“No.”
‘It’s okay, if you do,” I assure her.
“No. I don’t. I just don’t like how everyone thinks it’s their business.”
“That’s going to happen. Whether it’s about this or not, people just like giving their opinion. But I need you to know I only care what you think of me. Not everyone forgives as easy as you.”
“Like mum?” A sad smile graces her face.
“Like mum. But, she’ll come around. I promise.”
We spend the rest of the evening setting up my phone, and Dakota shows me all the different types of photos I can take and what filters I should apply. While I probably won’t use any of it, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. She instructs me on how to add names and numbers to my phone, and I don’t have the heart to tell her not to worry, I’ll get the hang of it eventually.
By eight-thirty, Drix drives her home, leaving me alone. I pull up Sasha’s number that Dakota insisted on programming for emergencies and press the call button.
“Hello, Sasha speaking.”
“Hey, it’s Jagger.”
“What’s wrong? Is Dakota okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine.” Her borderline hysteria has me wondering if we’ll ever be able to move forward. “I’m calling to let you know this is my phone number now, and you can call me if you need to.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I also wanted to tell you Dakota mentioned some kids giving her a hard time about me being in jail.”
“What? I didn’t know about that,” she says defensively.
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” I clarify. “She seems okay, but it’s time, Sasha. I want to tell you everything you never let me explain before I got locked up. And I want Dakota to hear it too.”
Silence.
“Sasha.”
“Fine,” she huffs.
“Really?’
“I’m only doing it for her, Jagger.”
“That’s enough for me.”
“You really think it’s okay for me to come to this thing tonight?” Hendrix and I are driving to Stacey’s birthday dinner in the city, and my stomach is nauseous at the thought of being surrounded by people I don’t know.
“She invited you, remember?”
“That was before what happened.”
“I don’t think it would’ve made a difference. You might even get a repeat tonight.”
I don’t bother arguing with him or trying to explain the reasons why I would rather keep to myself than have a repeat with Stacey. After our encounter the other day, I could barely string two sentences together, let alone all the potential scenarios that could follow. I’ve played the dickhead when it comes to sex, it’s not a role I want to repeat. She and anybody else deserves more than that.
Walking into the restaurant, it’s obvious to see where Stacey and her guests are gathered. Standing around the long, wooden table, she greets each person as they arrive, and I’m thankful that my eyes notice the seats on either ends of the table to be free. We meet the birthday girl halfway, and she looks genuinely excited to see us.
“Well if it isn’t the sexiest twins in the southern hemisphere.” She leans in for a one handed hug that lasts a second too long. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for the invite.” We take our seats, and restaurant staff begin laying down an assortment of entrees across the length of a table. The smell of fried food permeates the air, and my mouth waters at the thought of devouring it. When it comes to eating, anything but jail food is a heavenly experience.
“Would anyone like something to drink?” A waiter appears at the end of our table, and all eyes are trained on him as each person rattles off their order. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll just have a Pure Blonde thanks.”
“Watching your weight?” Hendrix jokes.
“Seriously,” I give my arm a small flex. “I’ve worked hard at this figure.”
A hand wraps itself around my bicep and both Drix and I look behind us to see a slightly intoxicated Stacey crouching down.
“Having fun?” Hendrix asks her.
“Of course. I just came over to see your brother if that’s okay with you?”
Hendrix and I eye one another as she puts a hand over each of our shoulders, her head right in between us. Make it stop.
“I think I might be offended you’ve never put this much interest in me.” He tries to shift the attention, and I’m grateful for this twin telepathic bullshit we have. “I mean, we look exactly the same.”
“Yeah, but we’re more like siblings. Remember that time you farted in your car and tried to dutch oven me?” Laughs burst out of the three of us, and I’m grateful the direction of the conversation has changed. “Plus, my friend over there.” She points across the table at a red headed Barbie doll. “She’s into you.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce her to me?”
“Go talk to her yourself. I came here to talk to Jagger.” She twists her body toward me, ignoring Hendrix. “So, want to meet me at my place later?”
I casually look ahead, my whole body freezing at the sight before me. My body language clues Stacey in, and I feel her following my gaze.
Together we both look at Emerson. She’s laughing, her head back, carefree and radiant. I thought she was beautiful the few times I saw her, but without the washed out walls and constrictions of the prison around her, she’s ethereal.
Stacey insists on making her presence known, and her hands purposefully find my thigh. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she purrs.
Moving her hand, I let the noises around me drown out, and my focus is completely occupied by Emerson’s beauty. Watching her in her natural element is a privilege and a curse, a hint of what I could have and what I will be missing.
Stacey’s hand finds the back of my neck, eager to remind me I’m not alone. Pulling me close, her lips find my ear, and my body tenses in protest. It’s in this moment Emerson’s eyes find mine. She flicks her gaze between Stacey and me, then drops her head in dejection. Plastering on a fake smile, Emerson continues to speak to the woman she’s with, doing her best to not let her eyes veer in my direction. Her friend turns around, recognition written all across her face. They exchange a few more words before Emerson shakes her head and looks at me with disappointment. She holds my stare, and Stacey’s grip on me becomes tighter. My eyes plead with her to see through this facade, for this not to be the way she remembers me.
11
Emerson
The words fumble out of my mouth as I try and process the picture in front of me. Two weeks filled with repeat images of Jagger whispering in my mouth just to see him draped in another woman’s limbs and lips stings more than it should.
“Did you just see a ghost?” Taylah asks.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“You better tell me before I turn around and make a scene,” she threatens.
My brain and mouth don’t work together fast enough, and Taylah turns around to see what’s caught my attention.
“Holy fuck, is that Jagger? That’s Jagger isn’t it.”
“Can we please not do this here,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You said he was hot; you didn’t say he was sex on legs.” She has one more glance before her focus returns to me. “And there’s fucking two of them,” she squeals.
“Taylah keep your voice down.”
“Who’s the girl?” she asks, finally registering the reason for my annoyance.
“His girlfriend?”
“She wishes,” she scoffs while shaking her head. “He can barely handle her touching him.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me.”
“You’ve got those self sabotaging glasses on again,” she says, waving me off.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, when you associate something negative with every good thing that could potentially happen to you.”
“I do not do that.”
“Whatever, let’s talk about how he’s looking at you. If looks could make you orgasm, that look would be it.”
I sneak one more glance while she rambles, and it becomes the final nail in the coffin. I can’t watch someone else touch him, whether he wants her to or not.
Throwing my napkin on the table, I rise from my seat. “I need a timeout.”
Pushing the bathroom door with vigor, I rush in and head into a stall. Flipping the seat down, I drop and concentrate on taking steady breaths, trying to calm myself. The chances of seeing Jagger again were slim to none, and now he’s here in the flesh. I’m wishing he stayed locked up in my memories. Unblemished and effortless, where there was nobody else but me and him.
Fuck. I can’t hide in here forever. I walk out to the basins, and turn the cold water on. Wetting my hands, I cool my cheeks and the back of my neck before I have to face him and his friend.
I swing the door open, only to be greeted by a nervous Jagger. Stopping in the doorway, my feet freeze. I’m stunned he followed me. I peruse his body out of his prison greens. His exercise regime clearly hasn’t faltered since he’s been out. I want to tell him to turn around so I can forget the uncomfortable sight of that woman vying for his attention, but I don’t say anything. Because I can’t.
“Em,” he says, his voice cracked and needy. “That wasn’t what you think.”
I press my palm to his chest. “Jagger, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
His hand covers mine, radiating warmth and honesty. “Maybe not, but I still feel like I should give it to you.”
“I don’t need to hear it,” I cut him off. “I’m happy to see you out, spending time with Hendrix, and other people.”
“And other people, huh? You didn’t look too happy,” he challenges.
I try to move my hand but he keeps it there, securing me to him.
“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” The words are laced with surprise and wonder, echoing my own thoughts. His fingers reach up, tenderly pushing my hair behind my ear, his simple displays of affection thawing me out. People pass by, mumbling disapprovingly at the two of us, ignoring the world and taking up space in the confined corridor. “I don’t know if I can walk away from you a second time.”
Our gazes hold, his brown eyes more lively than I’ve seen before. “Yes, you can.”
“How do you know?”
“You’ve got more important stuff to do. Twelve years of life you need to catch up on. Don’t let two random moments distract you.”
“They already do,” he concedes. “I think of you more than I should.”
“That makes two of us.”
“So, why are we walking away from one another?” he questions.
“It’s not our time.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. We could try, but it feels selfish to want him.
“Maybe in the next life?”
I lean in and kiss the side of his mouth. “You won’t be able to keep me away.” Stepping away from him, my smile is bittersweet as I realise it’s my turn to leave. Walking back to the dining room, I ignore the voices shouting at me to look back. Just one more glimpse will leave me powerless, unable to find the strength to say no, and that’s not what he needs right now.
Returning to the table, Taylah watches my every move.
“I expected you to walk out a little more happier than that.”
“Can we go please?” I urge.
“He hightailed after you, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me you didn’t blow him off because of that chick.” She sounds exasperated, failing to understand my side of the story.
“No. I blew him off because the timing is off.”
“Whose timing? He’s fucking crazy about you.”
“He’ll get over it.” The possibility my own words could become a reality hurts my heart.
“I saw his face break when you ran to the bathroom. That man isn’t forgetting about you anytime soon.”
I can’t listen to her anymore. “I’m going,” I announce abruptly. “I’ll call you later.”
Scurrying away, I notice Hendrix staring at me, confusion and questions written all over his face. Jagger hasn’t returned, and I’m grateful for the reprieve to walk out unnoticed. It’s better this way. I’m doing the right thing, no matter how wrong it feels.
“I picked up ice cream on my way. Cookies and Cream for you and Boysenberry for me.” Taylah walks into my apartment like she owns the place. She throws her keys and bag on my dining room table, then heads to the kitchen to put away whatever she bought for girls night.
“I see you’re getting used to using the key I gave you.”
“Stop complaining. I just stopped you from having to get your arse off that couch.” I hear her opening and closing my kitchen cupboards, her huffing an indication she can’t find what she’s looking for.
“You okay?”
“Aha, found it,” she squeals. “I’m making pancakes. How many do you want?”
“Is that a trick question? You know it’s my favourite food.”
“I know. I got a lot of your favourite things.” Pouring all the ingredients into a mixing bowl, she walks out stirring it all together. “Everything to coerce you into telling me exactly what happened with Jagger.”
“Ugh, why won’t you let that go?”
“You like this guy, the guy also happens to like you, and you’re moping like it’s an unrequited crush. It’s not, and I’m trying to get to the bottom of why you’re not pursuing it.”
“Well if you didn’t bring whipped cream, I’m not talking.”
“You underestimate me, Emerson. Sort out that shit inside your head, because I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and you need to spill.” She turns back into the kitchen, and the clanging of pans and cooking utensils can be heard as she begins to cook.
I flick on the TV and switch it over to Netflix. I have three more episodes of Santa Clarita Diet to finish in preparation for the next season. Getting lost in some cannibalism seems like a great way to avoid the impending conversation.
We sit around my coffee table, stuffing our faces with a buffet of dessert options. I’ve got to give it to Taylah, her silence builds the anticipation. Thinking of what to say has the words at the tip of my tongue, bursting at the seams to escape.
“Is it because he has a criminal record?”
Choking on my wine, my eyes water, my vision blurring. Taylah hits my back a few times, the coughing eventually stops.
“I can’t believe you think that of me,” I say, both stunned and offended.
“I don’t, but that’s the only reason I can think of.”
“It’s not about what he did. It’s what he needs to do now that he’s out. He doesn’t need to be worrying about anything besides making up for lost time with his family,” I clarify.
“He’s had twelve years where his decisions have been made for him. I don’t think it’s fair you’re taking this one away from him too.”
Like a hammer to the heart, her comment hurts. Not once did I think of it like that. I wouldn’t ever want to take away his freedom of choice, but that doesn’t mean I think pursuing something between us is the right one. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“I’m not saying it’s intentional. I’m just giving you an objective opinion.” Picking up the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, she pours us both a generous amount, fuelling for the next round of her argument.
“You don’t think it’s weird to meet someone a handful of times, and have no idea why you’re interested in them?”
“I don’t understand how you think relationships start. Boy and girl meet, they’re attracted to one another, they pursue attraction. I didn’t say you were going to marry the guy and have his damn babies, but you could at least fuck him.”
“Taylah,” I yell.
“What? You think he wants to swap dinner recipes?”
> “He might,” I say softly. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. We agreed this wasn’t our time.”
“You mean you told him it wasn’t, and he agreed?” There’s no denying Taylah found her calling in law. She could argue her point underwater.
“He didn’t put up much of a fight.”
“Again, just my objective, yet slightly professional opinion. The guy has just come out of jail, he’s got an education he can’t use, a curfew that means he can never take you out, and he’s probably taking his provisional licence test as we speak, in order to start driving. All of this at the age of thirty--I wouldn’t think I was good enough for anybody else either.” She quickly grabs some M&M Peanuts and throws them in her mouth before continuing, “You have nothing in common yet you bumped into each other. How do you say no to the universe?”
Rolling my eyes at her, I reach for my wine glass and let the crisp liquid ease my doubts.
“No.” She points her finger at me. ”Don’t do that. You’re twenty-eight years old, and you’re effortlessly beautiful. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“It doesn’t work out,” I state obviously.
“That happened with your last boyfriend, and you survived didn’t you?”
“Why are we even friends?” I snit. “I can’t even contact him. He doesn’t have a phone number.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Emerson. Where there’s a will there’s a way.” She reaches over and swipes my phone from the coffee table. As she types in my passcode, I regret the day I gave her access to my life.
“What are you doing?”
“I knew you’d have it in here.” Turning the screen to face me, I see Hendrix’s contact info on the screen. “Ask him for Jagger’s number.”
“No.”
“I’m giving you one chance to word this message yourself; otherwise, I will. Which one will it be?”
“Anyone tell you you’re a fucking bully?” I snatch the phone from her and stare at the open message. “I hate you. Seriously, fucking. Hate. You.”
“You’ll get over it,” she says with certainty. “I’m not going to sit by and let you miss out on what could be the greatest thing in your life.”
Reclaim: (A Redemption Novel) Page 8
