10
EMERSYN
My parents lived in an old council house that looked like every other house on the street: grey weatherboard, white window frames, and a tin roof. Admittedly, it had seen better days. It needed painting—badly. The roof needed to be replaced. The carpets were worn, and the wallpaper was fading and torn in places. Although it had three bedrooms, my parents primarily used the sitting room, the kitchen, and the master bedroom. The furniture was hardly new, but it was still covered in the same thick plastic as when it arrived from the store.
My mother came from money—old money that had long run out. And old money came with an old-fashioned sense of pride, a pride that would rather let her house fall to pieces than admit she couldn’t afford to fix it. My father had tried convincing her to downgrade and move to something smaller, maybe an apartment, but she wouldn’t even consider it. There would be nowhere for Charles to run, she insisted.
They only sat at the dining table for our Sunday dinners. Usually, they ate in front of the television with their meals balanced on their laps. The table was set for three people once a month, although it used to be set for four. Neither of them knew how to cook, and according to them, neither was about to start. So, placed on the fine china set my mother had inherited from her mother were meals in tubs covered in plastic, though my parents discussed them as if they were a five-course fine dining experience.
“The pumpkin is particularly sweet this year, don’t you think?” my mother said, peering at my father as he inspected the pureed orange substance I refused to believe was any sort of vegetable.
Charles, my mother’s teacup Chihuahua, sat on the floor with his own bowl of food. Whenever I looked at him, he growled. He was black and tan with bulging eyes and was the joy of my mother’s life.
“Hmm,” my father had already started eating. “Almost has a spiced taste to it, don’t you think?”
“Did you notice the new neighbors didn’t open their curtains until after ten this morning?” My mother had developed a strange fascination with the people who’d moved in across the road. I was almost grateful that they were taking some of the attention away from me.
“Can’t say I noticed that, no,” my father replied.
“I think they’re alcoholics.”
I snorted. “Sleeping in hardly implies they’re alcoholics.”
“No, but the number of bottles that tipped into their recycling bin the other day does.” My mother—I called her Collette—nodded as though that was damning evidence while spooning in another mouthful of the neon-orange substance. “How’s your writing going, dear?” She looked over at me and blinked, waiting for my reply. The dog started yapping. “Quiet, Charles!”
“Same as usual.” I had to shout to be heard over the dog.
My parents were some of the few people who made up the list who knew I ran my own site. It wasn’t a long list: Conrad, Tara, and my parents. I didn’t want them to know, but one Sunday it just slipped out. I knew they wouldn’t like it. That was part of the reason for telling them. The other reason was that there was a little piece of me deep inside that hoped they’d be proud.
They weren’t.
My parents wanted me to become a lawyer like my uncle, attend university, or show an interest in business management. They wanted me to be nothing like them. But to their dismay, I chose option D: none of the above. Instead, I worked at a burger joint until Conrad offered me the junior assistant position at the paper.
“And your little blog thing is going well?” Collette asked, lifting another mouthful of the so-called pumpkin to her mouth. She always did that—ate one thing at a time. I don’t know why it bugged me, but it did. Charles yapped again and growled at me. He had a terrible underbite, and his attempt at ferociousness came across as comical.
“It’s paying the bills,” I replied, lying and giving Charles the side-eye.
“That’s good. It’s nice you have something to keep you occupied now that you’re no longer with Conrad—well, until you two sort things out, anyway.” My mother refused to work after she and my father got married. She insisted he provide for her like her father provided for her mother. It worked for a while—until my father realized that she could spend money faster than he could make it.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. That’s right. Now that I’m no longer with Conrad, my life must be empty. My parents loved Conrad. They always had. And I suspected they always would. He was the favored child, even though he wasn’t technically their child. He gave them a glimmer of hope after my disappointing refusal to follow a career path they approved of.
“Did you hear your uncle just won another big case?” Collette said. She always liked to praise my uncle. Or rather, put down my father. Collette had dated my uncle Leonard—or Leo, as he preferred to be called—before my father had stolen her away. She never let my father forget she’d made the wrong decision.
“Oh yay,” I said dryly. “Another guilty man free to roam the streets.”
“Emersyn!” Collette scolded. “Don’t speak about your uncle’s accomplishments like that.” Charles yapped at the increased pitch of my mother’s voice. “Charles, be quiet.” The dog whimpered but continued to growl, albeit a little quieter.
Merrick chuckled, unfazed by Collette’s subtle attempts to disparage him. “Emmy’s not wrong in this case, my love.”
Collette stared at my father until the smirk faded from his face, then she cleared her throat and lifted her brows pointedly. There was obviously something they wished to discuss with me, and Merrick had drawn the short straw.
“Have you seen Conrad lately?” he asked.
“I saw him last night, actually.”
“You did?” There was such hope in my mother’s voice.
I nodded. “We happened to be at the same club. Poor guy was drunk as a skunk. He was with some woman. I don’t know if he’s seeing her or if she was just someone he was hanging out with.” It was all lies. Utter lies. But my parents thought the sun shone out of his ass.
“You sure that wasn’t you?” Collette raised her brows.
“Nope.” I popped a mouthful of food in and chewed it slowly. “I’m still into guys.” I cocked my head to the side as though thinking. “At least I think I still am.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Collette’s brows bunched together.
“I know, Collette.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“But it’s your name.”
“Not to you, it’s not. It’s Mother. Or Mum. Even Ma would do.”
“Sorry, no can do. You’re Collette to me. Always will be.”
She looked over at my father again, raising her brows in expectation, or maybe it was resignation. The dog barked.
Merrick—I called them both by their first names—cleared his throat. “Conrad misses you, you know.”
I smiled tightly. “I know.”
“When do you think you two will work things out?”
I let my fork fall, clattering on my plate, which caused Charles to start yapping even louder. “Never.”
“You must stop this stubbornness, Emmy. It doesn’t suit you. Charles, be quiet!”
“My stubbornness?” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the dog.
“Perhaps we should just let this drop for tonight?” my father suggested.
“Perhaps we should.” I glared at my mother, who rolled her eyes as if I was being overly dramatic. “We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for a long time, and we will never be getting back together. When will you two accept that?”
Collette lifted her brows as she moved the food on her plate, creating space between each pile. “Neither of you have moved on.”
“Is that what it would take for you to believe we’re over? For me to move on, date someone else?”
“It would be a start.”
“Fine.” I picked my fork back up and started playing with my food in a similar fashion to my mother. “If you must know, I’ve met someone.”
My father smiled.
My mother froze, her fork hovering partway to her mouth. “Who?”
“Gable Thornton.” Another lie. But I couldn’t help but find some satisfaction in the look on their faces.
“Hamish Thornton’s son?” Merrick asked, his face paling.
I nodded. “The one and only. Actually, that’s not true. The one of many.” I chuckled at my own joke.
Collette and Merrick exchanged another look. Collette picked up the dog and placed him on her lap. He started to lick her plate, and I had to hold back the urge to gag.
“You know how we feel about that family,” Merrick said, his voice almost quivering.
“Wait, didn’t you write something about them on your little blog? Aren’t you worried that will come back to bite you? I can’t imagine Hamish Thornton’s son being pleased with some of the gossip you’ve spread about them.”
“He doesn’t know. No one knows, remember? And besides, it’s not gossip if it’s true,” I added, mumbling.
“Rather dangerous game you’re playing, don’t you think?” Merrick warned.
I shrugged. “Not unless someone tells him.”
“Well, you must bring him over sometime. I’d love to meet him.” My mother glanced at me. “That is, of course, if you really are seeing him.”
“Are you saying I’m lying?” I looked my mother straight in the eye. Charles stopped licking the plate and growled.
It was my mother’s turn to shrug. “You have in the past.”
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. I declined the offer of dessert and drove home, the conversation with my parents replaying in my head. By the time I got home, my anger was barely contained.
Brittney was sitting in the lounge, arms folded and glaring at me when I walked in. “Nice of you to ask to use my car.”
I tossed the keys in her direction. Brady reached out and caught them before they hit her.
“Would it kill you to at least pretend you occasionally gave a shit about other people?” Brady said, exasperated.
“Feel free to move out if you don’t like it,” I shot back as I stormed past them and into my bedroom.
I had to return a few moments later to get a drink of water. I ignored the glares from the double Bs as I opened the fridge door and stared at the contents, my eyes landing on the spot where I kept a few bottles of lemonade. There were none left.
“Who drank all my lemonade?” I yelled.
“Sorry,” Brady held up a bottle in salute. “Did you want me to ask first?”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
“Bitch,” he spat back.
We glared at each other until we both broke into a grin. My flatmates and I had a love/hate sort of relationship. We were horrible to each other, but I think there was a part of us all that loved it.
“My guy will be able to get that footage to you later in the week. He wasn’t too impressed, but I explained to him that the entrance was a public place, so technically he wasn’t breaking any laws.”
“Thanks for lying for me.”
Brady winked and downed the rest of my lemonade. “Anytime. What do you need it for anyway?”
“Just a story this site wants to run. Don’t worry. It’s nothing controversial. None of it will come back to bite you in the ass.”
At that moment, Tara walked in and flopped onto the sofa beside Brady and Brittney. She adjusted herself, pulling her feet onto the sofa and tucking them beneath her. “What are we watching?”
I crooked my finger at her. “I need to talk to you.”
“Oh,” she sang. “Am I in trouble?”
“Always.”
“Sounds fun!” She uncurled herself from the sofa and followed me into my room.
“I need you to remember what they were arguing about,” I said as soon as the door closed.
“Who?”
“Jake and the guy at the motel.”
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re still going on about that, huh?”
“There’s a story there. I just know it.”
She sat on the edge of my bed, her fingers running over the threads of my marshmallow bedding. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“No, you haven’t.” I folded my arms.
Tara sighed. “Fine. I did remember something else. In addition to arguing about the money, they were arguing about someone’s father.”
“Whose father?”
“I don’t know. It’s all a little fuzzy now. I don’t remember the exact words. All I remember is they were arguing about the money and someone mentioned a father. That’s it, I swear. Besides, I thought you’d drop this now that you’ve met the cute blond brother.” She waggled her eyebrows.
Frustration surfaced. “I told you nothing happened.”
Tara sighed again as she got to her feet. “Fine, be that way then.” And she walked out.
I climbed the ladder to the roof, smoked half a joint, came back down, turned on some music—loudly—stripped off my clothing, showered, put on some underwear and a shirt, and hopped into bed. Opening my laptop, I stared at the document that was supposed to contain all the information for Jake’s story. So far, I had diddly-squat. Sweet fuck all. Nothing but conjecture and assumptions.
I stalked Gabe’s social media profile instead. Again. He’d uploaded a new picture—one of a bassinet in a nursery with him and Jake standing on either side of it. Gabe was grinning and giving the thumbs up. His hair was pulled into a ponytail at the top of his head, and the blond strands sprayed out like a fountain. Jake was scowling at him. Amelia was in the corner, laughing, her hands once again protectively shielding her belly. Molly must have taken the photo. I don’t know why that annoyed me.
The door to my room opened. “What?” I snapped without turning around.
“So you are stalking me,” a deep voice said with a chuckle.
I whipped around to find Gabe grinning in almost the exact same way as he was in the picture. I snapped the laptop shut as he flopped onto the bed.
“I don’t blame you. I am irresistible.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, slightly flustered and fumbling with the buttons of my shirt.
“Can’t I come visit a friend?” He lifted a brow as a smirk played around the corners of his mouth. His eyes darted to the exposed flesh between the gaps in my shirt and then traveled down the length of my bare legs. I forced the flush on my cheeks to retreat. It would be easy to get caught up in the allure of him and forget the truth.
I shifted the laptop onto the floor. “A little warning would be nice.”
“I don’t have your number. Well, actually I do. It’s with your details at the gym, but I thought that might be a little creepy if I went and got it. But now…” He smirked again, his eyes falling to the laptop.
“I was curious. Sue me. And you don’t think turning up unannounced is creepy?”
Gabe flopped onto the bed beside me, jostling the laptop, and turned onto his back, one ankle hooked over his raised knee, hands behind his head. His hair was still tied up like it was in the picture. Part of me wanted to touch it.
“You know,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking, and I want to change my mind.”
“About what?”
“About us not sleeping together.”
I snorted at the audacity of him. “Is that right?”
Gabe shifted his gaze to me and grinned. “Yup. I think we should just do it and get it over with. Scratch the itch, so to speak.”
“There is no itch,” I replied.
Gabe sat up. “I think there is.”
“Well, not for me at least. I can’t help it if you can’t resist me, though. My appeal is a curse,” I teased, flicking my hair over my shoulder exaggeratedly.
Gabe’s bottom lip sagged. “It’s the nose. I don’t think I’m strong enough.”
“Well,” I patted his leg, “it’s a good thing I can be strong enough for the both of us.” I scrunched up my nose and grinned at him. “By the way, I told my parents we were dating.”
He looked at me sideways, schooling his expression into confusion. “And why would you do that?”
“Because I wanted to shut them up. They keep going on about Conrad and when we’re going to get back together. So…” I lifted my shoulder. “It just sort of came out. Sorry.”
“So you’re just using me to make your life easier?”
“Pretty much,” I grinned.
“Fair enough. I have no problem being used by you, especially if…” Gabe left the words unspoken, and I rolled my eyes again. “So let me get this straight: we’re dating but not sleeping together?”
I nodded. “I’m old-fashioned like that.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure I’m in favor of this arrangement,” he teased. But the way he looked at me was anything but playful. There was a darkness in his eyes, a hunger that flickered across them, causing something to shift within me. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like if I leaned closer, if I ran my tongue over the fullness of his lips. If I... I shook my head, clearing away the unwanted thoughts.
“Take me for a drive,” I suggested, feeling like my resolve would melt if he kept looking at me the way he was.
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
My eyes slid down to my laptop. I should be working. I hadn’t published anything in days. My traffic was falling off. Soon my advertisers would start to complain. But it was as if my brain had decided to take a holiday. No stories appealed to me. None except Jake’s. And the thought of spending time with Gabe was more enticing. I could justify it as research.
“Just don’t take me to some dark, lonely spot and murder me, okay?”
Gabe shook his head. “I would never murder my girlfriend. Not this time, anyway,” he teased. “Hurry up and put some pants on.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or don’t. It’s fine either way.” Again, his eyes scanned my legs. I playfully whacked him as I pulled on some sweatpants. I had to act flippant and casual. If I didn’t, I was afraid I might fall for his charade.