by Robin Leaf
“You have a girlfriend?” Kaelyn hits me on the arm. “That’s fan-fucking-tastic, Dougie.”
I place my hands over my face and sit back. “No,” I shake my head, rubbing my eyes. “She got kidnapped on my watch, and she was banged up pretty bad, and if my dumb ass would have figured out sooner that she was in danger, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
“Oh my God, is she safe now?”
“Was the guy caught?”
I’m not sure who asks, but I nod. “Yeah, the guy was arrested.” I turn toward Emily. “It turns out one of the guys I hired to move Mabel to her new place was the stripper who gave Ember a lap dance the first night I met her. He was the one whose underwear Vanessa shoved money in, remember?” She nods, so I continue. “He developed some twisted, Norman-Bates-style crush on her when she treated him at the hospital, and he thought he was wooing her. I was able to talk to him at the police station.” I shake my head. “Boy’s got some issues.”
“He hurt her?” Emily asks somberly.
“Not directly, he drove off when she was putting a box in the back of the moving truck, and she got thrown around.”
“She stood up in the truck, didn’t she?” Kaelyn asks. “Because that’s so something I would do.”
I nod. “She was panicking, I guess. But that’s not the point. I saw how he looked at her, and instead of feeling that something was off, I got blinded by jealousy and missed the obvious. Instead of protecting her, I reacted… badly, and I pissed her off so much, that she actually put herself in danger. So now, she’s hurt and it’s all my fault.”
Etta moves closer to me and places her hand on my knee. “It sounds like it’s the stripper’s fault, Dugger, not yours.”
“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “You didn’t drive off with her in the back of the truck.”
“And you certainly didn’t know that he was her stalker.” Kaelyn pats my other knee before standing and heading toward the kitchen. “How could you have?”
“I should have seen it.”
“Why, did he wear a neon flashing sign?” Etta snarks, taking a sip of some red, margarita-looking drink through a straw. “What you saw was a boy who was attracted to your girl, and you reacted stupidly, yeah, but how could you have known that he was her stalker?”
I rub my forehead with both hands. “I should have paid attention to the red flags.”
“What red flags?” Emily asks.
“Well, he met her the weekend before she started getting the emails. He lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw her.” I grind my jaw, thinking about how she wrapped her hands around his arm. “He kept… watching her.”
Emily turns to me, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch. “And other than the timing, which you probably missed because honestly, who would make that connection right away, how did the rest clue you in to the fact that he was the one stalking her?”
Covering my face again, I grunt, “I just should have gotten some knowing feeling.”
“Right,” Kaelyn pipes up, handing me a bright red drink of my own. “Because psychic abilities automatically come with your job.” Rolling her eyes, she digs, “I forgot.”
“No,” I admit, accepting the drink, “but I am supposed to pay attention to things.”
“Hindsight, Dugger,” Emily croons. “This is not your fault.”
“What did she say when you told her you were leaving?” Etta asks.
I look around at three faces, all looking at me expectantly. I feel my cheeks flush, which is weird. I’ve never, ever been in a situation where I’ve felt my face get hot before. Shit, am I blushing? What the hell is this? I take a drink out of the glass Kaelyn handed me. Shit, that fucker is good, tropical flavor maybe with only the slightest burn of alcohol. I should ask what’s in this thing, but I don’t really care right now. The concoction is keeping me from having to answer their question, so I just keep sipping, letting my eyes water from the brain freeze I’m getting.
“You didn’t fucking tell her, did you?” Emily accuses, pushing against my leg. “Dammit, Dugger. You are a dumbass.”
“You just left?”
“What the fuck, Dugger?”
I’m not sure who says what, as both Etta and Kaelyn speak at the same time. I’ll guess that Kaelyn is the one who cussed at me, only because she’s got a mouth on her.
I take another long sip of the drink, almost emptying the glass. “Don’t judge me. I can’t fucking face her right now. I’m not –”
“I swear, Douglass Van Cleef,” Emily seethes, pointing her finger in my face, “if you fucking say you’re not worthy of her, I will punch you in the throat right now.”
Kaelyn scoffs. “Hell with that, I’ll aim a lot lower.” She nods to my crotch. “You’ll walk funnier than you did after the allergic reaction, and for a lot longer.”
“Yeah, and I’ll get my mom over here,” Etta threatens. “I’ll tell her you want to help prep for my rehearsal dinner.”
I stand. “All of you can fuck off.”
“No, this time, you can fuck off, Dugger.” Emily stands up to me and pushes me backward. “You sit. We are going to distract you with our awesomeness and you are going to like it.”
Kaelyn grabs my glass and heads to the kitchen, hopefully to refill it.
Etta sticks a small basket filled with their cell phones in my face. “Phone goes in the basket. No exceptions.”
I blindly reach in my pocket and do what I’m told, and she turns and places the basket on the mantle.
“W-W-Wait a min… ute,” I stammer kinda unable to get my mouth to say what my brain wants it to. “Are y-y-you guys… girls’ nighting me?”
“Dude,” Etta says, “you crashed our night, so…”
“So yeah, we are,” Kaelyn agrees, handing my refill to me.
I look at the deceivingly-innocent-yet-incredibly-wicked red drink. “Wha’s in this thing, anyway?”
Kaelyn looks at her drink, like it has the ingredients written on the glass. “Pineapple vodka, coconut rum, tequila, a little gin for kicks, a splash of Hawaiian Punch and some Sprite.”
“Holy shit,” I say, smacking my forehead, “what’re ya tryin’ ta do ta me?”
“What?” her big brown eyes stare at me innocently.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” I feel myself slightly slur.
Kaelyn shrugs. “I don’t drink in public, but it’s girls’ night.”
“It’s usual to try to kill all your brain cells on girls’ night?” At least that’s what I intend to say. Honestly, I have no idea what words make it out of my mouth. The drink hit me fast.
“Fucking lightweight,” Etta snickers.
“He needs snacks while we resume our game,” Emily says, removing my drink from my hand and placing it on the table in front of us. “And maybe he can play next round.”
“Yeah,” Etta looks at me sideways, sipping her drink. “I don’t think his brain is fully functioning right now.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Emily says. “I was beating the two of you by myself before he got here.” She sits in front of me on the floor. “Next question.”
Kaelyn hands me some corn chips and a bowl of some warm goo. “It’s queso from the Mexican Restaurant down the street.”
I take a huge scoop of the melted cheese with a chip and shove the whole thing in my mouth. Damn, it’s fucking delicious.
“You can’t get queso like that from California,” Kaelyn brags. “I’m convinced Texas has better Mexican food than anywhere in the world.”
“I thought you were lactose intolerant,” Emily says, smirking at me as I wipe the oozing sticky goo from my beard and lick my finger.
“I lied to get out of your stupid code eleventy-seven thing,” I answer around a bite. “I was afraid you’d get me all hopped up on ice cream and want to braid my hair.”
Kaelyn giggles. “Now you just gave us an idea for when you pass out later.”
“C’mon, let’s play the fucking game,” Etta grouches. “Emily, we lef
t off on your entertainment question. So, in what movie was Marilyn Monroe’s famous billowing skirt scene?”
“Some Like it Hot,” Emily announces, pretty confident in her response.
“No,” I say, laying back on the couch with my bowl of queso on my stomach for easier scooping. “It was The Seven Year Itch.”
“Nuh uh,” Emily whines. “It was Some Like it Hot, I know for a fact.”
“Dugger’s right, Brainiac,” Etta deadpans. She turns the card over to show Emily. “The Seven Year Itch, bitch.”
Emily smacks my leg. “How the fuck did you know that?”
“My aunt was a big fan. We had Marilyn Mondays when I was a kid. She was my first celebrity crush.”
“I never knew that,” Kaelyn muses. “Wow, talk about a hard act for any woman to follow.”
I smile. She followed it, but I keep that to myself because now… Fuck.
Ember… What did I do?
“I call dibs on Dugger to be on my team,” Emily sings.
“Sorry,” Kaelyn claims, “no late additions of ringers. It’s in the unwritten rules. Dugger’s always kicked ass at trivia, and anyway, you said you could kick our asses unassisted.”
“Alright,” Emily sighs and indicates it’s their turn. Etta rolls and lands on a blue square. “Sports question. Who holds the record for most seasons played as an MLB player?”
Etta rolls her eyes. “Nolan Ryan. Please, challenge me.”
I’m not sure what goes on for the next few minutes or so. I know they’re playing their game, but I’m not listening. I can’t stop thinking about what a dick I am. I left her. Ember is perfect, and I just fucking left. She was battered and possibly broken, and I walked away. I shovel the chips and cheese in my mouth, feeling a weird sting in my eyes, as the depression settles in. Picking up my drink from the table in front of me, I down about a third of it before I resume my shoveling, scraping the bowl and hoping more magically appears.
“I fucking left her,” I sputter. “What kind of dickwad does that?” I look in my bowl. “And I’m out of cheese.”
“Wha oh,” Emily says under her breath. “Kaelyn, why’d you give him more alcohol?”
“Because he outweighs us by about a hundred pounds.” Kaelyn stands and takes the bowl from my hands. “I didn’t think he’d get drunk off of one.”
“See if there’re any tacos left. I bet he didn’t eat.”
I nod. “Guys who are dickwads and leave perfect girls don’t deserve to eat, unless it’s delicious queso.” I look to Emily. “That shit is fucking fantastic.”
A foil-wrapped taco is placed into my hand.
“The tacos are better.”
I concentrate on unwrapping the taco, because no one wants to chew tin foil, and see a bunch of meat, onion, and some green parsley-looking shit stuffed into a corn tortilla. I’ve never had a non-crispy taco before, so this is an experience. Half of it goes in my mouth.
“I’ ish derishush,” I mumble, reveling in the awesomeness that is the fucking best taco I’ve ever eaten in my life.
“Told ya,” Kaelyn brags. “Try it with the lime and the salsa.”
So my fingers fumble with the lid of the small container of salsa, dumping some on the taco, then squeezing the lime. As I revel in the next bite, I hear murmurs.
The sisters sit close, talking softly, but I can still hear their words over my chewing.
“It seems that a guy with clear abandonment issues wouldn’t leave anyone. Why did he?”
“Because he thinks he’s not good enough for her.”
I close my eyes, hoping that I can will their mouths to close. They’re ruining my perfect taco moment with the truth. It kind of sucks.
“Well, that’s a crock of shit,” Kaelyn bellows, pounding her fist on my leg. “Why can’t you see how fucking awesome you are?”
I stare at her, unable to move or say a word, so I just shove in the last bite of the taco she gave me. This shit is good. Emily lets out frustrated grunt, walking away with her hands in the air.
Kaelyn stands after sitting on the coffee table in front of me on top of their game. Both of her hands grip my arms.
“Dugger,” she begins softly, “There are times in my life when you beat Keaton for the best brother award. Why do you think I went to you instead of him in high school with all my teenager shit? It’s because you’re the fucking best.”
She smiles at me, but I lift my glass and slurp the juice at the bottom.
“I don’t know you that well, but Nathaniel says you helped him save Emily’s wedding, so for that,” Etta holds up her glass in salute, “I thank you.”
“God, Dugger,” Emily whines, coming to sit next to me. “You are the most dependable guy and you go out of your way to help everyone without being asked. You have the biggest heart of any guy I’ve ever met. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.” She grabs my chin and pulls it so I’m looking at her. “So quit being a dick and let yourself have what you deserve.”
That’s it. I need to quit being a dick … except I left her. Dick move, dick. I wonder if she noticed. I probably should ask her.
“I need my phone,” I say, moving to stand.
All three girls throw themselves on top of me, trying to keep me down.
“No,” they say in unison.
I don’t want to hurt any of them so I stop fighting to stand. They all relax, but they’re still close.
“But I need to text her and tell her I’m sorry.”
“You are not drunk texting her, no way,” one of the twins says.
“I’m not drunk.”
I hear a grumbling of, “Yeah you are,” and “Right,” come from all three.
“We’re trying to help you out here, Dugger.” I think that was Kaelyn, but I can’t tell because she is out of my line of vision right now.
“But –”
“No,” Emily yells, smacking me on the arm. “You can tell her in the morning.”
“But I don’t want her to worry all night and think that I’m an asshole.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” someone utters, but I ignore it.
“I need to admit that I’m a dumbass, and that I want her, and I miss her, and I’m sorry, and that I’m coming for her first thing tomorrow.”
Emily smirks, pushing me back against the cushions. “We’ll see what we can do, Dugger.”
“She’s so pretty, with her perky nose and her little freckles. And God, her perfectly colored hair with all the colors in it smells like tropical coconuts, and she may be fun-sized, but she can take me down with a touch, one that electrifies me and makes me buzz. And her lips, they’re fucking perfect, so perfect for kissing. I’ve never been kissed like she kisses me. And I love sleeping with her; she’s so cuddly and makes me feel so happy and comforted. I slept all through the night when she was with me, which is rare. I just want her. I want her to fall in love with me and marry me and have babies with me and be happy with me for the rest of our lives.” I turn to Kaelyn, who’s blurrily standing in front of me. “I think she’s the one, and I want her to know that.”
“I got you, Dougie.”
“And I want her to know that once she’s healed, I’m going to fuck the living hell out of her. It’s going to be so good, that she’ll never want to leave me.”
Someone giggles, and another of them awes.
My eyes close without my permission. “I just want the chance to love her like she deserves.”
Someone leans in and whispers, “I think you already do.”
I nod, feeling the alcohol pull me under. I’m unsure if what I hear next is a dream or reality.
“Did you get it all?”
“Yup.”
“Should we send it or post it?”
“No way am I posting this. This needs an audience of one.”
That’s the last thing I hear before I fade to black.
Twenty Nine
Ember
Tiffany comes in holding paperwork and hands me
my pills wordlessly. I take them with the water she offers.
“Noah,” I croak, “did he tell you where he was going?”
Noah shakes his head. “He just asked me to come here, offer to drive you home, and tell you that he’s sorry he didn’t protect you.”
I throw the sheet off of me and sit up, grunting through the pain. “Dammit, he’s supposed to take me home.”
“Ember,” Tiffany fusses, “you know procedure. I need to tell you about –”
“I’ve been working in the ER for seven years, Tiffany. I know what you’re about to tell me.”
She throws up her hands. “Yeah, and by the looks of it, you’re going to ignore everything I tell you anyway.”
I look for my clothes, finding my shirt. I forgot it was ripped up the back.
“Shit, I can’t go get him in a hospital gown.”
“Do you have clothes in your locker?” Tiffany asks. “I’ll be glad to go get them for you.”
I shake my head. “No, I only keep an extra pair of scrubs in there, and those were worn last week after the guy threw up on me.”
“Gross,” my mother hisses. “But your father and I will take you to your apartment to change, Ember.”
I turn to Noah. “Can you track Douglass down?”
He nods, already on his phone. “Looks like he turned off his phone, but I have Scotty doing his thing.”
~ ~ ~
I’m not sure how it happened, but I’m sitting on this plane, about to take off for Houston of all places, sitting on a cold pack and trying to act like I’m not under the influence of some pretty strong pain medication. It’s really fucking hard to do. They gave me the good shit.
All I want to do is close my eyes.
I’m roused when some guy shoves his carry on under the seat to the right of me and sits, pulling out his phone to play a game. I watch his screen, mesmerized by the colors and patterns he’s producing with just his thumb. It’s cool.
“Um,” he says, pulling his arm gently away from me. “Hi?”
Jesus. I realize I was totally leaning on him trying to get a closer look. I straighten up, wiping the drool off the side of my mouth, and dare a glance at him.
