by Noelle Marie
Emma shot her a half-hearted glare as she finally retrieved the last sliver of egg shell out of the gooey batter. “Luca said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but I doubt he meant for you to actually make anything! Trust me, I’ve experienced your prowess,” the word was drenched with sarcasm, “in the kitchen. Why can’t you just buy him a cake?”
“Because then it wouldn’t be as personal of a gift,” Emma explained for the umpteenth time. “Plus, I don’t exactly have money to waste on a cake from a bakery when I have all the ingredients I need to make one right here,” she added.
Nearly all of the money she’d made from working as a counselor at a community summer camp had gone to buying Oliver. And since the Potters no longer needed her to babysit Charlie, well… she wasn’t exactly rolling in it.
“I’m just saying-”
“Oh hush, Collette, she can do it.”
The redhead raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“It’s from a box!” Luca exclaimed in response. “How hard could it be?”
“Gee, Luca, thanks for your vote of confidence,” Emma deadpanned as she began pouring the batter into the two circular cake pans she’d prepared.
Luca shrugged helplessly. “Well, you are… you.”
Fair enough.
And honestly, Emma really should have been prepared for their arsenal of comments when she’d invited them over to think of gift ideas for Heath. (They’d been as surprised to learn of his upcoming birthday as she was.) After about twenty minutes of brainstorming, Luca had finally suggested the idea of getting him something he could eat. All guys liked food, he assured her. Emma had decided that a birthday cake would be perfect, and after spending another twenty minutes debating if he was a chocolate or funfetti type of person – definitely chocolate – Emma had gotten to work.
That had been a half an hour ago.
After another hour of listening to thinly disgusted barbs at her baking ability later, Emma was staring at her creation. The two layers of chocolate cake were covered generously in fudge frosting – from a tin, of course, even she knew what a train wreck it would turn out to be if she attempted to make it herself – and speckled liberally with multi-colored sprinkles.
“It actually looks… good,” Luca offered.
Emma huffed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“It looks okay,” Collette agreed dubiously after examining the confection. “But how does it taste?”
Fortunately, Emma would only have to wait until the next day to find out.
* * *
On her way to Heath’s house the next morning, Emma couldn't stop herself from second guess her decision to make him a birthday cake. Mr. and Mrs. Potter ran a restaurant for a living, for God’s sake. Downtown Diner served a smorgasbord of delicious desserts. They had probably already prepared him a massive, six-layered masterpiece – made from scratch, of course, not a Betty Crocker box. She couldn't help but glance at the simple chocolate cake sitting on her passenger seat and find it lacking in comparison to the imagined confection.
Emma wasn’t a coward, though, and she hadn’t made the cake for nothing. So she gathered her courage and continued on her way to his house until she was parking in front of the property at precisely – according to her truck’s radio clock anyway – 10:22 AM.
Carefully balancing the glass platter that held the cake with one hand, Emma opened the truck’s driver side door with the other and after exiting the truck, made her way to the house.
Stepping up onto the Potters' front porch, she took a deep breath and knocked.
She didn’t have to wait long before Mrs. Potter answered the door, a delighted smile plastered to her face as she took Emma in. “Emma, what a surprise!” Her eyes positively gleamed when they caught sight of the cake she was holding in front of her chest.
“I-I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Emma stammered, cursing the heat she could feel crawling up her neck. “Charlie told me yesterday that today was Heath’s birthday so I thought I’d stop by to wish him a happy eighteenth.”
Mrs. Potter looked like she wanted nothing more than to pull Emma into a hug, but was prevented from doing so by the large platter she was holding. “That’s sweet, honey,” she said instead. “He’ll be ecstatic to see you, I’m sure. He’s up in his room if you want to surprise him.” She ushered Emma inside, closing the door behind her. “Go on then, you know the way.” She gestured towards the stairs.
“Oh, um, okay,” Emma agreed. “Thanks, Mrs. Potter.”
“Call me Molly, dear,” she reminded Emma before taking her leave.
Relieved that she hadn’t been stepping on Mrs. Potter’s toes by baking the cake for Heath, Emma did as the woman suggested and made her way up the stairs. She found the door that led to Heath’s room and knocked.
No one answered.
So Emma knocked again.
Still no one answered.
Frowning in bemusement, Emma carefully adjusted her grip on the cake before reaching forward with one hand to twist the brass knob and open the door. She didn’t make it more than a single step inside the room, however, before she caught sight of Heath.
And promptly froze.
Her grip on the cake platter went lax. But Emma couldn't even bring herself to tear her eyes away from Heath’s form to watch as the platter hit the floor with a loud crash. Despite the carpet softening its landing, the glass container shattered.
The loud sound was enough to finally gain Heath’s attention, and he whipped around to the source of the noise, his eyes widening in shock as they caught sight of Emma.
She absentmindedly noted the earbuds he had plugged into his ears. He pulled them out with a ruthless yank before tossing them onto his bed. The muscles in his shoulders were incredibly tense – she could see every line and dip – as he faced her.
The reason Emma could see every line and dip was because Heath was shirtless. The only thing he was wearing, in fact, was a pair of loose sweatpants slung low on his waist. As impressive as Heath’s physique was, however, it wasn’t the rippling biceps or lean stomach that had so wholly captured Emma’s attention.
Because there were scars. Everywhere. Heath was covered in them.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded through clenched teeth. And while Emma had seen Heath mad before, his anger had never truly been directed at her.
“I-” Emma attempted to explain, trying to push the words past her mouth, but it was hard when her lips weren’t cooperating. Much like her insides, they were quivering without her permission. “I-I wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” she finally managed to spit out past her clumsy tongue.
Heath snorted, his mouth contorting into a scowl. “Well, it looks like you’re the one that got the surprise, huh?” He sounded bitter. Angry. Mean.
“Heath…” Emma didn’t mean for her voice to come out sounding wet with tears, but the damn things were quickly gathering in the back of her throat. She desperately tried to contain them.
“Get out,” he spat.
“But…” But you’re hurt. You’ve been so hurt. Oh God.
But Emma could no longer force her voice to work. The tears in her throat were suddenly in her eyes, clouding her vision as she stared. She flinched when Heath abruptly grabbed the nightstand next to his bed and flung it violently to the floor. The stand landed with a loud thud, its drawers and the items contained in them spilling out onto the floor. “I said to get the fuck out!”
And so Emma bolted. Abandoning the mess of cake and glass on the bedroom floor, she ran. She flew down the staircase, nearly crashing into a concerned looking Mrs. Potter at the bottom. The woman had obviously heard something, judging by the expression on her face. “Emma, what-”
“I’ve got to go,” Emma somehow managed to choke out despite the fact that her throat felt like it was rapidly closing in on itself. She threw open the front door and hurried to her truck, shoving the
key into the ignition through the thick sheen of tears attempting to blind her. She threw her truck into drive and left.
It wasn’t until Emma reached her house that she allowed herself to completely break down. Collapsing against the steering wheel, she buried her face into her hands and cried. It was the kind of ugly, loud sobbing that was sure to produce a headache, but Emma hardly cared.
Because Heath’s body had been littered in scars.
And not the type that one acquired through accident or circumstance.
His entire back, his shoulders, his upper arms. Even his stomach. The marks had varied from flat and pale white to raised and angry red. They would be etched into his skin forever and she could tell by the shape of them that many had been left there by a belt.
Heath had been horrifically abused.
Emma’s stomach heaved, its contents threatening to make an appearance as she continued to cry into her hands. The worst part was that while she’d never wanted to hug Heath more, she was also never more certain that Heath would never accept her comfort.
* * *
Emma forced herself to get up and go to school the next day. Instead of her usual shower, however, she cracked open the jar of concealer her father had misguidedly bought her for her last birthday and smeared the goop under her eyes, trying to somehow disguise their puffiness.
The attempt had obviously been in vain, however, judging by the alarmed looks her friends shot each other when she arrived at school and met up with them at her locker like she did every morning.
“Uh… are you okay, Emma?” Collette asked gingerly, staring in concern as Emma dumped off her backpack and grabbed her supplies for their upcoming Art class.
Emma knew she must look terrible if Collette, of all people, was attempting to be sensitive.
“Fine,” she managed to say, but she couldn't bring herself to add anything more.
“Oo-kay.” Collette shot Luca what Emma suspected was supposed to be a furtive glance.
“Uh, so how did the cake go over at Heath’s house yesterday?” he asked in an obvious attempt to break the weird tension Emma knew she was inadvertently causing.
The breath whooshed from Emma’s lungs.
“What, it didn’t actually kill him, did it?” Luca teased.
Collette elbowed Luca in the side, but was oblivious to the fact that tears were quickly gathering in Emma’s eyes. “Come on, Luca, I’m sure her cake didn’t kill anyone. Cause a mild case of food poisoning, sure-”
Emma slammed her locker door shut, ignoring Collette and Luca’s startled expressions as she turned and hurried down the hallway.
“What-?”
“Emma!”
By the time lunch rolled around, Collette and Luca had deduced that Emma and Heath had gotten into a fight of some sort. It was close enough, Emma supposed, so she didn’t bother to correct them. She was just grateful that they had the tact not to mention the fact that Heath didn’t sit with them in the cafeteria like he usually did.
Emma wished that she was as good at ignoring his lack of presence. Her stomach churned the entire half hour, and she couldn't bring herself to do much more than eat a bite or two of her fries.
But that didn’t compare to how Emma felt when Heath didn’t show up for American Literature.
There was no sign of him in school on Tuesday either. Or the Wednesday after, the last day of school before Christmas break.
That afternoon, Emma presented their book report alone.
CHAPTER NINE
“Please. Please, please, please.””
Emma tore her eyes away from the book she was reading and shot Collette an exasperated look over her shoulder. “For the thousandth time, Collette, no.”
“But, Emma!”
“Collette, I’m trying to read.” She buried her head back into her book, searching for the paragraph she’d been on before she’d been so rudely interrupted.
She heard Collette huff and pictured the girl throwing her hands up into the air in frustration. “Why’d you even invite me over to your house if you were just going to lie there and read?”
“That’s the thing, Collette. I didn’t invite you over. You invited yourself.” Emma didn’t bother to look up from her book to see her friend’s reaction.
But then the book was abruptly ripped from her hands. “Hey!”
Emma sat up from where she’d been lounging on her bed, making a grab for it, but Collette quickly sprung up from her own spot on the bed.
“What is this anyway?” the redhead demanded. “Chief Soaring Eagle’s Desires?” She laughed, genuine amusement bursting forth from her gut. “Oh God, this is some drivel about 'quivering thighs' and 'pulsating members', isn’t it?”
“Really, Collette? Pulsating members?”
Collette ignored her. “Seriously, why are you reading this?” she asked. “Are you that desperate for a distraction from Heath?”
Emma glared.
“What? You’ve been either moping or reading this crap all holiday. Frankly, I don’t know which of the two is unhealthier.”
“That’s not true,” Emma protested. “I’ve just been spending a lot of time with my dad.”
She wasn’t lying either. Not really.
Christmas was the one holiday that Miles always ensured he got off from work, and they’d performed their usual traditions as a family. They’d picked out and decorated a tree, attempted to bake sugar cookies (the cookies hadn’t turned out edible, but at least she and her father hadn’t nearly burned down the house like they had that one year – the fire department had been called and all), ate their usual Christmas dinner delivered from a deli the town over, and on Christmas morning, they’d exchanged gifts. Emma had gotten her father a new wallet (he’d been complaining for months that his was falling apart), and her dad had surprised her with a new laptop since her old one was terribly slow and had more than one key missing.
But Christmas had come and gone nearly a week ago, and today, in fact, was New Year’s Eve. Hence, Collette’s begging.
“Come on, Emma, you can’t just abandon me in enemy territory. Besides, going to Lulu’s party will be good for you.”
Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Firstly, Lulu is hardly your enemy.”
Collette rolled her eyes. “Fine, arch nemesis then.”
Emma ignored her. “Secondly, I fail to see how going to a loud party packed full of drunken idiots will be good for me.”
Collette pursed her lips, a determined gleam suddenly present in her eyes. “Look, you want to get over Heath, don’t you?”
“There’s nothing to get over,” Emma replied, but she couldn't quite hold Collette’s gaze and wound up staring into her lap, picking at a hole in the ratty pair of sweats she was wearing.
“You won’t even tell me what you guys fought about,” Collette reminded her.
What was she supposed to tell her? That angry, red scars covered nearly every inch of Heath’s back? That he’d completely freaked when she’d saw them? That she didn’t think he ever wanted to see her again?
“It’ll help you forget,” Collette said, interrupting her inner monologue. “Way better than these books ever will.” She tossed Chief Soaring Eagle’s Desires down onto the bed beside her.
Emma had to admit that when Collette put it that way, going to the party was just a little bit tempting.
“Please, Emma. Please, please, please.”
“Alright, fine!” Emma exclaimed in defeat. “I’ll go, just please stop torturing me with that word.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Collette said instead, her mouth instantly transforming into a beaming smile as she threw her arms around Emma’s neck. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best friend ever?” She pulled away. “Now get your cute butt in the shower. The party starts in less than two hours and this,” she waved a hand in Emma’s general direction, “isn’t exactly a flattering look. Even on you.”
Glancing down at the oversized t-shirt and holey
pair of sweatpants she was currently wearing, Emma had to agree. She hadn’t exactly dressed up in order to read, after all, and any hope of Heath surprising her at her house had diminished after the first week of Christmas break had passed.
“Fine,” Emma said, standing and grabbing her bathrobe from where it lay slung over her desk chair. She shot Collette an unimpressed look when her friend began thumbing through her supposed “trashy” book before heading to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes of standing under the warm spray later, Emma had finished her shower. Grabbing one of the towels she’d laid out before hopping under the water, she quickly dried herself off before twisting her hair up atop her head. She grabbed the other towel and wiped off the condensation that had formed on the mirror. Emma frowned at the reflection that greeted her.
She didn't know why Collette always insisted she was so pretty. Objectively, Emma knew that she wasn’t ugly. But no matter how she inspected her face, she could never find any quality that screamed beauty either. She had a pale complexion that contrasted starkly with her dark hair. Indiscriminate pink lips. A small, slightly upturned nose. And huge brown eyes, the color of which, in Emma’s expert opinion, greatly resembled mud.
Emma’s brow crinkled in consternation when she spotted the shadows that had slowly started to develop under her eyes over Christmas break. They made the brown orbs seem even bigger than they were. She knew, of course, why the shadows were forming.
Heath.
She felt like her body had frozen into a constant state of distress since she’d walked in on him half-naked and saw the scars. The burst of adrenaline she’d experienced – the sense of horror at what she was seeing – had sent a shock wave straight through her. And although the shock had long since faded, the helplessness she’d experienced upon seeing the angry marks remained.
Logically, Emma knew that the scars on Heath’s body were far from new. That physically, he was no longer hurting. She knew also that the Potters were wonderful people who undoubtedly loved Heath as their own and took great care of him.
