Chapter Forty-One
Emily
Somehow, I’m not surprised to find my stalker ex-boyfriend sitting alone at the corner booth of the diner, waiting for me with a smug, skin-crawling grin on his face. If there’s something awful going on in my life, it can all probably be traced back to Jay.
“Emily, so glad you could make it. Come on, take a seat, the coffee’s great.” He gestures to the open spot across from him.
A few diners turn and look at me, their attention drawn in the relative quiet of the diner at mid-morning at that awkward time between breakfast and lunch. They glance at me for about a disinterested second, then all turn back to their phones or their newspapers.
As I walk to the booth, I swallow my fear and revulsion and slip my hand into my purse for a second to touch the gun inside. It’s a small thing, a revolver, a make and a model that I don’t know. Gary explained everything about it and was meticulous in showing me how to handle the thing safely, but, to me, a gun is a gun is a thing for shooting Jay if he tries to hurt me or anyone I care about ever again. I’m done with him.
Except, right now, I need him.
And that reason is the only thing that propels me forward and makes me sit down across from that repugnant excuse for a human being.
“Hi Jay.”
“You look well, Emily. How’s work?”
“Why do you have to do this? Why can’t you just get to the point about what you want from me and how you can help me make Officer Abram’s case disappear? You and I both know how I feel about you. There’s no reason to dance around it.”
“What I want is for you to answer my questions.” His voice is cold. Which isn’t a surprise. Jay’s voice was often cold, even when we were together. Cold, at least, until that moment when everything would seem to snap and he’d go volcanic-hot, and I’d have to do everything in my power to cool him down. “So do it.”
“Work is fine.”
“That all?”
“I’m sure you know how things are going. I’m sure you’ve been checking into me, following me, all that stuff that the restraining order says you’re not supposed to do.”
“As if it’s suddenly a crime in this country to care about someone. What’s wrong with you, Emily?”
I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to list all the things wrong with Jay, not me. Instead, I force myself to stay focused on why I'm here.
"Look, Jay. You said you could help with Officer Abram's case. How?"
He leans back, a self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I can help alright. I've got some... let's call them 'friends' in interesting places. They can make things disappear. Evidence, testimonies, even entire case files if necessary."
A chill runs down my spine. I knew Jay had connections, but this level of influence is terrifying.
“Are you serious?”
“Completely. My father’s golf buddies with the head DA and several judges, not to mention the fact that you know how close Burt and I are. All I’d have to do is tell him I think he should drop the case, and he’ll tell the DA to drop the charges, and then my dad’s buddies will make this whole thing go away for both you and Maggie as if nothing ever happened.”
"And what do you want in return?" I ask, dreading the answer.
Jay's eyes gleam with a predatory light. "It's simple, really. But first, why don’t we talk about you for another minute? Tell me how things are going with that paper of yours. It’s got to be close to done, right? Get that in, and all you have are a few more classes and test and then you’re a full-fledged pharmacist, right? Bet you’re already feeling pride that you’re getting so close. Bet that gets you excited, too. Does it?"
I feel the bile rising in my throat. My hand instinctively moves towards my purse again, seeking the cold comfort of the gun inside. But I force myself to remain calm, to keep my voice steady.
“I’m surprised you remember. Yes, I am close. And I am busy working on my paper, because it’s due in about a week. In fact, I’m also too busy to sit here and have you paw me with your eyes and try to make me throw up. Please, Jay, can you just get to the point?”
His face darkens, that familiar tension building in his jaw. But then that tense jaw reshapes itself into an unnatural smile; I’d rather he scream at me than force me to look at his tense-ugly face. "Then I guess I’ll hurry. I don’t want much from you, Emily. Instead, I’m more inclined to be generous, even though I know you’re seeing someone and trying your best to commit the greatest mistake of your life and move on from me, the man you really should be with, so I’m going to make this a very simple, inconsequential demand: I want you to have one drink with me.”
“What? No. You know I’m with Hunter. I’m not going behind his back and on a date with you.”
“Yes, I know you’re with Hunter.” There’s a quiver in his voice, anger barely constrained, that takes me back to darker times. After a sigh, he holds his hands up and puts a placating-disgusting smirk on his face. “It’s not a date. It doesn’t even have to be as friends, because I know you don’t feel so friendly to me. All I’m asking is that you sit down across from me, have one proper drink, and a brief conversation. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. You don’t need to stay long. However long it takes for you to finish your first drink, that’s it.”
“Even if I order a shot?” I say.
He snorts. “Not a shot. For everything that I’m doing for you, I think the least you can do is order a real drink. Something that takes over two seconds to finish. Unless you’d rather test your luck at trial? You know it would be a felony conviction, Emily, and that means you’d be facing jail time, and it would fuck up your life even more than when you le ft me.”
“One drink, two minutes, that’s it? And you’ll make this disappear?”
I hate that I’m even considering it. But I have to, even if the idea of doing anything even close to a date with Jay has me weighing whether I just might prefer going to jail instead of spending time with the emotional equivalent of a rampant parasitic infection.
“Yes. I swear. I’ll even write it out and sign something, if that’s what you want. Listen, we can even do this thing a few nights from now — lets say five nights out, two days before your paper is due, in order to give you time to prepare, because I know you’ll probably want to work yourself up emotionally to deal with all the regret you’re going to feel over having dumped me — and that way I’ll have time to make them drop the charges before your due date, so you can have a clear head while you’re finishing your research paper.”
It’s tempting, tempting beyond belief, which is something I never thought I’d say about anything involving Jay.
But it is.
I want these charges gone, both for my sake and for Maggie’s. Even though she’s doing her best not to show it, I know they’re eating her up, too. The thought of someone as experienced and dedicated as her facing jail time and that she may have to start over from nothing after losing her career just makes me sick.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Jay's offer is almost too good to be true, which means it probably is. There has to be a catch, some hidden agenda I'm not seeing.
"What's the real game here, Jay? You've never done anything without an ulterior motive."
He leans forward, his eyes locked on mine. "Maybe I've changed. Maybe I just want to make amends for the past."
I scoff. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."
"Look, Emily," he says, his voice taking on that persuasive tone I remember all too well from those times in our relationship where my resolution wavered and he’d convince me that he wasn’t the abusive monster that I knew him to be. "I know I've made mistakes. I know I hurt you. But this is my chance to do something good, to help you out of a tough spot. Is that so hard to believe?"
Yes, it is. But I don't say that out loud. Instead, I consider my options. One drink with Jay could solve all my problems. But it could also open up a whole new set of them.
"If I agree to this," I say slowly, "I want it in writing. A contract stating exactly what you're offering and what you expect in return.”
It may not be much, and I sure as heck doubt I could get anyone to enforce it, but at the very least, it could get Jay into a lot of trouble with his friends.
“Fine.” Jay reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper and then takes a pen from his shirt pocket. He hands both over to me. “Write whatever you want and I’ll sign it. We can even have the waitress sign as a witness, too. I don’t care.”
I write, he signs, the waitress signs — without even reading it, because I’m sure she doesn’t give a crap about us except for the fact that we’re occupying an entire booth and have only ordered one cup of coffee, which means she’s going to make almost nothing from us — and then I hesitate with my pen held over the spot where I’m supposed to sign.
This could be the answer to all my problems. This could free me from my worries and let me focus on my paper and then building a life with Hunter and Charlie.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
Yet since when does Jay do anything nice for me?
“One drink. That’s it,” I say.
“One drink. That’s it.”
I sign. It’s not as if I have much of a choice, anyway.
And as I sign, I see that familiar, blood-chilling smile come across Jay’s face.