32. Bruised Blue Eyes
Bruised Blue Eyes
thirty-two
S t o n e
As Eli and my father continue their search for Emerson, Ace, Seven, and I sit around the fire on the beach, feeling utterly useless and defeated. We scoured the city for the last three days she's been missing, looking in abandoned buildings where we know she hangs out—her and Eli's house, Seven's tattoo shop, Damon's apartment, the bar, even the cemetery where her parents are buried—nothing. We've never felt more powerless. Since we have her phone, there's no way for us to track her anymore. She hasn't called or tried to reach out, which is unsettling to say the least.
This summer was supposed to be a chance for her to move past the trauma and grief she'd been carrying since her parents' murders. And although she was making immense progress, I feel like whatever has happened is just going to make her recovery even worse. But we're not giving up.
As we sit together, the flames casting a warm glow over us, I know that no matter what challenges we may face, we will always be there for each other, through thick and thin, good and bad—ride or fucking die.
The sound of the crashing waves against the shore feels like a soothing balm to our frazzled nerves. As the flames from the fire crackle and dance, I can't help but feel a surge of determination rising within me. We can't give up on Emerson, not now, not ever.
Just as I open my mouth to suggest another avenue of search, a distant, rumbling sound catches my ear. The three of us look at each other, curious and hopeful, turning our heads to look behind us with a view of the long driveway that loops around to the back of the house.
"Who the fuck is that?" Ace asks, his words soft and slurred from one too many shots.
"I think it's Emerson. That sounds just like her fucking bike," Seven points out, sounding and looking hopeful.
"It's... it can't be." I stumble over my words as they fly out of my mouth, standing up to get a better look at who's pulling down the driveway.
As a blue glow from headlights on a bike flicker in our eyes before the engine gets killed and everything goes dark, my heart pumps rapidly, praying that it is, in fact, Emerson.
I know the sound of her bike from any fucking place.
Seven, Ace, and I watch intently, following the dark figure's every move as they dismount their bike.
"Well, fuck. I'll be damned," I mutter, breathing a sigh of relief, still riddled with complete confusion.
It's Emerson, stumbling out from the shadows of the trees, disheveled and exhausted. Relief floods through me as we rush to her side, engulfing her in a tight embrace.
"Thank goodness you're okay," I whisper, my voice choking with emotion as I smooth out her wet hair, her body shaking terribly against mine.
Seven and Ace pull back, giving her a careful once over to see if she's okay, but the darkness surrounding us prevents them from being able to tell.
Emerson looks up at me with tear-stained eyes, nervously glances at the guys, and nods. "I'm so sorry," she manages to say, her voice hoarse and trembling.
"Where have you been?" Seven asks, choking back the tremble in his tone, trying to put on a brave facade that, regardless, we can see right through.
Emerson stares at the beach, taking in the crashing waves, relishing the sound as they connect with the shoreline.
"I don't want to talk about it right now," she says flatly. "I'm fine, though." A forced smile lets us all know that she's not fine, but we don't push the issue—yet, anyway.
"Have you talked to your brother?" Ace asks, unable to rip his eyes off of her, in fear that she'll disappear again.
She shakes her head, not removing her eyes from the water. "No, I don't have my phone."
"We have it, Blue Eyes. We found it when we were out looking for you," I admit softly, pulling it out of my pocket and handing it to her.
She snatches it out of my hand and pockets it, turning around with her back to us. "I'm going to take a shower, but I'll be down to join you." She walks off without uttering another word, leaving the three of us confused, shocked, and definitely feeling like we're fucking missing something—something big.
"That was fucking strange." Seven's eyes follow her all the way into the house, where the bathroom light upstairs flips on within seconds. "Call Eli."
I nodded in agreement, pulling out my phone and dialing Eli's number.
"She's back. She's here," I say, not bothering to hide the relief in my voice.
We hear a string of curses on the other end of the line before Eli responds, "I'm on my way back. Don't let her out of your fucking sight."
"We won't," I promise before ending the call.
As Seven and Ace look at me with relief and concern intermingled in their eyes, I know that the next few hours or days are going to be difficult. But we have to know where the fuck she's been and what the fuck happened.
As we walk away from the beach and back up to the house, the sound of the shower running from the bathroom, flowing out through the open window, fills the air, and I can't help but wonder what kind of hell Emerson went through these past few days. But for now, all that matters is that she's back and she's safe. And that's all we could have hoped for.
Seven crouches down as we reach the back driveway, pointing his phone's flashlight under Emerson's bike.
"What are you doing?" I crouch down, asking in a whisper in case she's curiously peeking out the window above us.
"Eli had me put a tracker on her bike when she first got it, so he always knew where she was," he says, feeling around near the back tire. "If it's still here, we'll be able to tell where the fuck she's been." His fingers dance in the dark around her bike until they find what they're looking for, and Seven pulls out a mini GPS tracker, showing it off with a winning grin on his face.
The three of us slip in the back door of the garage, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge before collapsing on the leather couch.
"Stone, go keep her some company. Make sure she doesn't come down here." I nod as Seven plugs the USB drive into his laptop, trying not to show my excitement at the thought of having her all to myself.
"Text me when you're done," I tell him, slipping into the house, a little too anxious to climb the stairs to her.
As I reached the top step, I noticed the bathroom door open and the light off. Looking down the hall as I walked softly and slowly, I noticed light peeking out from under her closed bedroom door, Sleep Token blasting from beyond it, so loud it reverberated through the walls and shook the upstairs.
Judging by her choice in music, I knew she was going through some shit, and deep down, I felt lucky to be the first one to try to comfort her.
But would she let me? Would she let me in, not only to her bedroom but to her heart and mind as well? There was only one way for me to find out, and I was fucking dreading it. More so, dreading the fact that she might push me out and away as far as she could. But fuck, it was Emerson, and I had to fucking try. She wasn't the type of girl you'd give up on, no matter fucking what. I never even thought about giving up on her, and shit, I wasn't going to start now.
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and knocked gently on her bedroom door. "Emerson, it's Stone," I called through the door, hoping she would hear me over the sound of the music. After a moment, the music was turned down and the door slowly opened, revealing her tear-stained, bruised face, my jaw falling to the floor.
"Stone," she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and exhaustion. "What are you doing here?" She casts her eyes downward, almost as if she were trying to hide her beautiful face from me.
But I could still see everything—the bruises, welts, and cuts, and I was beyond fucking pissed—not at her, of course, but at the motherfucker who did it to her. Deep down, I knew who it was, but I needed her to tell me herself, not make my own assumptions.
"I just wanted to check on you, Blue Eyes," I replied, trying to keep my tone gentle and reassuring. "I know things have been tough lately, and I want to be here for you."
Emerson hesitated for a moment before stepping aside and allowing me to enter her room, closing the door behind us to keep the rest of the world out. As I sat down on the edge of her bed, she collapsed into the chair at her desk, looking at me with a mixture of sadness, shame, and a slight hint of gratitude, definitely trying to put some distance between us, which I fucking hated. All I wanted to do was hold her and never let go, but I knew I couldn't push it. She'd have to come to me when she was ready, and I'd be patiently waiting for that very moment.
"I don't know if I can handle this," she suddenly admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as her swollen, bruised eyes danced around the room, looking everywhere but at me.
"You don't have to handle it alone," I said, reaching out to take her hand, gently tugging her up from the chair and over to me, where she sat nervously on my lap. "I'm here for you, Emerson. I care about you more than you fucking know."
For a moment, we sat in silence, the only sound being the faint hum of the music still playing from her speakers. Then, slowly, Emerson leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. And in that moment, I knew that no matter how difficult things got, I would always be there for her. Because she was worth it. She was worth fucking everything.
I really wanted to ask where she had been for the last three days, if she was okay, which I knew she wasn't, and if I needed to kill anyone for her. But I didn't. I didn't want to push her away just when I had gotten her to lower her guard a little.
I just held her close, feeling her shake with silent sobs. All I could do was be there for her, and that's exactly what I intended to do. So I stayed there, holding her, until her breathing evened out and she finally fell asleep in my arms. And as I lay there with her clinging to me as if I were her safety net, I knew that I would do anything to protect her, no matter what the cost. Not only because I wanted to, but because I fucking loved her, and I had for a long, long fucking time.