10. Emma
EMMA
I promised myself if I got through today, I would treat myself to a little something special. Instead of logging in from home like I told myself I would do on Friday, I forced myself through driving to campus with the promise of an iced mocha with whipped cream as a reward.
I’m not sure it will be sweet enough to make up for what Preston did to me in the library earlier, unfortunately.
Not that it was anything too extreme. He was trying to scare me. We were in public; I could hear people murmuring a few rows over from where he had me pinned. He couldn’t have gotten away with more than that.
But then I had to go and lose my breath.
It got him off me, anyway. He’s too dense to give it any thought beyond the surface.
I’m sure he’s already forgotten all about it by the time I enter the cute, quirky café in town.
This is the first time I’ve had an excuse to stop in here, and right away, the aroma of coffee makes me smile happily as I wander past handfuls of small tables filled with people around my age, probably hanging out after their last class of the day.
It would be nice, the excuse to sit down with a friend and chat.
Maybe we could split a brownie the way a couple of girls are doing right now, picking at it while talking about projects they’re working on.
It’s been a long time since I felt like I had any friends—not since high school, really, before I lost Mom and Dad.
Back when life was something close to normal.
I was probably around thirteen, and I had no idea life wouldn’t get better than it was.
But then you never know when the last time you do something is really the last time you’ll ever do it.
I need to get my head out of this dark place it’s been in.
I know exactly who I have to thank for that, too, as I wait for my drink to be made.
There are so many tasty-looking treats in the display case, but my appetite is so weird these days.
I can be hungry up until the second a piece of food touches my lips, then I don’t want it anymore.
Even a big, sugar-flecked shortbread cookie isn’t enough to stir my interest. Mom’s favorite.
That was always our reward after a long day of running errands.
We would stop off for treats and share a cookie in the car on the way home.
Even if we bought cookies to take home with us, we would still have that one in the car.
Like a shared secret. Something for just the two of us.
“Emma?” The sound of my name being called out is like somebody hitting the gas on a time machine and rocketing me back into the present. My drink is ready. I wrap my hand around the cup, lifting it and taking a sip from the straw. My eyes close as creamy chocolate caffeine coats my tongue. Heaven.
Heaven that lasts as long as the few seconds it takes for a stranger to step up next to me and invade my personal space. “Oh. Hey. I know you,” he says, wearing a crooked grin.
I don’t know him… or do I? He kind of seems familiar, but then he has sort of a generic look to him, too.
Tall-ish, thin-ish, with a sort of angular face and a nose that looks like it was probably broken and poorly set.
There’s what looks like a fresh scar cutting through his left eyebrow, like he got it pretty recently.
And then it clicks. I can almost hear the sound in my head as I stare up at him. “Oh,” I whisper. It’s him. From the parking lot. What did Preston call him? Brody.
For one brief, very vivid moment, I see myself throwing my drink at him. I’ve never done anything like that before—not even close. I’m not that person. Maybe in my own head, it’s who I wish I could be sometimes, but I doubt I could ever really get up the courage.
Plus, let’s be honest. I paid six bucks for this. I would like to drink it.
Every part of my body goes stiff all at once while I stare at him, silent.
He’s an abuser. At least, that’s what Preston says.
Maybe I shouldn’t believe him. Okay, I definitely shouldn’t believe him, at least not without proof or something.
But exactly what kind of proof could I hope for in this situation?
I mean, short of finding the sister who was supposedly beaten up by him.
His face scrunches up like he’s confused while dark, beady eyes search my face. “You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He reaches out to touch my arm, but I pull away without thinking. His brows draw together—just for a second, just long enough for me to notice—before his forehead smooths out again. “You looked a little unsteady there,” he explains. “You had me worried.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” This is too bizarre.
I’m in a trance or something. I’m too overwhelmed.
That’s the problem, and now my heart is pounding hard enough to distract me, the sound echoing in my ears and blending with the chatter going on all around us.
Cheerful coffee shop chatter. Nothing unusual.
Nobody is aware of the little drama unfolding nearby.
“This is really lucky for me,” he says, almost whispering. “I was hoping I could find you somehow.”
“You wanted to find me? Why?”
And why am I even engaging with him? I don’t owe him anything.
“Well, after what happened… and you saw what happened,” he adds, “I’ve been thinking about pressing charges. I mean, you see this? Just one thing I had to pay to get fixed.” He touches a finger to the scar I noticed.
Isn’t it funny? If I never saw Preston today, and he never gave me his version of events, how would I react to Brody right now? Considering everything the twins have done to me so far, I would probably offer any help I could give. Whatever it takes, so long as the two of them get what’s coming.
This is different. I have doubts now. No, it’s still not cool for the two of them to beat him up like they did.
They should have taken him on one at a time. Because if he did hurt their sister, if she ended up in the ER because of him, I can understand why they would kick the crap out of him.
But the word if is the big word here, isn’t it? And I still have doubts.
And this is not the place to voice those doubts, but I might not get this chance again. “What you’re saying is, you want to know if I will be a witness for you? If you decide to press charges?”
“Yeah. That’s it.” He wears a funny expression, like he’s not sure if he should laugh. “Would you do that? You were there. You saw. I had no chance of defending myself.”
The intensity in his voice gives me an uncomfortable feeling inside.
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, either.
His eyes boring holes into me, his body blocking my view of most of the café.
He’s a pretty big guy—didn’t Preston point that out earlier?
And now he’s standing in front of me, and I know what he wants to hear. I’m just not sure I can say it.
It’s obvious he’s waiting to hear something, tensed, ready to spring.
Or is that just the way I’m seeing him, thanks to the way Preston described him?
“I’m going to have to think about it,” I whisper.
The ice is rattling in my cup. The twins have intimidated me before, but this guy? There’s something scary about him.
“Give me your number, anyway.” For the second time today, I’m backed into a corner. Why won’t somebody notice and help me? Then again, nobody’s paying attention. We could just be having a conversation, maybe flirting. “I can give it to my lawyer.”
“I…” I would rather swallow broken glass. There are a million red flags waving like crazy in my head, telling me not to give this guy any way of contacting me.
“What’s your problem?” he snaps. “What, am I the bad guy here? Two guys attack me, and I don’t deserve any help?”
“Hey! The fuck do you think you’re doing?”
It’s like magic. All it takes is the sound of that voice—loud, sharp, full of anger—to release whatever valve is inside me, holding the pressure back.
It releases all at once and almost makes me sink to the floor.
I have to grab hold of a nearby table to steady myself as Brody turns around to face both Easton and Preston, standing by the door.
Thank god. I never thought I’d ever be happy to see them, but this has been a weird day.
It doesn’t hit me until they’re halfway across the café that I shouldn’t be so relieved, because it’s not Brody they’re glaring at. It’s not Brody they’re marching toward. It’s me.
“The fuck are you doing with him?” Easton almost shouts. There are gasps and laughs all around us, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even notice them.
“After what I told you? What, did you meet him here?” Preston glares hatefully at me before turning to Brody, who jerks his chin defiantly. “What, have you been working together?”
“What would we be working together on?” I whisper. “Try to think critically for once.” Because dammit, they cannot just storm in here and make a scene. They can’t just embarrass me like this.
“I’ve had enough of your smart-ass shit,” Preston warns.
“Just leave her alone,” Brody grunts, trying to put himself between me and the two of them. Oh, great. What has my life become if this scumbag is defending me?
Easton’s teeth are bared in a snarl. “I will put you in the ground if you say one more word to me. The two of you will have to have your little meeting someplace else.”
“It wasn’t a meeting.” Why am I even bothering? They’re not paying attention. They’ve already made up their minds.
The way I made up my mind right away about them.
“Shut up,” Easton spits. The way he’s looking at me, you would think I was in the middle of screwing this guy right here in the café. Like I’ve done something filthy, deplorable, and even though I know that’s not true, my skin burns with shame, anyway. “I’ll deal with you in a second.”
Deal with me?