22. Emory
22
EMORY
The thing about trauma is that it never really goes away. Not entirely, anyway. I see it all the time at the hospital. Veterans with PTSD who get triggered by a car backfiring or thunder clapping. Abuse victims who flinch when you touch them. Children who lose chunks of memories because their little brains can’t comprehend what happened to them. It’s heartbreaking. Every time I see it, it kills me a little bit inside. I usually end up crying in the break room afterward. I cry for their trauma, and I cry for mine.
When Luke called me princess, a wound somewhere deep inside the recesses of my heart reopened. Maybe it was because I saw Jaxon after all this time. Or maybe it was because it was during an intimate moment. Either way, I went completely numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t breathe. The walls closed in on me.
It’s been a week. One week since I had a panic attack, mid-sex. God, who does that? And then after…I had such an intense need for him, so much that I didn’t realize we weren’t using a condom until it was too late. I’m such a fool. I just needed to be in control for once in my life. I needed to feel like I was the one responsible for someone else’s pleasure. Holding it in the palm of my hand. Releasing it when I felt it was the right time.
But before all that, everything had been perfect. I thought Luke would laugh in my face when I said I needed a vibrator to get myself off. Jaxon hated that I had one. When he found it in my dorm once, he teased me relentlessly. Then, he made me feel guilty for having it. As if it reflected badly on our sex life or something. He threw it out and told me never to buy another one. I thought most guys felt the same about sex toys. But Luke… he wasn’t threatened. He didn’t shame me or tease me. He wanted to watch me make myself feel good.
A pang of guilt gnaws at my insides. I got the morning-after pill the next day and texted Luke to let him know. He responded immediately and has been texting and calling ever since, but I haven’t answered. Because Jaxon is right—I am weak. I am a coward. I can’t even face the man who held me and rocked me and let me use his body to feel better. The truth is, Luke is too good for me. I’ll never be what he needs. He deserves so much better.
I pull up our text thread, checking the last of his many unanswered texts.
Luke: Please, Emory. You can hate me. Just talk to me.
That one hurts the most. He thinks I hate him, but I’m trying to save him from the disaster that follows me like a storm cloud. Still, I owe it to him to keep him in the loop. I almost cried tears of joy when I looked down while peeing a few days ago and saw red smudges on my underwear. Relief flooded through my entire body as I stared at it, hoping I wasn’t hallucinating.
Even though I took Plan B, I was convinced I still could have gotten pregnant. The rational nurse part of my brain knew that was an extremely low risk, but the scared little girl in me let the fear creep in. Luke deserves to have the same sense of relief. Ignoring his last text, I type out one of my own.
Just wanted to let you know that I got my period. We’re in the clear.
Immediately, the three little dots appear, indicating that he’s typing. They disappear and reappear a few times before a text comes through.
Luke: Thanks for letting me know but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.
If not that, then what does he want to talk about?
My mid-sex freakout, most likely.
No, thank you.
Even if I did want to talk to him, I need to stay away until I get this situation with Jaxon figured out.
I had fully planned on ignoring Jaxon’s threats. I was going to go about my life and pretend he never reappeared like an old nightmare. If my dad wants to take him on as a client, that’s his business. But he made all those threats about Luke. Still, I thought he was bluffing. After all, that’s what he does best. He lies, cheats, steals, and bullshits his way through life. I wish I could ignore it, but I’ve been a nervous wreck since my run-in with him. Anxiety still gnaws at my gut. I’ve been skipping meals and barely sleeping. I only feel safe tucked away in Luke’s arms, and I snatched that away from myself.
Then yesterday, I got a text from Jaxon after I unblocked him. I’m not sure why I did it. I guess I didn’t want to give him any reason to up the stakes. Exiting my thread with Luke, I look at the text from Jaxon again.
Jaxon: Have you given any thought to my question, Princess? If you think I’m bluffing, I can assure you I’m not.
Did he ask me a question? It definitely sounded more like a threat at my dad’s house. I didn’t answer when I first saw it, but marked it as read so he would know I unblocked him. I want him to know that I’m not going to hide in the shadows. I’m going to face this head-on, even though I’m scared shitless.
Of course, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing with Luke—hiding. And, to make matters worse, I can't just hide in my bed all night with the covers over my head like I’ve been doing for the past six nights. It’s Nate’s birthday and we’re celebrating at his favorite beer bar in Rocky Falls. I have to go. Nate would know something was up if I didn’t. I could try to come up with an excuse, but he would see right through it like he always does. He doesn’t even drink beer. He just likes it for the pizza, which is terrible. But whatever, it’s his birthday.
My only saving grace is that, while I know Luke will be there, he won’t be able to approach me. Not anything more than a “hi” anyway. Otherwise, Nate would be suspicious, and I know Luke wouldn’t want that.
At least Allie will be by my side. I haven’t told her about anything. She knows I was seeing Luke, but I didn’t tell her about the freak-out or my run-in with Jaxon. I guess I can’t blame her for not being super forthcoming with her own drama lately. It’s not like I’m any better.
Speaking of the devil, Allie comes into my room and starts rummaging through my closet.
“I don’t know what to wear,” she whines.
“It’s beer and shitty pizza. Nothing crazy.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have,” she recites with her usual attitude.
I chuckle at the absurdity that is my best friend. “I don’t think that applies here.”
“Oh, it absolutely does. If I want a crazy night, I’m going to dress crazy. Otherwise, the night will only consist of beer and shitty pizza.”
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep and proper nutrition, but that makes sense. “Okay, you got me. Dress crazy.”
She gives me a self-satisfied look. “What are you wearing?” she asks as she abandons my closet and looks herself over in my floor-length mirror.
“Something that makes me look like I’m going out for beer and shitty pizza,” I sass.
“Ughh. You are the worst,” she huffs before opening my door to stomp down the hallway.
True to my word, I pull on a plain jean skirt and a T-shirt. Then I part my still damp hair into two sections and thread each section into a French braid. I put on some mascara and swipe some clear gloss on my lips, ready to go get this night over with.
An hour later, Allie and I step into the bar, the scent of hops and the hum of conversation immediately taking over my senses. I hear the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter coming from various groups of people huddled at tall tables or sitting at the bar. There’s classic rock pouring through the speakers, which I assume is my brother’s doing. He’s a sucker for that shit.
I see Nate standing at one of the far corners, talking to a bunch of guys I recognize from high school. Former teammates. One of them turns around as I approach. Matt, I think his name is?
“Hey yo! It’s Little Wells,” he calls and reaches his arm out to put around me. I take a step back, so he misses, and I pat his shoulder instead. The name feels so wrong coming from anyone other than Luke.
Nate glares while I slap a fake smile on my face.
“Hi,” I say. “Long time no see, Matt, right?”
“Mason,” he corrects me.
“Oh yeah, Mason. Nice to see you again. It’s been like, what? Eight years?”
“We saw each other at Thanksgiving,” he says, appearing slightly dejected. “We had an entire meal together. I sat across from you.”
Allie snorts, and Nate’s glare turns into a smirk as he shakes his head.
“Oh my God. Yes, of course I remember,” I lie. “You just look different. Did you cut your hair? Anyway, I’m glad you could make it tonight.”
He looks confused for a moment, but then shrugs his shoulders, grabs his beer, and takes a couple of swigs. He seems much happier after that. If only that were all it took for me to be happy.
Beer and shitty pizza.
I turn my attention to Nate. “Happy birthday, big bro,” I say as I give him a side hug.
“Thanks, little sis. Sorry I’ve been so busy lately. Dad’s been riding my ass about these new accounts. You staying out of trouble?”
“Always,” I smirk. “And is there a better way you could have phrased that?”
He pulls one of my pigtails, and I squeal and elbow him in the ribs.
“Hey, hey, you’re not supposed to injure the birthday boy,” he says as he scoots me away from him.
I roll my eyes.
“What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?” Allie interrupts. “I may be willing to do it. I just want to know what I’m signing up for.”
“No need to do anything,” Nate says, his expression displaying mild disturbance at Allie’s proposition. “What do you want?”
“Hmmm…Anejo margarita on the rocks. No salt.”
“It’s a beer bar, Al,” Nate reminds her.
“Ughh, fine. Get me something that’s not too bitter. Or malty…or hoppy.”
Nate shakes his head. “You just described every quality of beer. Come on. We’ll find you something,” he puts his hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the bar. “You want anything, Em?” he calls back.
“Club soda with lime, please. I’m driving.”
Nate nods his head and moves Allie forward.
I used to wonder if Nate might have a thing for Allie. They became close through me, and I thought at one point that a deeper connection than friendship existed, but they’re too alike. It would never work. Nate thinks of her as another little sister anyway, and since Allie is an only child, she likes having a brother figure. Plus, my brother doesn’t date. Not since his secret relationship in college that he still refuses to talk about.
Suddenly, warm hands snake around my head, covering my eyes and stealing my sight. “Guess who?” a low masculine voice whispers in my ear, his chest rubbing against my back.
Shit.
Jaxon? No, his hands are never warm. Historically, anyway. I used to gasp when he touched me because his hands were always ice-cold. He hated that I had that reaction to him. Just one more thing we fought about.
Luke? Would he be so bold as to touch me in the middle of the bar with my brother standing less than ten feet away?
“Come on, partner in crime. I’m offended that you don’t recognize my voice.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Ashton. Thank God.
“Maybe you’re just really good at disguising it,” I tease. “Didn’t know you were into the blindfolding thing. I’ll have to let Allie know.”
His chest shakes with laughter, and he spins me around, enveloping me in a warm hug. Ashton gives the best hugs. I can’t believe there was a time when I recoiled at his touch. He’s become a good friend since that first date. We’ve only hung out a few times, but we text a lot. We have a lot in common. At least when it comes to our meddling parents.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as he releases me.
“Nate and I have been working together a lot since we signed on with Caldwell Security. He asked me to come tonight.”
“Well, I’m happy to see a familiar face.”
“Same,” he agrees as he looks around the crowded room. “So…is that roommate of yours around?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “She’s around.”
“I see. Well, I’m gonna go do a lap then.” He goes to turn towards the bar, but I hold onto his arm, pulling him back.
“Ash. Be careful. Her bite is worse than her bark.”
Ashton’s eyes darken and gone is his carefree attitude. “I hope so,” is all he says before he makes his way to the bar.
I shake my head and laugh as I see Ashton corner Allie when she turns to head back my way. Nate doesn’t seem to notice and continues walking toward me. He hands me my drink and looks back over his shoulder.
“What? I swear she was just behind me. That girl needs a fucking bell.”
“You’re telling me,” I agree as I take a sip of my club soda and the crisp liquid slides down my throat. There’s the lime I asked for but also a hint of…I look at the side of the glass…mint. Spice and mint. I shake the thought from my head and make small talk with Nate. He tells me how our father is annoying the ever-loving shit out of him, and I almost divulge that he’s been trying to set me up for the last few months, but I catch myself. Then Nate gets dragged away by some friends and I’m left alone again.
I decide it’s a great time to go hide out in the bathroom, so I head toward the hallway where I assume the restrooms are. I’ll hide for a few minutes, then I’ll check to make sure Allie hasn’t decapitated Ashton. I enter the hallway, but there are no restrooms. Just a bunch of metal kegs stacked up in the corner and a rack with bar supplies. I start to turn around, but I hear footsteps, and someone calls out to me.
“Little Wells,” the person slurs. Luke. Is he drunk? I haven’t seen him all night. Did he drink before he came here? But when I round the corner, it’s not Luke. Mason, the guy I forgot from Thanksgiving, is standing at the end of the hallway. His eyes are bloodshot and glossy, and a faint flush spreads across his cheeks. He takes a step toward me, his feet unsteady, the scent of alcohol wafting across the small space with his movement.
Something feels off. I didn’t give him a second thought earlier. He’s one of Nate’s goofy buddies. But now I feel threatened. He advances again, and my fight-or-flight instinct takes over.
But there’s nowhere to go. He’s blocking the only exit.
“Hey, babe,” he slurs again. “You sure grew up, huh? You were always pretty hot back in high school, but now you’re a fuckin’ smokeshow. I noticed it at Thanksgiving, but I was too chicken shit to do anything about it.”
Think, Emory. De-escalate the situation. What would I do at work? I often have to deal with patients who are drunk, high, or combative. Sometimes all three. Speak in a calm and even tone. Keep things casual. Don’t provoke. Ask questions to distract.
“Hi, Mason. I was looking for the restroom. Do you know where it is?” I say softly, mustering up a calmness I don’t feel.
He shakes his head, taking another step forward, and I can see the lust in his eyes.
Okay, fuck calm. Scream. Just scream. Everyone will hear.
He stumbles towards me, and I’m about to act when I hear another set of footsteps behind Mason. “Hey, buddy, you lost?” I hear someone ask in a friendly but firm tone.
Ashton.
I let out a breath.
“Nah. Just talking to Little Wells over here,” he says as if we are having a consensual interaction. Ashton’s eyes meet mine, and I give him a pleading look.
“Doesn’t look like she’s up for talking right now, man. And you look a little green. Maybe take a break and grab some water.”
He turns his head to Ashton and then swallows a couple of times. I know that look. I see it all the time at work. He rushes out of the hallway, stumbling on his own feet while turning sharply around the corner.
Ashton chuckles. “What an idiot. He fell for the oldest trick in the book. You tell a drunk person he looks like he’s going to throw up, and nine times out of ten, he does.”
Not thinking, I walk over to him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Thank you,” I nearly sob.
“Hey, hey. He scared you, huh?”
I nod my head, my nose rubbing up and down his chest. Then I move my head back, my arms still holding tight, and look up at him. My eyes are glassy, but I refuse to let the tears fall right now. Ashton rubs my back, speaking soothing words into my ear.
“It’s okay, Em. He’s not going to hurt you.”
Ashton continues holding me, caressing me, telling me it’s going to be okay. My breath starts to even out, and the noxious pit in my stomach grows smaller. I’m about to let go and tell him we should go back to the party when I hear a low growl. I peek up and over Ashton.
“What the fuck?” A masculine voice pierces the air. It’s not Nate. Or Mason. I glance up to see Luke standing at the hallway's entrance. His eyes, dark and narrowed, are like two storm clouds. Tension etches his face, and a purple vein pulses in his neck, straining against his skin like a warning siren.
He’s not angry. He’s seething.