I can’t listen to this anymore. I’ve spent my entire life doing everything I could to make her happy. Good grades, proper behavior, even comforting her when things would get hard, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do what she wants this time.
No matter how upset I am at the secrets and the things he could have said and didn’t, I can’t walk away.
Christian is the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t give him up.
But I can end this conversation and get the hell out of here.
“This,” I gesture between my mom and Nick. “Makes me happy because I’ve wanted it for you for so long. Wanted to have a guy like Nicholas as my dad for even longer, but at the same time it makes me sick, because if this happens, what I want and what I need can’t. So you know what? Since you three already know everything there is to know anyway, you can sit here and discuss it. Make decisions for my life on your own because I can’t sit here and be a part of it anymore.”
Shoving the chair, the table so quiet that the dragging it makes across the floor fills the entire room, I turn to go, making it only a few steps away before the now cold, but still familiar hand of the boy I love stops me in my tracks.
“Emery, wait.”
“No. I can’t do this with you—with them, anymore. I need to go.”
Yanking my arm out of his, I turn and run, moving as quickly up the stairs as I can, holding back the influx that now with everything out in the open, is there on the surface just waiting to pour out.
Slamming my way through my bedroom door, flipping the lock as soon as I’m safely inside with the door secured behind me, all of the anger, bitterness and hurt over the lies and secrets that the three people who claim to care about me have been keeping finally makes its way to the surface, smothering me until I give in and fall to the carpeted floor below.
I hate them.
I hate them all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Johnny D
When you get a call from your best friend’s mom and even though it’s over the phone, you can hear the tears and feel the heartbreak, you know it’s pretty damn serious.
Rose Carmichael is a pretty rad chick for a mom. Way better than mine, but I guess when your mom spends ninety percent of her day doing business and planning parties to try and drum up even more of it, it’s expected that I’d feel that way about Rose.
Getting home after rescuing my brother for the millionth time and settling in on Facebook, going through my newsfeed and laughing my balls off at some of the whacked out shit people were posting, the last thing I’d been expecting was for my phone to go off and have it be her on the other end.
Her voice was quiet at first, reserved like always, but when she said that she was worried about Emery, something broke in her and I could actually feel the quivering shake of her body as she cried over the connection.
Truth is, I was afraid of getting a call like this. When I saw the way Emery seemed to light up when Christian Cayne first showed up at school, I had a feeling it would go down this way.
Girls like my best friend are rare. The world doesn’t know what to do with them because they’re just so damn awesome that it’s like crossing foreign soil.
Four years ago when I started at Greenville, the Emery I remember is pretty much the same as she is now. She had a camera that hung around her neck every day and when she wasn’t walking the halls lost in the confines of her own imagination, she was outside snapping pictures. I’m pretty sure there’s not a place in the surrounding area that hasn’t been documented by her in the time we’ve been going here.
The only reason I even met her at all was because she hounded the shit out of George—the old newspaper editor—and snagged a spot on the paper. Her first assignment being to document all of the new students in pictures and also do a brief write up on them.
I was such a little bitch boy when she came up to me that first day. She explained who she was, her full name and everything and then asked if she could take my picture for the paper. Not the moment I’m most proud of, but when she lifted it to snap a picture, I’d shoved my hand out and forced it back hard into her face, knocking her off balance and she’d fallen.
That wasn’t even the worst of it.
To add insult to the actual injury I gave her, I’d told her to fuck off before walking away.
We’ve come a long way since then. I’m a little less of a jerk to her, and just like she did that day, she’s quick to call me on my shit when I do step out of line. I still have the scars to prove it.
Pissed that I’d basically fractured her nose and she’d cracked her camera when she fell, she’d gotten to her feet and come after me, wailing on me with these tiny as hell fists until she was close enough to me to be able to inflict the most damage. She’d lifted her knee and shoved it where the light of day should never see and I’d crumpled like an infant.
The rest, as they say, is history.
I’ve been her guard dog, best friend and human garbage disposal going on four years now, and despite a period of time where I thought I might be in love with her, it’s exactly how I want it.
Now though, standing outside her bedroom door and hearing her moving around inside along with the muffled sound of her crying, I’m not sure what I am.
Pissed off guard dog, worried best friend, or the jerk that’s glad it happened so that maybe she can see that we’re perfect for each other.
Balling my hand up into a fist for maximum impact and sound, I lift it to the door, and giving myself to the count of three to prepare for any and all responses I might get, I bang on it two times before moving back just in case she comes out swinging.
Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.
Emery Carmichael is a lot of things, but she’s a firecracker when she’s pissed.
“Go away, Mom! I told you I’m not hungry.”
“See what I mean?” Rose whispers motioning to the door. “She’s been like this since last night and nothing I seem to do helps.”
“I got this, Ms. Carmichael.” I try and reassure her. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but I think it might work better if you took off.”
Shooing at me with her hand, she smiles and just like when we were on the phone together, I can see in her eyes that whatever is going on with Emery is draining the life out of her. She’s hurting, and with the way I feel about her, seeing it hurts me too.
I’m not leaving here until Emery tells me what the hell is going on so I can make it right for both of them.
With a squeeze of my arm, she turns and starts heading down the stairs and not wasting time, I pound on the door harder, hopefully alerting her with the force that it’s definitely not her mom.
“Nick, if that’s you, screw off.”
Nick? Who the hell is Nick?
“It’s Johnny. Open the damn door.”
Seconds tick by with no response and lifting my hand from my side again, prepared to beat the door off its hinge if that’s what it takes to get in the room, I hear the click of the lock, followed by the knob turning and just like that the door opens.
Backing up just in case, I wait a few seconds and when there’s no sign of her, I head in slowly, taking a look around the room as I do.
There’s pictures torn and shredded all over the floor. Her blankets are all pulled up and tossed into the corner with her bare mattress on display, and the only light to speak of is the tiny desk lamp she’s got turned on by her laptop, filling the room with shadows.
“What the fuck?” I curse under my breath and that’s when the sound from before starts up again. Her crying.
Making sure to close the door behind me, I venture deeper into the room, committing the disaster in front of me to memory before making my way over to the bed and sitting on the corner.
“Ems, what’s going on?”
“Nothing! Everything is absolutely perfect! Can’t you tell?” she yells as she jumps up from her place on the bed, her voice filled with a little too much pe
p to be real. There’s not a bone in her body that’s remotely peppy, so her attempt to make me believe everything’s fine is a total fail.
“I call bullshit. Try again. This time with the truth.”
Emery, for as long as I’ve known her, hasn’t been someone that likes to get close. She’s never been the needy type, so it surprises me when instead of sitting on the opposite end of the bed the way I expect, she sits beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“It was all lies, Johnny.”
“What was?”
Stretching my arm out and waiting for to slide in comfortably before bringing it back down around her, I pull her close and as she buries her face in my chest, allow my shirt to become the sponge for her stray tears.
“Christian.”
Trying to keep myself calm, ignoring the scenarios playing out in my head of how I’m going to kill him when I see him again, I squeeze her shoulder and wait until she’s ready to let it all spill out.
“Mom told me yesterday that she wanted me home right after school. She said things with her boyfriend were getting serious and thought it was time that I met him and his son.” Releasing what has to be the world’s fakest laugh, she pulls back and meets my eyes, and even in the low lighting I can see the tears starting to trickle down again, the sight of which sends shockwaves of anger straight to my heart.
If her mom or the boyfriend did this to her, I will end them.
“I thought it was gonna be a little kid. That maybe with the way things were working out with my mom and Nick that I would get a little brother out of the deal. It was so much worse than that, Johnny.”
“Worse how?”
Knowing her as long as I have, it’s no secret how much she wished that her mom had met someone and remarried, not only so she could have a guy in her life, but also because she wanted to have a brother or a sister. Emery’s one big wish was for a family.
“Nicholas’s son…” Again she pauses and seizing the opportunity, I run my thumb under both of her eyes, wiping up the tears before they can fall. It’s hard enough hearing how broken she sounds. Seeing her cry is just overkill. I can’t do it. “It’s Christian.”
Shaking my head, thinking I didn’t hear her right, she repeats it again. This time leaving no room for doubt.
Christian is the boyfriend’s son.
Holy shit.
“It gets worse.”
“Not really seeing how, Ems.”
“Nicholas proposed to my mom and they announced it at dinner.”
I stand corrected.
Emery’s dating the guy that will eventually be her step-brother.
I repeat. Holy shit.
“On Valentine’s day, he said he loved me. That he was so glad he moved here and found me. Johnny,” she begins to sob, the dampness of the tears draining from her face and directly into my shirt, seeping through until I can feel them scorching my skin. “I told him that I loved him too, and we…”
“You what?”
I have a feeling I’m not going to want to know what she’s about to tell me, but now that the question’s out there, I can’t exactly take it back. I’m all in, no matter how bad it is.
“It was so romantic. His present was so perfect. He was amazing and so patient. We made love. Johnny, I slept with him.”
I need a fucking rewind and erase button, right fucking now. I don’t wanna know this. I already wanted to pound Christian’s face into the pavement for being a part of anything that would hurt her. Hearing this only feeds into that more.
She’s not meant to be like this. The only tears she’s allowed to cry are happy ones.
Jesus Christ.
I love this girl more than I ever thought it was possible to love another person and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help her. I can’t make this better. I can’t take it away and I can’t pretend that it never happened.
Some best friend I am. I’m freaking useless.
“He knew.”
“Say what?”
“Christian knew about them. When I came home and I saw him, he wasn’t freaked out. I was completely catatonic and he was just sitting there.”
Monday morning, the second I see that sadistic son of a bitch, he’s a dead man. I don’t care if there’s a reason he knew and kept it from her. He’s dead.
What kind of person finds out about something like this and keeps it from the only other person that deserves to know? The one person that on the most romantic day of the year tells you that they love you and then gives themselves to you?
A sadistic asshole, that’s who.
And one I’m going to put an end to the second I see him again.
Emery
This isn’t right.
I know he’s just trying to be my best friend, but as comfortable and safe as I feel in Johnny’s arms, they’re not the ones I really want.
Those belong to him. The boy I love. The one I gave myself to a few days ago, and the one that once I leave this room and go back to my life, I can never be with again.
In the not so distant future, we’re going to have to paint on plastic smiles and pretend we didn’t share this life altering experience together because we’ll be siblings.
He’ll be my older brother.
“I’m going to be sick.” I announce, slipping myself out of Johnny’s arms and racing from the room, sensing him on my heels when I shove my way through the bathroom door and my knees hit the cold tiles of the floor.
Bringing up the tiny bit of breakfast I was able to get past my dry and scratchy throat, I wipe the dampness out of my eyes before closing them and sucking in a deep breath.
Other people do this all the time. They’ve got experience with throwing up. When there’s a party and everyone gets their drink on, mixing whatever’s lying around and drinking until they’re broken messes on the floor, they’re used to this feeling. I’m not. I don’t drink.
My head is spinning from the emptying of my stomach, the cold tile the only thing able to soothe the pain a little.
I feel woozy.
Right now, I really wish it was because I was drunk. Maybe if that was the case I’d be able to pretend the last few days haven’t happened. That it was all just a nightmare created because of all the pressure I’ve been putting on myself. My mom isn’t dating Christian’s dad and everything is the way it should be.
We’re all happy.
Oh, who am I kidding? It’s never going to be like that. Whatever shot at happiness I thought I was due was just a mirage. A figment of my imagination.
“You know,” I say, lifting my head and acknowledging Johnny at his place in the doorway. “I never noticed before, but pancakes when they’ve been partially digested look like popcorn chicken.”
“Pretty sure I won’t be eating pancakes anytime soon.”
“Sorry.” I whisper, meaning it. It’s not his fault that my mind is so trashed that I’ve taken up talking nonsense.
“Nah, it’s cool. I’m a waffle guy anyway.” Looking from me to the toilet, his eyes soften and he sighs. “You feeling better?”
“Not feeling much of anything at all, JD. So yeah, I guess.”
Moving from his place against the door, he leans down to one knee and holding out his hand, lifts me up when I take it. His arms immediately come around me once I’m up and the dizzy feeling passes, guiding me slowly out of the bathroom and into the hall.
What’s wrong with me? I mean, really? For two years out of the four that we’ve been friends, Johnny pursued me. Becoming my best friend first and then falling for me, in that order. He has always been my safety net. The one I trust with everything, even things I’m pretty sure he wishes he didn’t know. He’s done nothing but treat me like a princess the entire time and I’ve been nothing but a piece of crap to him in return.
I shoved his feelings back at him, especially last year, and yet here he is now.
Why couldn’t Johnny be the one that I gave everything to?
History’s already proven
that he wouldn’t have hurt me. We might have even been happy.
Instead, I’m standing here with a gigantic portion of my heart ripped away and my eyes flooding over with so many tears that I’m pretty sure they’re never going to dry up.
Why couldn’t I fall in love with Johnny instead?
The answer, one I already know and wish I didn’t, wastes no time coming.
Because it was always meant to be Christian.
Johnny is the vision through the lens. Christian, what comes after the picture’s been developed.
Ushering me through the door to my room, he brings his body down on my bed and pulls me with him. Breaking away long enough to slide back until his back is resting against my wall, he brings his hands out and pulls me back until I’m fitted in between his legs and wrapped up in the security blanket that is my best friend.
“I don’t know what to say to make this better, Ems. I’ve been trying, I swear, but I can’t take this away. Tell me what to do. Who to hurt. I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
He means every word.
Last year, when one of the guys on the soccer team called me a freak bitch because I wouldn’t give him the time of day, Johnny found out and kicked the crap out of him when he left school.
He would do anything for me and not think twice about the trouble it would cause later.
It’s just his way, which means that no matter how hurt I am or how completely destroyed I feel, and wish Christian could feel it too, I can’t tell him that.
If Johnny is capable of doing that to some random guy, there’s no telling what he’ll do to someone I actually love.
Loved. Past tense. It has to be past tense.
Oh God. I think I’m gonna be sick again.
“Tell me a story.” I say softly. “I need a distraction.”
“Stop me if you’ve heard this one,” he picks up immediately, playing along. “Once upon a time, there was this boy.”
“Thank you.” I whisper just loud enough for him to be able to hear, but not completely interrupt.
“He lived in this big glass house with two parents that spent more time out of it, than in it, with a brother that was so deep into drugs that half the time he didn’t know what was real and what was fake.”
The Space In Between Page 27
