I look back at Bastain, who hasn’t moved from his chair. He simply sits there, watching with some twisted appreciation of this moment. I was wrong. I can’t help this man. There is no hope for him.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him, Em. I just wanted to scare him,” he shouts after me as I dig through our walk-in closet for an old box.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and turn to face him. He’s standing in the doorway. He plays the role so well that for a split second he actually has me convinced he’s sorry, that it was an accident. Part of me wants to tell him it’s okay, that I understand. I don’t want to upset him. I want to fix him. But, a bigger part of me, the wiser part, wants to junk punch him for behaving like a monster. Bastain can’t be fixed, because he doesn’t want to be fixed. All of it, everything, is starting to fall into place. It’s like I’m watching the parade from the helicopter instead of my one little corner of the street. I can finally see the big picture.
Thinking back to the look in his eye, the animosity in his tone, I see the truth. I suppose in some sense it’s always been there, waiting for him to grow tired of living the lie. I just didn’t want to see it. He blames me for everything. Isolating me from my family, my friends, the outside world- it was all part of a perfectly executed plan to make sure I was alone. He wanted me alone, because he feels alone. He kept me from working. He kept me from socializing. He kept me busy enough and complacent enough that I wouldn’t notice any of it. He knew exactly how to play the victim so I’d feel obligated to him. He used my compassionate nature as a trap. And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Every day I let another piece of myself go. Every day I became more and more his and less mine. I think that’s the hardest part for me to swallow. There was no switch turning it on or off. The loss of my existence was a slow fade. I didn’t even realize it until I had almost vanished completely. It’s too late to go back now. The damage has been done. He fired the first shot. It’s time for me to fire back.
“What happened to Bronson wasn’t my fault.” I wish I could convince myself that’s true.
I haven’t spoken his name in five years. We don’t talk about that night. We don’t mention the accident or what happened in the days following. It’s just another wound we cover with a bandaid, hoping it will heal itself. The truth is, nothing heals itself. Open wounds fester. Everything may look okay on the outside, but on the inside the poison spreads. And it doesn’t stop until it’s eaten up every ounce of goodness left. I would never have mentioned Bronson unless it was a last resort. I know how badly it hurts when a band aid like that tears from your skin. But you don’t get rid of a weed unless you dig it up by the root.
“This isn’t about him. Leave my brother out of it,” he spits. He blocks the exit of the closet with his arm. He’s wrong. This is about him. It’s always been about him.
“We need to talk about it, Bastain. You need to talk about it.” You can’t keep it bottled in forever. The anger will destroy you. If it hasn’t already.
“He’s dead. There’s nothing to talk about.” His words are filled with hatred, and I’m suddenly thankful he’s put the gun back in his safe. I remove a pair of black boots from their box then stand directly in front of him, daring him to move. “Where are you going?”
My eyes narrow as they lock with his. I’m not backing down. His words don’t control my emotions anymore. “I need to bury my dog.”
Emma
I wrapped Gatsby in a blanket and laid him to rest inside the boot box. Bastain tried to follow me to this spot in the woods, but I convinced him to let me have this time alone. His eyes were wide with disbelief when he caught a glimpse of Angry Emma. He’s only ever seen Hopeful Emma and Romantic Emma. He’s used to Selfless Emma and Content Emma. Little does he know, he’s been slowly murdering them with every harsh word and hidden insult. A huge piece of me died that night at Santana’s party and what he just did to Gatsby hammered the final nail in my coffin.
Our closest neighbors are over half a mile away, with wooded acreage in between, so no one heard the gunshot. And no one will see me as I carry my box to a secret place between the trees. I don’t look back as I make my way to the burial spot, though I know Bastain is watching from the front lawn. So, I choose a spot about ten feet into the woods, where his eyes can no longer follow.
Before I set the makeshift coffin in the hole I’ve dug off the side of the road, I open the box and remove my wallet and cell phone. There’s no way I could’ve let Bastain see me leave with them. He’d have asked questions and demanded to come with me, and that would have put a major kink in my plan.
I thought I’d have more time to prepare than this, but he’s given me no option. There’s no way I’m spending another night in that house with that man. I’ve seen enough serial killer movies to know it starts with the family pet and goes straight south from there. I want to believe Bastain would never hurt me in that way. I want to believe he loves me, but I’m not so sure anymore.
I hurry to shovel the dirt back over my baby pup, saying a prayer as I say my goodbye. He deserves a better memorial than this. He deserves more than a blanket and a boot box and a two-minute goodbye, but I figure I have about five to ten minutes before Bastain comes looking for me. By then, I hope to be halfway through these woods. I use the sharp edge of the shovel to mark the tree next to where Gatsby is buried, so I can come back when it’s safe. I have no idea where this forest leads or if I’ll even have a cell signal in here, but desperate times... and all that.
Twigs and leaves crunch beneath my feet as I run through the brush, dodging low-hanging branches in my path. I fight the urge to look over my shoulder. I don’t look at my surroundings. I just put one foot in front of the other and force myself forward, trying to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest. There’s nothing I can do to stop him if he’s decided to chase me anyway. So, I run. I run until my calves ache, until every breath I take burns my lungs, and I don’t think I can go any more. I see a neighborhood. Thank God. Bastain has to know I’m gone by now. I stop to look around through the trees behind me. Nothing. No one. Maybe he’s decided to let me go. I laugh at the thought. I couldn’t be so lucky. As soon as I step out from the woods onto the street, I call Kylee.
“Hey, babe,” she answers, surprised I’m calling her in the middle of the day on a Saturday. Weekends belong to Bastain. Even my parents know that. I rarely ever even pick up my phone on a Saturday. “Are you okay?” she asks when I respond with heavy breathing.
My mouth is almost too dry to answer. “I’m fine. Are you home?”
“I’m turning into my subdivision now. Why?”
The concrete sidewalk feels foreign under my feet. I’ve been running through pine needles and grass for what seems like hours. The sound of a dog barking as I walk past causes my heart to break all over again. Teenagers are mowing their lawns and moms are pulling weeds from their flower gardens. To everyone else, this is a typical Saturday. To me, it’s a race for my life. I have no idea what Bastain will do when he finds me, but I have the scar on my brow to prove it won’t be good. I have to get off the road. I look around for a street sign to tell Kylee where to pick me up. There’s a good chance Bastain could drive by at any moment. Kylee lives near Brickell, which is about a thirty-minute drive from my house. If she’s almost home, I’ll have to find somewhere safe and out of sight to wait for her.
“Can you come get me?”
“Sure,” she starts to say something else then pauses, leaving the line silent for a second. “Hey, Em, why is Bastain parked in my driveway?”
Shit. He had to have flown across town to make it that fast. The man I fell in love with wouldn’t hurt Kylee. He would be worried, concerned. But, he wouldn’t hurt her. Bastain isn’t the man I fell in love with anymore, and I don’t want anyone I care about anywhere near him. “Kylee, don’t go home. Not right now.”
“Emma, what the hell is going on?”
“I mean it. Don’t go home, Ky. I’ll call you back.”
Alex
I haven’t taken a Saturday off from the gym since I moved here. But I’m feeling motivated to break my routine lately and decided to venture out into the city. I heard Chase and Malone talking about a great Cuban restaurant in Little Havana. I no sooner have the address plugged into my GPS when my phone rings. The gym. It figures. I’ve barely pulled out of the parking garage. I hit decline. They can survive one Saturday without me.
What the fuck? After the third try, I suppose I’d better answer.
“I hate to bother you, but…” Jake says, when I finally pick up.
“Then why did you?” I interrupt. I’ve never understood why someone starts a conversation that way. If they actually hated doing something, they wouldn’t be doing it.
“There’s a woman…” His normal cheerful voice sounds hesitant as it booms over my bluetooth speaker.
“A woman?”
“Yeah. She’s asking for you. She’s been here before…” For fuck’s sake, just spit it out already. He lowers his tone to a whisper, “It’s the blonde. You know, from that night.”
My heart jumps to my throat, and I look to my right for a place to turn around. It’s her. She’s at the gym. Looking for me. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again. She seemed so nervous that day in front of the coffee shop. “Emma?”
He speaks to the woman obviously standing beside him, “Is your name Emma?” I don’t hear her reply, although I strain my ears for a glimpse of her sweet voice. “Yes,” he replies back to me.
“I’ll be there in five.”
Traffic be damned. I make a U-turn at the next light and haul ass to the gym.
She’s sitting Indian-style on the edge of the sparring ring, her hair tied up in a ponytail, so I can see every detail of her face. There’s flakes of mud on the bottom of her hot pink Nikes, and her skin is flushed like she’s just finished working out. Where have you come from, sweetheart? What are you running from? God, she’s breathtaking even without any makeup on. I want to see if her skin flushes the same way when I touch her, kiss her, pin her against the wall and glide my hand up the side of her thigh. I want so many things from this woman, but most of all I want her breathless, the way I am right now.
I duck underneath the ropes and sit next to her. She’s watching Jake with a determined intensity as he shows his class the difference between and uppercut and a jab. I wonder if something else has happened to bring her here or if she actually just wanted to see me. For more reasons than one, I pray it’s the latter. “He’s good. But I’m better.”
The left side of her mouth curls up, revealing her adorable dimple. “Handsome annnnd humble. You’re the whole package, huh?”
Yes, Alex, you heard that. She said handsome.
“Wait ‘til you see what’s under the wrapping.” Fuck me. Did I really say that out loud? How long has it been since I’ve flirted with a woman?
She covers her face in embarrassment, shaking her head beneath her hands. I see her cheeks swell, so I know she’s smiling under there.
“What? Too cheesy?”
She pulls her hands from her face and turns to look at me. The smile is gone and there’s a pain in her eyes. “Too soon,” she replies, almost apologetically, though I’m not sure if her disappointment is aimed at herself or at me. Either way, she’s made her point, and I will respect it. This is what happens when you think with your dick. Just talk to her like a normal person. Let the flirting take care of itself.
I don’t know what brought her here or how long she plans on staying, but I do know I need more of her. More of her time, more of her smiles, more of her sweet, sweet voice singing in my ears. If she wants to sit right here and watch Jake for the next hour, then that’s what we’ll do. As long as I can be next to her. After a few minutes of silence, I debate whether or not to ask her to join me for lunch. So, she’s not ready for the flirty stuff and that’s okay. But there’s nothing wrong with a friendly meal, right? Fuck it. I’m asking.
“I was on my way to a new Cuban restaurant when Jake called to tell me you were here. You hungry? We could grab a bite.”
Please say yes. Don’t run away from me again. She came here. She asked for me. There had to be a reason.
“Oh no,” she says, covering her mouth as if she’d made a mistake. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just... “ She thinks carefully about her next words, as if she’s afraid to say them. “I didn’t know where else to go.” She swallows hard then looks away.
So, something did happen. What kind of world is she trapped in that looking for a near stranger is the only place she had to go? Where is her family? Where are her friends? What is she running from? I have so many questions, but her expression tells me she’s not ready to answer any of them. So, I console her instead. I duck back under the ropes and stand in front of her, holding an outstretched hand as an invitation for her to join me. If she’s not ready to talk about it, I’m not forcing it. I have a feeling she’s had enough of that in her life. I just want her to feel safe.
“You can always come here, love.” Her eyes find their shine again as she accepts my hand and slides out of the ring. “Come. Have lunch with me.”
Emma
His tone is firm, commanding, but not demanding or aggressive. He’s in control, but he’s not trying to control me. The way he looks at me is intense yet gentle. He’s a walking contradiction, the perfect blend of passion and peace. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I deserve.
Panic and fear threatened to swallow me whole when I realized I can’t go to Kylee’s. I won’t put her in that situation. I won’t drag her into the middle of this. I hung up my phone and stood there, in the cul-de-sac of a neighborhood I didn’t recognize, feeling utterly alone. Because that’s where I am. That’s the life I’ve created for myself. I’m alone. The only other person, besides Dr. Owen, I’ve had any contact with is… him, this gorgeous, caring person who dropped everything to come find me the minute he knew I was looking. I don’t even know this man’s name, so there’s no way Bastain would. I try to convince myself that’s the reason I came here, but deep down I know that’s a lie. I came here because the only time I’ve ever felt completely at ease has been when I’ve been with him. He brings order to the chaos that swarms in my mind.
I don’t think about the fact that a mad man just shot my dog and is currently who knows where, doing who knows what, to find me. I don’t think about not having a plan, or a job, or a place to go at the end of the day. For the first time in five years, I just… live. No overthinking. No anxious worry. No figuring out the right or wrong words to say. I just take his hand and let myself get lost in the warm chocolate of his eyes.
Emma
I asked if he minded me using the bathroom at the gym to freshen up. I didn’t know what I expected coming here, but accepting a lunch invitation definitely wasn’t on the list. What are you going to do next, Em? Lunch won’t last forever and I can’t exactly sleep at a boxing gym. I’ve got $250 of stashed cash, a blank check from my parents, and a credit card I applied for about a month ago in my own name. Other than that, I’m totally broke. I google a nearby hotel and make a reservation on my phone. That’ll have to do for tonight. I’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes. Right now, there’s a handsome man out there waiting to take me to lunch.
The cool water instantly refreshes and rejuvenates my senses as it splashes over my face. The citrusy scent of the foam soap replaces the musky, woodsy smell of the outdoors. My body aches for a long, hot bath right now, and my feet are screaming at me from inside my running shoes. Thankfully, I dressed for comfort rather than style this morning when I left the house, choosing charcoal gray leggings and a hot pink and gray tank top.
Is this a date? What am I thinking? This can’t be a date. It’s just a simple lunch between friends. Are we friends? I mean… I guess we’re friends. This man has me twisted more ways than a pretzel stick from a mall kiosk. Emma, you stink. Your hair smells like a wet dog. You’re
wearing leggings and a tank top and you smell like bathroom dispenser soap. Not exactly sexy lunch date material. This is definitely not a date. Did I shave? I run my hand over the exposed part of my calves to check. Smooth as silk. Okay, good. Not that he’ll be touching my legs, but… what if there’s an accident and he has to cut my pants off? Hey, it could happen…
Am I wearing cute panties? Oh my God. Why am I worried about my panties? Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? I’ve managed to turn into a hormonal teenage girl in a matter of minutes. Oh, I know why. Because I definitely noticed the way he looks in his jeans. And the way his hot pink polo hugs his biceps like it’s hanging on for dear life. The way the black ink of his tattoos winds and coils around his skin, taking it over, claiming it. It takes a real man to pull off a hot pink polo and he is most certainly pulling off that polo. I’d like to pull off his polo. For Pete’s sake, Emma, focus.
Did I put on deodorant? I lift my arm away from my body just enough to smell myself. Not bad for a woman who just ran all the way through the hundred-acre woods. Still, I press the button and fill my palm with more of the foamy soap, spreading it underneath both arms, then rinsing it off with sink water. Next stop: the lady bits. Do I dare? I look around the private bathroom as if an invisible person has snuck in through the locked door. Then, I check the lock on the handle to make sure it’s pushed all the way in. I chew my bottom lip and stare at myself in the mirror, contemplating. What the hell am I thinking? He’s not going anywhere near my vagina. Calm your tits, Em, it’s just lunch- where he was going anyway, until you called and interrupted.
Now I feel guilty.
My insecurities take the wheel and I start to question if coming here was a good idea. He could be meeting someone else for lunch. Someone beautiful. Someone confident and successful. Someone who doesn’t have to hide.
The Perfect Gentleman Page 8
