In Your Dreams

by Kristan Higgins

  Goggy: Wermww ri&ght cmlwlr?.

  Honor: She took that like a champ. Tom & I both approve. Charlie too.

  Hadley: Jack, I need 2 speak 2 U asap. We belong 2gther. Pls. call asap. I no u still love me. We can work this out!!!

  Goggy: qhy ro$(ia we flt rgis Okay. Jack's grandmother appeared to be drunk. But, no, Abby had complained about getting seventeen texts from her that day alone.

  Hadley's text--not so nice. The woman really needed to get a clue or some counseling, stat.

  But Em was glad Jack's sisters liked her, which she already knew, more or less. And Jack liked her, and she liked him, way too much...or maybe the right amount. Maybe it was time to go for it. And if she wanted to prove something tonight, a constantly buzzing phone wasn't going to help.

  Maybe she'd just mute it for a little while. It was after ten. She slid the switch over. There.

  She and Jack had been together for a few weeks now. And, yes, she'd been wary, given her own romantic past and Jack's ex-wife being around, not to mention the emotional maelstrom surrounding the accident.

  But tonight, she wouldn't be.

  He came back upstairs, and Emmaline stood up.

  "So was tonight really awful?" he asked, setting the bottle on the counter.

  Rather than answer, she went over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth. Hot, wet, demanding, 100 percent slutty kissing.

  Jack didn't waste time. He grabbed her breeder hips and boosted her up on the counter, and Em pulled him close, feeling him hard and solid and hot against her. She slid her hands under his shirt, over his lean stomach, his lightly furred chest, and tugged his shirt off over his head, then let her hands wander down his back, kissing him again, pulling his hips harder against her.

  Jeans, unfastened.

  Then she scootched off the counter, pulled off her sweater, unhooked her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Jack's eyes lowered and a very gratifying noise came from his throat right before he unhooked her bra, and then she was kissing his neck, his hot, beautiful neck, and bit down on his collarbone. And then the smooth, cool tile of the kitchen floor was against her back, and Jack was on top of her, hard and heavy and hot, while his mouth burned heat on all the best spots until she wriggled free and returned the favor.

  So yeah.

  Wary no more.

  Not when you were doing it on the kitchen floor.

  The animals, bless their furry little hearts, stayed sound asleep, despite the noise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  JACK HOLLAND WAS a happy man. For now, anyway.

  After the kitchen floor encounter--which, by the way, yes--he'd led Emmaline into the master bathroom, turned on the bath taps and made out with her while the tub filled. Left her to get in while he uncorked the wine and brought them each a glass. Then he got in with her, pulling her back against his chest, so, so glad he'd gone for the big tub when he built the house.

  The only sound was the water sloshing if either of them moved and the rain beating against the windows. The puppy came in and tried to drink out of the tub, making them both laugh, and if there was a better sound than Emmaline laughing, Jack didn't know what it was.

  Her skin was creamy and soft, and her body was solid and strong and perfect. After a little while, she couldn't help notice that he was noticing, and she turned around to face him and they did it right there in the tub.

  Come to think of it, Jack did know what sound was better than Emmaline laughing. It was her saying his name in a breathy, almost startled voice, and it made him feel incredible to make her feel so good.

  Then he took her to bed and pulled her against him, her dark hair against his jaw, her hand over his heart. She was asleep within seconds, but Jack just lay there, feeling something he hadn't felt in a while now.

  Peace.

  His marriage had been tumultuous, Jack never knowing which version of Hadley he'd be coming home to at the end of the day. The brief periods of happiness had been built on what he thought he knew, like judging a wine on its color and clarity, only to find it had turned to vinegar. After he'd walked in on Hadley and Oliver came that edgy, angry sense of failure--and loneliness.

  And then, since the boys had gone into the water, his mind had been like a river after a savage flood, all sorts of sharp, dangerous things sliding under the current, sharp and unseen, sometimes rushing past, sometimes slamming into him without warning.

  But now there was something else blanketing that, and for the first time in a very long while, Jack felt at peace.

  He wouldn't have guessed the potty-mouthed hockey-playing cop would've been the right one for him.

  He'd have been wrong.

  Lazarus jumped up on the bed, and, after a second, Jack heard the cat's rusty purr. From Emmaline's side, no less. Even his feral cat liked her.

  He wasn't aware that he'd fallen asleep until he heard a noise. A thudding.

  Thunder?

  No.

  Someone was at the door.

  The clock read 2:37 a.m.

  He slid out of bed, pulled on his pants and went to the front door. It was Pru.

  It couldn't be good.

  "I've been calling for forty-five minutes, Useless!" she barked. "Pops had a heart attack. Hurry up, Jack! It's not good."

  Adrenaline shot through his arms and legs. He grabbed a sweatshirt from a hook and pulled it on, ran to get his wallet and keys. And phone.

  Sixteen missed calls. A screen full of texts. Why the hell hadn't he heard?

  "Is everything okay?"

  Em stood there, wearing his bathrobe, hair tangled.

  "Our grandfather's in the hospital," Pru said. "Heart attack."

  "Oh, no! Can I do anything?"

  "My phone was off," Jack said tightly.

  Her hand flew over her mouth. "Jack, I'm so sorry. I muted it before..."

  Jesus H. Christ. That was something that Hadley would do. Not Emmaline. "We have to go," he said. "I'll call you later."

  He didn't have time to discuss it.

  His grandfather was dying, and he hadn't even known.

  *

  EVERYONE WAS AT the hospital, sitting grimly in the waiting room of the E.R. Goggy was flanked by Honor and Faith; Abby was sobbing quietly in Ned's arms; Carl, Levi, Charlie and Tom stood off to one side. Mrs. J. had her arm around Dad.

  Jack went right to Goggy and knelt in front of her chair. "Oh, Jack," she said, and hugged him.

  "We don't know anything right now," Honor murmured. "Jeremy's still with him."

  Apparently, Pops had awakened with chest pain radiating into his left arm. He'd been unable to talk, and Goggy didn't waste time, just pressed the emergency button that all apartments at Rushing Creek had and shoved a baby aspirin in her husband's mouth. The facility had its own ambulance service, and they'd gotten him to the hospital in fewer than fifteen minutes. Goggy also called Jeremy, who was Pops's regular doctor, and Jer was with the cardiologist now.

  "Sounds like you did everything right," Jack told his grandmother. "Just like always."

  "We only just started liking each other last year." She wept against his neck, and Jack hugged her closer.

  "Now, now," Jack murmured, his throat tight. "You know what he told me the other day? He said you were the love of his life."

  Goggy tried to smile. "Of course I am. Who else would put up with him?"

  "Hey, guys," Jeremy said from the hallway. "He's stable for now. Elizabeth, he wants to see you in a minute. John, could you come with me?"

  Dad looked at him, and Jack went with him, putting his arm around his father's shoulders as they walked down the hall.

  Usually, his sisters would make disgruntled comments about sexism in the family and call Jack the little prince. The fact that they didn't was horrible.

  No one lives forever, of course. That wasn't exactly news, but it was still shocking when that universal truth hit home.

  Pops was easy to dismiss as a joking, bickering o
ld man, but that was just the surface. John Noble Holland, Jr., had a deep love of his family and land, the work ethic of a Spartan and a sentimental streak that he did his best to keep hidden. But he got choked up every time he saw Jack in his navy whites. He put flowers on all the graves in the Holland family cemetery on the anniversaries of their deaths and each April before the blessing of the crops. His eyes filled when Faith and Levi told everyone about the baby. Last year, when Goggy had almost died in a house fire, the fear of losing his wife had practically felled him.

  Jeremy stopped outside a room and signaled them to go in.

  Pops was gray, an oxygen mask over his face. If not for the beeping of the heart monitor, Jack would've assumed he was dead.

  "We're here, Dad," his father said, taking the old man's hand. His eyes were full of tears.

  "Hey, Pops," Jack said.

  Pops's eyes fluttered open. He gestured weakly to his face, and Jeremy leaned over and took the mask off. "Proud of you," he whispered, looking at Dad, then Jack. "So proud of my boys."

  Then his eyes closed again, and the beeping of the monitor slowed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  TO SAY THAT Emmaline was writhing in guilt would not have been an exaggeration.

  Shit. How could she have decided to mute Jack's phone? Without even asking him? For the tenth time that morning, she scrubbed a hand over her face.

  She was still at his house, though she had to go to work in half an hour. But she'd stayed, hoping to see him first. The coffeemaker was set up, and she'd even baked somewhere around 4:00 a.m.--an almond coffee cake, her grandmother's recipe, and one of the few things Em could bake from memory. She'd imagined Jack coming home and telling her his grandpa was okay, what a night, had she baked, all was certainly forgiven, no worries on the phone thing.

  But he didn't come home, and he didn't call or text, either, and she didn't dare interrupt. She wasn't family, after all.

  The rain had turned to snow at some point, the fat, heavy, discouraging snow of late winter, not enough to be a real storm, more than enough to be depressing.

  Sarge erupted into excitable barks, and Emmaline jolted from the table where she was sitting. Sarge's tail wagged and he whined and pawed at the floor-to-ceiling window.

  It was Hadley, walking up Jack's driveway, wearing a shiny black raincoat.

  Super.

  Emmaline opened the door just as the other woman knocked. "Surprise!" Hadley said, opening the raincoat.

  She was wearing a fire-engine-red bustier and tiny scrap of panties.

  "Hi there," Em said. "Nice underwear." That was a perfect body, all right. Em guessed her thigh and Hadley's waist had about the same circumference.

  "Where's Jack? I need to talk to him. Right now."

  Uh-oh.

  Hadley was drunk.

  Her eye makeup was smeared, and while she didn't quite look like Heath Ledger as the Joker, it was close. Her red, red lipstick had been crookedly applied, and the usually smooth and perfect blond hair was matted in the back. Despite the cold, she wasn't wearing stockings. Or sensible shoes...those had to be four-inch heels, and her feet were nearly blue.

  "Come in," Emmaline said. "Jack's not here."

  "Well, I was already at Blue Heron, and no one's there, so don't you lie to me! I wanna see him! He's my husband, after all!"

  "Not anymore he's not," Em said. She wasn't about to tell Hadley about poor Mr. Holland. She'd end up going to the hospital, and Em didn't think Jack would want that one bit.

  But you know what? This was good practice for crisis negotiations. Half the calls they got were because someone was under the influence. First rule of negotiations: establish rapport. "Come on in, Hadley. Those shoes are amazing, but your feet must be freezing."

  "I don't hafta do what you say," Hadley slurred.

  "No, of course not. But are you sure? It's nice and warm in here. There's coffee."

  "Take a bite of my pink...Southern...ass." She poked a finger against Em's chest with each of the last three words.

  Em smothered a smile. Hard to commit to active listening and empathy with a statement like that. "You must be pretty frustrated," she said.

  "Go to hell. Where's Jack?"

  "He's not here. I promise."

  "Are you two sleeping together?"

  Ruh-roh. Emmaline paused.

  "No!" Hadley shrieked, guessing the answer. "How dare you steal my husband, you Yankee slut!"

  Clearly, stating the obvious wasn't going to help here. Em opened the door wider. "Hadley, come on inside and we can talk. You, uh, you have a point."

  "No! You're not the boss of me! And if I can't have Jack, then I may as well go off and die!" She burst into noisy sobs.

  For the love of the baby Jesus. "Hadley. Let's have some coffee, and you can, um, see Lazarus. Right? You must miss him. You're a cat person, right?"

  "I hate that animal! I hate him! Jack! Jack! I need you! If you don't come out right now, I swear I'm gonna make you sorry!"

  With that, she picked up a rock and threw it at the house, and it was like she was channeling Derek Jeter firing to first base, because there was a smash as a window broke.

  Clearly, that hadn't been planned, because Hadley's mouth dropped open. She cut her wide eyes to Emmaline. "Oopsy," she said, then bolted, wobbling crazily in her ridiculous shoes. Instead of down the driveway toward the road, she ran into the woods.

  This was just great. With a curse, Em ran after her. This was not how she wanted to spend her morning, and God forbid Jack come up the driveway to see his girlfriend (who'd turned off his phone to make sure their shagging wouldn't be interrupted, preventing him from being with his family during a crisis) chasing his ex-wife (who was drunk off her pink Southern ass and nearly naked).

  For a drunk, Hadley was fast. "Hadley!" Em yelled. "Knock it off! You're going to hurt yourself!"

  Or freeze to death. It was raw today. Hadley's coat flapped like awkward wings. And what was that about making Jack sorry, huh? Aside from breaking his window, that was?

  Jack didn't need this. Not with Mr. Holland in the hospital, very, very sick...or even dead. "Hadley. Please stop."

  She turned around and gave Emmaline the finger.

  Nice. A branch slapped Em across the forehead and tangled in her hair, and she growled with irritation.

  She caught up to Hadley as the smaller woman tried to climb over a rock wall. Hadley saw her coming, bent over and picked up a handful of something, then turned and shoved it in Em's face.

  Dirt and snow. Gross.

  Em grabbed her hand, twisted it behind her back and yanked her back against her. "Knock it off," she said, spitting out some frozen moss. "Or I'm arresting you for drunk and disorderly."

  "Jack! Jack!" Hadley shrieked, struggling.

  So. Getting a drunken, surprisingly strong woman out of the woods wasn't easy. "Can you just walk, please?" she said as Hadley writhed. "I really don't want to have to carry you." She got kicked in the shin as an answer. Branches snapped underfoot, and a squirrel followed them from the tree branches, laughing at the idiocy. Some of the snow Hadley had shoved at her had slid down Em's shirt (of course), and there was a cold, wet lump sitting on her chest like a third breast.

  Five minutes later, Emmaline had Hadley handcuffed and locked in the back of the cruiser, where Hadley was sobbing. At least she couldn't hurt herself (or the car) if she was cuffed, and she'd done more than enough to earn it. There were a few leaves in Hadley's tangled hair and raccoon eyes from where her mascara had melted.

  Em leaned against the cruiser, breathing hard. She wasn't much better off than her passenger. Her forehead stung, and her shin throbbed.

  Okay, first things first. "I'll be right back," she told her passenger.

  Emmaline went inside to the bedroom with the broken window and picked up the glass, then closed the door so too much heat (and the cat) wouldn't get out. Debated on calling Levi, and then decided he didn't need to hear about this just yet. He had other
things on his mind.

  She went back outside, opened the door of the cruiser for Sarge and got behind the wheel. "Is your sister still in town?" she asked.

  "No! I've got no one and nowhere to go!"

  "Have you always depended on the kindness of strangers?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes!"

  Okay, Blanche DuBois. Em stifled an eye roll.

  She'd take Hadley to the station, because she didn't have time to babysit her at her apartment. She was the officer on call today. Hadley could just sit tight in the holding cell and sober up.

  Em rubbed a spot on her jaw where Hadley's head had slammed into her.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Ten minutes later, they were at the station.

  "You must be freezing! Isn't she freezing?" Carol Robinson asked when Emmaline brought Hadley in. Though Emmaline had tied Hadley's coat closed, it barely cleared her ass. Also, Hadley had refused to put on her shoes. "Isn't that Jack Holland's wife?"

  "Ex-wife," Emmaline said tightly. "Everett, unlock the cell for me."

  Hadley arched her back as they walked down the hall, still trying to get away. "Don't! Not in there! Please! Not that! I can't stand that!"

  "It's not exactly a pit in the ground, Hadley," she said as Everett opened the holding cell door. "You'll just stay here for a little while. There's a blanket on the bed. Get warmed up, okay?" She uncuffed her, gave her a gentle push in and closed the cell door. "I'll bring you something to wear."

  "Please! Please don't lock me up!" Hadley pressed a fist to her mouth and sobbed like she'd just seen The Notebook for the first time. Ev was staring at Hadley's outfit (or lack thereof), his mouth hanging open. Em smacked him on the head. "Ev. Come on!"

  "Right, right, sorry," Everett said. "What happened to you? You look awful. You're all dirty."

  "Emmaline, you're filthy," Carol pointed out.

  "Yes, I know." Em went to her locker, where she kept a clean uniform as well as a pair of yoga pants and a MPD sweatshirt. She pulled the latter two out and handed them to Carol. "Bring these to Meryl Streep, okay? And ask her if she's hungry."

  "Is Meryl Streep here?" Everett asked.

  Emmaline closed her eyes. "No, Ev. I meant Hadley. The woman in the cell."

  Carol went back down the hall, and a second later, Hadley bellowed, "These are way! Too! Big!" followed by more sobbing. When Carol returned, she was trying hard not to giggle. "She wants to know if she gets a phone call," she said.