“It’s fine. I handled it.”
“Obviously,” my twin says dryly.
Trigg glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Should we expect any fallout from this? Cops knocking on your door?”
“Only if they’re bringing some goddamn candy hearts and singing telegrams as apologies from those motherfuckers.”
We get out of the car, and I carry Emma inside the building and up the steps while Jude and Trigg follow me with her clothes and shoes. Her jacket is wrapped around her, but it’s not covering everything.
As I walk, I can’t help but look down at her nestled in my arms. Her face is peaceful, her body relaxed — fully immersed in an alcohol-induced dream state. I’ve been falling for her since the day I met her at the Gala, although it took me a long time to admit it. But I had no idea just how far I’d fallen until tonight. I’m so far gone. Utterly. Completely. There’s no denying it anymore. No one has ever consumed me the way Emma has. She has every last piece of me.
I reach the door, and Jude comes around us, rapping on the door with a distinct rhythm, signaling to Daniel and Gunner that it’s us. A moment later, Daniel opens the door, and I carry Emma inside.
“Oh my God, is she okay?” Zoey asks, rising from the couch in surprise.
I nod. “She’s fine. Emma just needed to blow off some steam.”
Zoey stares at me. “But… there’s blood on your face.”
“It’s not mine. Or Emma’s.”
She looks from me to Trigg and Jude then back to me, confusion in her expression. “Then what happened?”
“I guess I needed to blow off some steam, too.”
I carry Emma down the hallway and nudge her bedroom door open with my foot. The room is dark, her bed untouched ever since Zoey’s return, the covers still turned down from when she awoke days ago morning.
Laying her down gently, I slip the jacket off her and pull the sheet and duvet up to her shoulders. She murmurs something softly and shifts onto her side, then her body relaxes again, and her mouth parts slightly as she sinks into deep sleep.
I stand there for a long time, watching her. Watching the rise and fall of her chest. The brief flutter of her eyelids. The way her dark hair spills across the pillowcase. The curve of her neck.
Time slips away, and I lose track of how long I stand there. My breath catches as I look at her, and my throat tightens. I’m in deep fucking trouble. A passing curiosity became a tempting diversion which snowballed into something so much bigger, an avalanche of feelings I wasn’t prepared for. That I didn’t even think was possible, not for me.
I don’t know if Emma could ever feel the same way about me. Not with all the stuff I’ve done. What she saw tonight — and what she’ll hopefully remember none of tomorrow — is only the tip of the iceberg. Motherfuckers like me don’t get rewarded for our sins.
What scares me more than that, more than the thought that she would never love me, is if she could.
Even if I get lucky — luckier than I’ve ever been my entire life — and she can see past all of my transgressions and still find something redeemable and worthy of loving, I fear it would be fleeting. A taste of heaven before the hell of reality rips her from me.
People fall in love all the time. But it rarely lasts. Only the lucky few get the kind of outcome I’ve never even dared to dream of, until now.
But as impossible as it is to find that once, what are the odds of finding that five times over?
I’ve never held onto anything good in my life – except the guys. But this feeling in my chest… it could be the end of us. It could rip us apart.
Because I know I’m not the only one. My brother — he’s a master of stoicism, never letting a crack show. But he doesn’t have to say a word. He’s as far gone as I am. Trigg, Gunner, Daniel. They’re all on their way, too.
It’s a dark abyss we’re falling into. A place that offers no refuge. What we’re headed toward is a goddamn train wreck. Because women don’t share their hearts like that. Friendship, family — those bonds are limitless.
But what took told hold of me tonight? The same thing I see in Jude’s eyes? It’s something else. All-consuming. Zealous.
How could something that intense possibly be felt for all five of us? And what happens if it can’t? What happens if Emma only feels that way about one of us, or, stretching the odds, two, or three of us?
I know it’s asking for too much. I know it’s impossible. And yet, I can’t walk away. None of us can. I don’t know when or how it’ll happen, but there’s only one logical outcome to this situation.
And I think it’s going to kill me.
9
Emma
“Oh my God,” I groan, the pain in my head so intense I’m convinced I’ve fallen on an axe and it’s splitting my skull open. I have no idea where I am or what’s happened. I open my eyes, but the space is dark. I squint, holding onto my temple, trying to figure out what hell I’ve woken up in. I see some lighter patches in the distance, so fuzzy I can’t even tell what shape they are.
I slump back on the sheets in defeat as a low moaning sound fills the space. Oh, that’s me. And hey, sheets. Okay, I’m in a bed… somewhere. Wait… I reach above my head and feel around. My fingers trace the line of a familiar headboard. My room.
Thank God. My first thought was that BHC had drugged me and thrown me into a pit somewhere. But I’m in my own bed.
“Here, take this.”
Gunner’s voice is coming from my right, soft and kind. I breathe another sigh of relief. Whatever’s happened to me, at least I know I’m safe now, if Gunner is here.
“My head hurts so bad,” I murmur.
“I bet it does. You went on quite the bender last night.”
It takes a moment for his words to register. “What? I did this to myself?”
“Impressively so, according to what I’ve heard.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“It’s just Gunner, but I appreciate the respect.”
The old joke makes me huff out a laugh, which I immediately regret as the tension in my head increases to a fever pitch. “Shut up, I’m in agonizing pain, here.”
“You need to take this,” he says, and his fingers press something small into my left hand.
“What is it?”
“Poison,” he says, deadpan. “I’m trying to finish you off.”
I laugh again, followed by a sharp gasp as a vicious stabbing pain shoots through my brain.
“Here, let me help you up,” Gunner says, his hands wrapping around my shoulders.
“I don’t think I can move. My head might explode.”
“I really hope not, because that would be a hell of a mess, and I just put on a clean shirt.”
That one gets a belly laugh from me, and the vice around my head ratchets up a few more notches, squeezing tighter. “Oh, fuck me,” I groan.
“I’d love to, but I prefer people to be at least semi-conscious when I give ‘em the good stuff.”
I choke back a fit of giggles. “Gunner, shuuut uuupp,” I plead as loudly as I can muster. He really is going to finish me off.
With his help, I manage to get upright on the edge of the bed, but it’s still dark as fuck, and I can barely make out the outline of the furniture in the room, and his face is only a hazy shadow. I reach out a hand to the top of the nightstand, fumbling around, hoping to find a drink of something, not even caring how long it’s been sitting there — water, juice, antifreeze… at this point, I’d swallow just about anything to get my head to stop hurting.
“Trigg made you this,” Gunner says, scooting a cold glass into my hand. “It’s his hangover remedy. And it works like magic.”
I bring the cup to my nose. The pungent scent punches through the fog of the worst hangover of my life, and I recoil in horror. “Oh, God! That smells awful! What the hell’s in this?”
“I don’t know,” Gunner admits. “I’ve been too afraid to ask, to be honest. It’s some kind of voodoo shit that’s
been passed down through his family, so there’s probably like the blood of seven virgins and sulfuric acid or something. I think the recipe is one of those ‘what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger’ things.”
“This definitely might kill me.”
“Just hold your nose and get it down. Between that and Jax’s magic pill, you’ll be feeling all better soon.”
Oh, yeah. I remember that Gunner put something in my hand and rub my fingers across the palm of my hand, rolling the small tablet across my skin.
“Could you help me to the bathroom?” I feel like a wimp for even asking, but I seriously need to pee, and I don’t trust my legs. Or any part of my body right now, for that matter.
Gunner doesn’t even hesitate. “Sure thing,” he says, putting a strong arm around me.
I carry Trigg’s tonic and the pill from Jax into the bathroom as Gunner guides me forward. The nightlight beside the toilet is the perfect amount of light, and my vision finally swims into focus a little.
“Thank you,” I tell him, turning into him for a full body hug. He wraps his arms around me, and it’s like being swaddled in a warm blanket. I take a deep breath in, soaking up how amazing it feels to be held by someone as sweet and funny — and sexy — as Gunner. I don’t want to let go, but if I don’t, I might pee on us both.
I shuffle over to the counter and set the glass on the edge of the sink. Gunner points at it.
“Drink that,” he says. “It’s disgusting, but you’ll be glad you did.”
“Okay,” I nod. Somehow, I’ll get it down. If it’s fixed Gunner’s hangovers before, then surely, it’ll help me. He kisses me on the forehead and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I lean against the counter and take a look in the mirror. Oooooh, damn. I’m so glad all the lights in my bedroom were off, because I look like the walking dead. My eyes are bloodshot, my skin is pasty white in some places and blotchy pink in others. My hair is a wreck — an absolute rat’s nest — and as I stare at myself, I realize I’m still wearing the bra and panties I put on yesterday morning, not my pajamas. My ankle throbs with a dull ache, and even in the dim light I can see a cluster of bruises there, four of them beside each other in a row down my ankle and a lone, fifth one a few inches over from the others.
What the hell did I do last night?
10
Jude
“You need to talk to her.”
My twin shakes his head, an all-too-familiar stubbornness in his eyes. “Nope.”
It’s been three hours since Emma woke up. She’s had a shower and finally ate something substantial, thanks to Daniel’s insistence — perhaps the first real meal she’s had since Zoey’s return. He made her a beautiful spread of food, and whether out of sheer politeness or because her hunger finally kicked in, I’m not sure, but she ended up wolfing it down faster than I ate after the Crucible during basic training.
Trigg’s hangover remedy kicked in, along with whatever likely highly illegal substance it was that Jax contributed to the effort, and she’s got a bounce in her step again.
She’s been huddled on the couch with Zoey for the last hour, talking in hushed tones, but it’s not hard to tell what the current subject is — Emma’s been glancing over at Jax every fifteen seconds.
Despite my brother’s hopes, she’s clearly remembering the events from last night. How much, I’m not sure. But that combination of alarm, curiosity, and admiration in her expression as she glances over here is enough to tell me that Jax needs to stop being a pigheaded bastard and go talk to her about it.
“Hey guys.”
Jax and I tear our eyes away from each other, ending our staring contest, both equally determined to out-glare the other, and turn to Zoey.
“Hey, Zoey. You ready to go to the store?” I ask. Earlier, she’d told me she wanted to grab stuff for dinner.
“Yeah, but we need more than just a quick trip’s worth, if that’s okay? We need like, a village’s worth of groceries. And we’re running out of other basic stuff, too, like toilet paper.”
“That’s no problem. We can all go, if you want,” I suggest. “The guys and I can treat you and Emma to dinner out. That way, no one needs to cook tonight.”
“Sure, dinner out sounds great,” Zoey smiles. “Okay, I’ll go get ready. Say twenty minutes?”
“Yep, that works for us.”
I watch as she walks back to the living room where Emma is folding blankets and straightening up the coffee table, then I turn back to my brother.
“I should change before we go,” he says.
“You’re not going a goddamn place until you talk to her.”
Jax snorts, amused. “Since when are you my fucking keeper?”
I give him a pointed look. I don’t need to say it. He knows. I’d never hold anything over Jax’s head, but if we were keeping a scorecard, he’d owe me until the end of time.
He sighs and slams his hand on the table. “Fuck.”
I pick up my cup of coffee and take a swig, motioning to the wall clock with my other hand. “You’ve got less than twenty minutes. Better get to it.”
He stares off to the side — angry, frustrated, hell, maybe even scared — as it sinks in that he can’t avoid it, not this time. But he’s not going to get much time to accept it, because Emma’s approaching us.
She stops a few feet away, her hands pressed together nervously. Her eyes dart between the two of us, sensing the tension. “Sorry to interrupt you guys.”
Jax turns at the sound of her voice, his expression softening instantly. “You’re not interrupting anything.”
She gives him an uneasy smile. “I was wondering if we could talk for a minute?”
I positively light-up with glee at her words, a shit-eating I told you so grin breaking out on my face. Jax glares at me, his eyes narrowed into daggers. “Fuck you,” he mouths.
I lean toward him. “I’m so happy, if rainbows could shoot out of my ass right now, they would,” I whisper.
It’s been fifteen minutes since the two of them disappeared down the hallway to talk. The rest of us have taken turns using Zoey’s room to change clothes — the guys and I digging into the duffle bag of clothes Daniel went to gather up for us yesterday while Jax and Emma were gone — and now almost everyone is ready.
Now we’re just waiting on Gunner, Jax, and Emma. I know what Gunner’s doing — the man takes longer preening himself in front of a mirror than it takes a special effects artist to transform actors on a fantasy movie set. But the other two, I’m not sure what their status is.
I hope to God Jax is talking to her about yesterday. If Emma remembers anything, she’s going to have questions, but I don’t know if she’ll have the guts to ask him the hard questions point blank — Jax can be an intimidating motherfucker to approach sometimes, and getting him to open up about stuff is next to impossible. Not that I’m much different, but I didn’t reenact a scene from Fists of Fury last night.
Curiosity is getting the better of me, and I finally head down the hallway. As I get closer, I hear their voices getting louder, and the tones don’t sound happy. My gut tightens instinctively.
What has my brother done now?
Instead of knocking like I planned, I find myself standing just outside the door, waiting and listening. It’s partly just plain nosiness, the field commander in me insisting on knowing the status of everything at all times, and partly that it’s Jax, and I know I’m going to find out sooner or later what’s going down in there, because there are no secrets between us — we each know every misdeed, every sin, every last dirty detail about the other.
But it’s more than that, too. For better or worse, whatever happens with Emma affects all of us — a truth I’ve been coming to terms with lately — and if Jax has upset her, that doesn’t bode well for myself or the other guys.
My brother’s words hit my ears first. “Emma, I understand.”
“Jax… I—I don’t think you do,” Emma says, her voice strained. “I
know we kinda circled around this topic when we talked in your studio, but this isn’t a hypothetical conversation anymore. It’s real for me.”
“I get that. And it’s perfectly normal,” Jax insists.
“But… it’s not,” Emma says, her voice wavering. “Not what I’m talking about. I don’t know anyone who’s been in this situation before.”
“Look, Emma, lots of people find themselves attracted to more than one person.”
“Oh my God, Jax. Are you actually hearing me? You’re way too chill about this to be getting what I’m saying.” Emma lets out a frustrated sigh, and I can picture her hands pressed to her head in exasperation. “It’s not just some random other person. I’m talking about your friends. Your own brother, for Christ’s sake.”
Outside her bedroom door, I straighten up in surprise. They’ve gotten into things heavier than I expected — it’s not a conversation about what went down at the bar. This is deeper shit. As far as I know, this is the first time Emma’s talked to any of us about what’s happening between the six of us. Hell, we’ve barely talked about it, ourselves. And we’ve been too chicken-shit to bring it up with her.
“Speaking of my brother,” Jax says, and I hear heavy footsteps approaching the door.
Fuck. I haven’t made a sound, but he knows.
A second later, the door swings open wide, and Jax waves a hand inside, looking at me expectantly. “Want to come in? Or would you like us to just talk louder so you can keep standing in the hallway?”
I sigh and step into Emma’s bedroom. She’s got a hand to her mouth, looking slightly horrified that I’ve been eavesdropping.
“Hey, Emma,” I say, a rare flush of embarrassment seeping into my every pore. “What’s, uh, what’s happening? I really wasn’t standing out there that long, I promise.”
As expected, Jax gives no shits about pulling me into the conversation. “Well, I think Emma’s trying to tell me that things are... complicated.” He turns to her. “Is that the right word?”
Broken Process Page 6
