51. Chapter 49
Emery
“Ems!”
My phone flips out of my hand, the pom-pom flapping about crazily, and has the sort of clattered landing on the floor that makes me glad my room is carpeted, because that should for sure be shattered.
With all her sunshine energy, Oakley comes bounding through my doorway, a huge smile on her face. “Come have girl time with me!”
My heart is still pounding in my chest and my hands are a little shaky, which is why my ability to control my face deserts me for a moment and disgust pinches my expression. “Ah, pass.”
She rolls her eyes at me and props her shoulder against the doorframe. “Have you ever had girl time before?”
Shoving the blankets off my legs, I get up and retrieve my phone, careful to keep the screen aimed in my direction, then plonk my ass back on my bed. The last thing I need right now is to have Oaks see that I was scrolling through The Monarchs sub-thread. “No.”
She shoots me a side-eye before fiddling with the other half of the friendship necklace I gave her. “Have you spoken to any of them yet?”
“No.”
At least once a day, she asks me if I’ve talked to any of them yet.
I’m always telling her no. But I have to admit, getting to yell at Darcy on the sidewalk the other day has released some sort of pressure valve inside of me, and there have been times that it has been a real effort not to pick up my phone and do some more yelling.
The only thing that has been helping, kind of, is seeing that their sub-thread on the forum and their Instagram has gone pretty quiet.
Sure, there are still plenty of candid photos taken of them, and the posts with them talking to Oakley and then with me being carried by Derek are still receiving a lot of action, but even that is less than half what it was originally.
“Well, then, you can’t say no. You’ve never had a girls night, then you have to give it a try at least once, then if you still hate it, we never have to do it together again.” There is a thread of authority in her tone. Like, just because she is stating it, it has to be so.
When I stare blankly back at her, she sighs and basically skip jumps until she lands knee first on my bed like an overexcited puppy.
“Come on, Ems. It’ll be fun, I promise. I got us each a face mask and some cute nail polish.
Oh, and that dating show where there is one woman and a bunch of men she gets to pick from has a marathon of the last season starting in about fifteen minutes. We can watch it until we crash.”
That does sound good, actually.
My facial control must still be on the fritz because her eyes and smile both grow wide, and she claps her hands. “Yes! Let’s do this.”
Oakley grabs my hand and goes to tug me out of bed, but I pull back, butterflies swarming around in my stomach at the idea of being around Xavier after I let him sleep in my bed last night. “Can we do it in here?”
She is apparently a mind reader because understanding smooths out her features. “I asked him to give us the night. I’m pretty sure he’ll sneak back in once we’re asleep, but we have a few hours without him. And, before you ask, I’ve already covered up the cameras. Come see.”
This time, when she holds out her hand, I take it and let her pull me out of bed. Once we are out in the living area, she turns to me with a huge smile on her face and arms outstretched.
“Taa-daa!”
I frown when all I see are pieces of…paper, maybe…propped up in front of the cameras. “Paper? Won’t that just fall over?”
Oakley rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not that incompetent, jeez.” She marches over to the camera that is aimed at the couches, carefully shifts things around, then holds it out to show me.
I cover my mouth with my hand and try to catch the choked laughter as a buzzing feeling fills my limbs. “Oh my god!”
She grins at me, clearly really fucking proud of herself. Not going to lie, I’m kind of proud too. “Good, right?”
“It’s fucking perfect,” I respond as I go to her and take the thick piece of folded card out of her hands.
There, stuck on the side to face the camera is a line drawing of a middle finger.
“So, like I said, face masks, nail polish, oh! And…” She ducks around me and rushes into the kitchen, returning with a grocery bag. “Snacks! I have popcorn, chips, chocolate, and there’s ice cream in the freezer.”
I glance around, seeing the face masks and an array of nail polish bottles on the coffee table, then at the covered cameras, and back to Oaks with her super cute and hopeful smile.
Resigned to my fate, I smile. “What do I need to do?”
She gives a high-pitched little squeal, followed by a body squirm. “You go shower. Don’t put anything on your face after you wash it, though.”
Fifteen minutes later, almost exactly, I’m on the couch with a weird, white, wet, scary, guava- and aloe-vera scented, slimy paper mask with eye, nose, and lip holes stuck on my face.
“How long do I have to leave this on?” I ask through gritted teeth as the woman hoping to find true love on a nationally broadcasted television show starts her interview on the screen.
As much as I adore reality TV for the pure trashiness of it, I would really love to be able to roll my eyes at her naivety.
However, I’m too scared this thing will slip off my face, and then I’ll have to touch it with my fingers again, which is something I am trying to avoid at all costs so my sarcasm is just going to have to be internal.
Sorry, lady, the world just doesn’t work that way.
Oakley scoops up a handful of popcorn and feeds a piece through the little mouth hole. “About fifteen minutes.”
“Right,” I mutter and try to adjust how I’m sitting so my head can at least recline on the back of the couch.
“So, what happens if she doesn’t like any of the guys?” Oakley asks as the profile pictures of the prospective love interests are put up on the screen.
I shrug and then eye the bowl of popcorn on the couch between us. “It’s probably in the contract that she has to pick at least one or she won’t get paid. So, fake it, I guess?”
Oakley hums before crunching on some more popcorn. “And what if she likes more than one? Surely she doesn’t have enough time on the show to make a choice?”
Pinching one piece of popcorn from the bowl, I try to get it into my mouth without touching the soggy paper that overhangs my lips the littlest bit.
“Same answer. She has to pick at least one. Last season, the woman nearly passed out having to choose between the last two guys. I think she might have even picked guy A and is now married to guy B.”
“A and B?” she asks, and I can just fucking tell her eyebrow is raised under her stupid mask.
I shoot her a look. “I couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. They probably aren’t even their real names.”
“Right,” she snarks back. “So, anyway… why couldn’t she just choose both and continue dating them until she’s ready to pick? Like, off the show?”
Cocking my head to the side, I look away from the TV and really question that.
Why couldn’t she? Why did she have to pick?
Couldn’t she have faked picking and then kept on dating whoever she wanted until she could make the right choice, if there was even a choice to be made?
When I do answer, my voice is wispy and lacking in conviction. “Probably societal expectations.”
Oakley makes an agreeing sort of noise before putting more popcorn into her mouth, then she hits me with the hard questions. “How are things with your daddies going?”
“I thought we were supposed to be relaxing and having a fun time? What’s with all the questions?” I joke, ignoring the very real sensation of the popcorn repopping in my stomach.
She points a finger at me while still holding a piece of popcorn.
“Nope, missy. You aren’t evading the question.
Xavier lives here. You get more gifts in a single day from Hudson than I do in a week, and I’m in the habit of gifting myself.
You spend endless hours posed for Darcy each week.
And if I don’t text Derek daily with an update about you, he blows up my phone until I tell him you are fine. ”
“You what?” I explode, sitting up so quickly my mask slips down my face.
Pinching it between two fingers, I tear it off my face and slop it directly onto the coffee table as heat flushes through my entire body, causing my heart to race erratically.
“What the fuck? You’ve been texting Derek about me? ”
Oakley has the fucking nerve to flap her hand at me. “That is not the point, but just so you don’t get your panties in a twist, here, see for yourself.”
She plucks her phone off the coffee table without dislodging her mask, unlocks it, taps a few times, then hands me her phone with her message thread open to the top of the messages with Derek.
My heart lodges itself in my throat. The messages start from the night Tray took me.
Me: This is Oakley.
Me: Have you found her yet?
Me: ????
Me: If I don’t get an update soon, I’m calling the police.
Ems Derek: We have her. Meet us at BayShore.
Me: Here. Where am I going?
Ems Derek: Emergency. We are in the waiting room.
Me: She woke up for a few seconds but has gone back to sleep.
Me: They mentioned something about a minor concussion, they are going to keep her overnight.
Me: If you guys want to go home, I’ll stay with her.
Ems Derek: We are going to take it in shifts. I’ll be in the waiting room if she needs me.
There are a few more messages from the hospital. Mostly Oakley giving basic information about wakefulness and letting them know I had been moved to a private room.
Then there is a break in the messages for a day, followed by what I can only describe as absolute ride-or-die behavior from Oaks.
Ems Derek: Good morning, Oakley. I would appreciate a daily update on how Emery is healing.
Me: What, like spy on her? No thanks. *thumbs down emoji*
Ems Derek: I would just like to monitor her well-being. I can’t help her if I don’t know what is happening with her.
Me: Pass. I’ve got it covered. Besides, Rambo moved in. He can be your spy.
Ems Derek: If you knew Xavier at all, you would know that getting information out of him is like getting blood from a stone.
Ems Derek: Oakley, please. We all care for her. Everything we’ve done has been to secure her future. I just want to support her however I can.
There is a seriously long break in the messages after that. Almost a full twenty-four hours.
Ems Derek: I’d appreciate a response.
I snort a laugh at the very Derek request.
Me: *thumbs up emoji*
Ems Derek: Is that a yes? You will send an update message each morning?
Me: *nodding emoji*
Ems Derek: Is that a nod?
Then…
Ems Derek: I’m assuming that is a nod. Thank you, Oakley.
I can actually visualize the exasperated look and sigh that Derek would have been featuring during this exchange. The amount of happy popping bubbles that fill my chest would normally alarm me, but the feeling is too amazing for me to be concerned about.
Me: I know you know about the traffic light system.
Me: *orange heart emoji*
Ems Derek: What exactly does that mean? I’m going to need more information to decipher this.
Me: *Shrug emoji* That’s all I’m giving you. Take it or leave it.
Me: The only reason I’m even giving you this much information is because you found her and saved her. Never doubt that I am Team Ems.
Me: If you hurt her again, I’ll be blocking your number and calling a number from the dark web my sister gave me.
As I scroll, the emojis change, but they are mostly all orange, a few red at the beginning, and more green toward the end.
A pumpkin, a pair of shorts, a kimono, a fox, and a few more.
Derek must have fucking hated that. The man loves open and clear communication, and he would find getting picture graphs infuriating.
Which is evident by his occasional prying questions, trying to get more information out of her.
And the few times when she hasn’t messaged by eight a.m., he has, indeed, blown up her phone in his polite but direct way.
By the time I make it to the bottom, my hand is covering my mouth, and I have the oddest sensation of anticipation and a little bit of fear rolling together in my stomach. Kind of reminds me of my visit to Derek’s office when it occurred to me that I may have pushed him too far.
I offer Oakley back her phone. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”
She sniffs, like I royally offended her. “You should be. But, anyway, back to my original question. How’s it going with your daddies? Have you forgiven them yet? Or are you still on the I want to stab them in the face train?”
Before I can answer, my phone lights up with a notification from SugarLife, and tingles run up and down my spine.
SugarLife
EyesOnYou has sent you a Private Live request.
As much as the request excites me, I want to stay here with Oakley and her annoying questions. Picking a stranger from the internet over her doesn’t seem right. And besides, we are going to be bosom buddies forever.
I quickly open the request and hit the decline button before sending them a message.
Me: Sorry, not tonight. I am hanging out with my roommate. Hope you have a great night!