he joked. My heart melted all over again. Stupid, sweet, tougher-than-he-looked Jem.
Feeling the urge to hug him, I examined his belly and torso and cringed. He had huge bruises stretching across his abdomen and chest. When I touched the angry wound covering his stomach, he flinched. “You may have some internal bleeding, Jem.”
For a second, I wished my sister was there with her medical knowledge and experience. Scratch that. If she were there she would also be in danger. I and my very limited medical skills would have to do. “Let’s try to put you up on the bunk.” I slid his arm over my shoulder to try and pull him up to his feet. He groaned in pain but slowly stood up, holding on to his stomach. “Just a few more steps, Jem. You can do it.”
Once I had him lying on the narrow bunk, I pulled his shirt over his head and looked around for a container of any kind. Close to the toilet and the tiny sink, there were a couple plastic cups and a towel. Keeping my eye on Jem, I filled one of the cups and dipped the corner of the towel in water.
Loved You Always Page 11
