18. Preston
PRESTON
I can’t believe this fucker.
He doesn’t even text me to tell me that he’s found her. Then I find him with his tongue down her throat, ready to hump her.
Emma looks flustered when she starts to stuff her papers and books into her backpack.
“Where do you think you are going?” Easton asks.
“I don’t know about you, but I have class to go to,” she quips as she gets up from the chair.
“Wait,” I order. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?” she asks defensively, clutching her bag.
I almost roll my eyes at her. “Why does everything have to be a fight with you? I just want to save my number into your phone.”
“What for?”
“So you can call us when you need us,” I offer.
“I won’t need you,” she promises, glancing toward the exit like she is ready to make a run for it.
I grab her bag and pull it from her grip with ease.
She sighs and stops fighting me. I unzip her bag and find her phone.
Holding it in front of her face, I unlock the screen quickly.
I type in my number and save it under “booty call” before I call myself.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I hang up, satisfied that I have her number now.
“There, was that so hard?” I hand Emma back her phone like the gentleman I am.
She snatches it from my grasp and stuffs it back in her backpack. “Can I go now?”
“Sure,” Easton and I say at the same time.
She scurries away, leaving me and my brother standing in the library.
“I don’t feel like going to class,” I announce.
“Me either. Let’s go back home and get drunk before we have to go volunteer,” Easton suggests, and I can’t agree fast enough.
We make our way back home to a now empty house. Easton goes straight to Dad’s liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of whiskey while I get some glasses from the kitchen. We meet in the living room, where we flop down on the couch before I pour us a glass each.
The first sip goes down smooth. I welcome the slight burn as the liquor settles on my empty stomach.
“I wish we had some weed right now,” Easton whines.
“We’ll get some from Briggs later. This will do for now.” I raise my glass to bring it to my lips once more. After I take a big gulp, I set the tumbler on the coffee table. “She regrets yesterday.”
“Yes, she basically told me earlier.” Easton fills me in on the rest of their conversation in the library. “She is just in her head. She liked what we did to her. She came multiple times.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, while memories from last night come rushing back.
“I want to fuck her again,” he admits with a smirk.
“Me too, but first we have to figure out this Brody thing. Now that we have Emma’s number, we could text her. Explain that Brody hurt Sarah again.” I grab my phone and pull her up from the missed calls.
“Good idea,” Easton agrees before downing the rest of his drink. “Refill?”
I nod, taking my glass, I empty it. My brother unscrews the bottle and refills our tumblers. “I’ll type something up before I get too drunk.”
A few minutes later, I have something written down I’m happy with.
Hey, pearls, first of all, last night was not about getting on your good side or whatever your mind has come up with, and what happened between us wasn’t a mistake.
Second, Brody hurt my sister again, and he’s not going to stop hurting people unless we do something about it. Can you please get on our side on this?
I let Easton read and approve it before I hit send. I stare at the word ‘delivered’ wanting it to switch to ‘read’ but no matter how hard I glare at it, it just won’t do it.
“She is in class right now. She’ll read it later,” Easton points out.
Annoyed with having to wait. I throw my phone onto the couch next to me and pick up my drink again.
We spend the next two hours drinking, bullshitting about classes, and recalling wild parties we had at Carter’s house. We avoid talking about Emma, though she is never far from my mind. I check my phone constantly, but she still hasn’t read my message, and I know she is out of class now.
At first, I’m just annoyed, but the more I drink, the more that feeling turns to anger. How dare she fucking ignore me? Especially after last night.
When I check my phone for the hundredth time and the message is finally marked as ‘read’, I sit up a little straighter. “She read the message,” I announce, waiting for the three dots to pop up, signaling her response. Only it never comes.
I stare at my phone for a few minutes, with Easton doing the same. Nothing. She is not writing back . My anger reaches new heights.
“Dude, we have to go to the hospital,” Easton groans.
“Fuck, I can’t drive.” I wipe my hand over my face.
“Neither can I. We’ll have to get an Uber,” my brother slurs a bit.
“At least our shift isn’t going to be boring,” I say with a smile. “Drunk volunteering sounds like a good time, actually.” I get up on my feet, immediately realizing how unsteady I am. Shit, this might be harder than I thought.
We clean up our glasses and put the bottle of booze back in the cabinet before calling an Uber and heading outside. It feels like forever until the car pulls up and takes us to the hospital.
“You can just drop us off at the… stop!” I call when I spot Emma’s car parked a few rows down. The car comes to a sudden halt. The seatbelt digs into my chest. “We’ll get out here,” I say as I open the door.
Easton follows me without a word. We get out of the car and walk to Emma’s rust bucket while I wonder who she is seeing here yet again. She told us it wasn’t a boyfriend, but I’m starting to wonder if she was telling the truth. Why else would she be so secretive about coming here?
Maybe it’s because I’m drunk, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And the more I convince myself that I’m right, the angrier I get. On top of that, I have to deal with a pretty new emotion. Jealousy .
“Let’s have her car towed,” Easton suggests out of the blue.
I look over at him, and his eyes are glassy and mischievous, but I know he is dead serious. I don’t have to think about it for long. “Let’s do it.”
The first tow company we call won’t do it, but the second guy is willing to do it for $500. I give him my card number over the phone and twenty minutes later, he pulls up to tow Emma’s car.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, watching with satisfaction as the guy hooks the piece of junk to his back and takes off. I almost wish Emma would come out and witness it, too. I imagine her running after it, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“We’re almost late now,” Easton mumbles as he checks his phone.
“It was worth it.”
We speed walk into the hospital, snickering about how she is going to come out and search for her car. I wish I could see her face when she realizes it’s gone. I bet it’s priceless.
By the time we are at the desk to check in, I’m out of breath and a little dizzy. “You boys look like shit,” one of the younger nurses points out. “You better not be sick.”
“Not sick,” I promise. “Ready to get to work.” I fake enthusiasm.
“Good, I have you on the schedule to go to the oncology department today. They want volunteers to see if the patients want or need anything. Sometimes they just want you to sit with them and talk while they are getting their chemo.”
Oh, well, I have to sit with some old lady with cancer and hear about her fourteen grandkids and three cats. Beats bedpans every day.
Glad that we have an easy job today and still giddy about having Emma’s car towed, I actually have some pep in my step as we make our way to the oncology department.
With the alcohol still running through my system, and the satisfaction of messing with Emma, a smile plays on my lips.
I push open the door leading into the treatment area and step into the bright open space.
Immediately, I scan the area for a nice old lady to sit with. Or maybe an old veteran who can tell me some cool war stories. Only I find neither when I look around the space. What I do find has me stopping dead in my tracks.
My feet become cemented to the ground and, for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. I have never sobered up so fucking fast in my life. My mind is suddenly crystal clear, but my body is frozen in time.
Right there in the center of the room is Emma, sitting in one of the treatment chairs while she is hooked up to some IVs. She is reclined back, her eyes are closed, and her head is lulled to the side. She looks like she is sleeping.
I don’t know how long we stand there in silence, staring at pearls like we can’t believe she is here. It takes my mind another moment to process everything. She is here. She is getting chemo. Emma is sick… like really sick.
“How did we not think of this before?” Easton whispers next to me, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know.” We should have put it together sooner, but we didn’t. Even with me looking right at it, the thought of her having cancer is so unbelievable, so far-fetched. Emma doesn’t act like she is sick, and she has done everything in her power to hide it. Why ?
There is a heavy weight on my chest as I take a step toward Emma’s chair. Careful not to wake her, I take the seat next to her, while Easton sits down on the other side. I have the urge to take her hand, but instead, I just look at her beautiful face.
She looks so peaceful right now, which is going to change when she realizes her car is gone. Fuck me . We’re the biggest fucking assholes in the universe. Guilt crushes me, my stomach churns, and I want to punch myself in the face. Not just for the car, for everything.
A few minutes pass, and we just sit there like the idiots we are. I’ve never felt so small in my life. This whole time we have been giving her shit while she has to deal with this, whatever this is.
I can’t stop looking at her, suddenly realizing how fragile she is. Worry overcomes me, and something I don’t understand settles in my chest.
Before I can figure out what exactly it is, Emma’s eyes flutter open, and she looks around in confusion. Her sleepy gaze lands on me and my brother and shock paints her face. I already know she is about to give us some bullshit excuse, still trying to lie to us, but that shit is over.
From now on, I want the truth, even if it’s the last thing I get.