65. Chapter 63
Derek
I raise the remote and turn off the apartment’s TV as the commentators finish dissecting the college hockey games this weekend. Newton played last night and brought home a win, four-to-one.
The freshmen on the team got a substantial portion of ice time in the second and third, which was interesting to watch. Morello and Alderidge worked well together, as much as it pains me to admit.
William Alderidge might be a thorn in my side when it comes to Emery, but he is excellent on the ice.
He and Morello just need to find the person to complete their line, and they will move up shifts faster than the seniors know how to deal with.
Luckily for them, Coach Ratcliffe doesn’t care about seniority; his primary concern is the Frozen Four and bringing home the trophy.
With a sigh, I heave myself up off the couch and start turning off the lights in the apartment, an emptiness inside of me from going two nights without watching Emery. I’d even take a public live at this point.
This is not the first weekend I have been at the apartment since Obsession, but it is my first night here alone. In fact, I’ve been here every weekend since then, hoping that Emery will make her way back here, like she did every week prior.
The level of irritation and frustration that I felt at having missed her last night by fifteen minutes is indescribable. My entire being flushed hot knowing that we’d had a Sliding Doors moment.
She showed up at the apartment.
She took a step in our direction.
I’ve watched the footage from the camera above the fridge a dozen times, and I am still unsure whether not being able to find her things is why she left upset.
Something tells me there is an important piece of the puzzle missing, but without being able to have a conversation with her, I’m unsure on how to get the information I need.
Before I hit the last light switch, I pat my pockets to make sure my phone is where I left it, then flick the switch, plunging the main area of the apartment into darkness. I’m not even halfway to the bedroom when my phone rings.
Who is calling me after ten on a Saturday?
My feet feel uneven beneath me and my heart lodges itself in my throat as I see the caller ID.
Emery.
In my quest to answer the call as quickly as possible, I almost send her to voicemail, but I manage to get myself under control. I force my thumb to smooth over the screen and answer the call, clearing my throat before I speak.
“Emery, is everything okay?”
At first, all I can hear is loud background noise, and it only takes me a second to realize it’s music and a lot of people talking. Frowning, I pull the phone away from my ear and make sure I am actually on a call and haven’t accidentally opened a video or something.
My screen definitely shows I’m on a call.
“Emery?”
“You’re a massive jerk, you know that, right?” Her voice fills my ear, a tiredness to it dulling her indignation.
I know I shouldn’t, but I smile. Hearing her voice settles something inside me. “I do.”
There is a high-pitched female screech in the background as I wait her out. With only the light from the bedroom, I find my way to the back of the couch and lean against it, cross my ankles, and grip the edge with my free hand, staring unseeingly at all of our dungeon furniture.
“I hate you.”
A pang stabs through my heart. “I know.”
“You are an asshole.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” As her words come out faster, they blend together, almost like…
“Have you been drinking, baby?” I try to keep my question gentle and non-accusatory, and whether or not I achieve that doesn’t seem to matter. Her inhibitions are down and her voice gets a little smaller.
“Yeah, but not much. I played pong beer, and then Vinnie got me a pink drink in a bottle that tastes like candy. It’s my first time.”
“Do you mean beer pong? And first time what?”
“Yeah, that one. And drinking.”
My eyebrows raise. She’s never had alcohol before? “And that’s all? Just the beer pong and pink drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Vinnie, is that Vinnie from our class?” The situation is starting to form in my mind, and I’m not enjoying the picture that is being painted.
She’s at a party, and if the hockey team is there, then it’s probably happening at their frat house, and even I have heard the stories about that place. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Yeah. He was hanging out with me until Will got back, but he never came back. And then Vinnie started hooking up with a Barbie that wasn’t Oakley, and I can’t find Oakley. And now I’m alone.” The most adorable hiccup I have ever heard comes through the phone.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to ask the question that will burn a hole through my soul if I don’t know the answer. “Baby girl, are you on a date with William tonight?”
There’s a pause. A long one.
My grip on the couch turns into a fist, and my heart is hammering in my chest. Is she trying to move on from us?
“No, maybe? I don’t know. He invited me, but I haven’t seen him for most of the night.
And Oakley is somewhere. And I’m not really sure I even wanted to come tonight, but I thought I should, because you know, I’m not your baby girl anymore and I’m a college student.
I should do college student things.” She hiccups again.
“Like, go to a frat party and get mildly drunk. Get up to crazy shenanigans.”
My heart aches for her because, with every word, she sounds more and more miserable. I force a smile, not wanting my agitation to make hers worse. “Shenanigans?”
The sound of liquid sloshing comes through the phone before the pop of lips breaking the seal on a bottle. “You know, like join a sorority or whatever. Hook up with guys. Party every weekend. I don’t know. I’ve never shenaniganed before.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay quiet. She should be doing all those things. She should be having the ultimate college experience and living her life to the fullest. Instead, she has managed to tie herself to four men almost twice her age, and all we seem to be doing is making her sad.
“But anyway, that’s not why I called you.” Strength returns to her tone, and I can just imagine her sitting up straight, shoulders back as she glares at whatever is in front of her.
“Why did you call me?”
“I’m mad at you. I wish we never met.”
All the air rushes out of me like I’ve been locked in a sudden vacuum. But then her rambling continues.
“I was going to kiss Will tonight, but the more I think about it, I don’t think I can do it. And it’s all your fault. Well, you and my other daddies.”
My mouth almost refuses to cooperate, but eventually, I force words out through clenched teeth. “Why’s that?”
I remind myself that she is a little tipsy. What she is saying isn’t actually how she truly feels, just how she feels in this moment.
“Because he’s a boy.”
That startles a laugh out of me. “We’re boys, too, baby.”
“Mm-mmm, no. You’re daddies.”
Every negative emotion that has sloshed through my system since the beginning of this conversation evaporates from my body, leaving me slightly lightheaded.
This phone call has been a goddamn fucking roller coaster.
Again, words escape me. I can’t speak any of the replies that come to mind.
I can’t tell her that’s because she knows we are her daddies.
I can’t tell her that’s because he is just a little boy who thinks he knows what he is doing but actually has no idea.
I can’t tell her that she craves submission to us and that a vanilla relationship will never meet her needs.
I can’t tell her that we are waiting for her and will continue to wait for her.
All of that is too much pressure, especially if she’s drunk.
Swallowing, I cast about for other words, anything that will help her right now, except my mind is still blank.
I have prepared for so many situations with Emery, but I never prepared for a drunken phone call where she calls me names and says she wishes she’d never met me.
Even if she sounds precious while doing so.
She groans. “I think I need to go home.”
“How about this, we stay on the phone and I’ll come get you?” I offer, already making my way over to the kitchen to collect my keys from the counter. “And we can put a talking restriction in place if you like.”
Even just for my own sanity. Listening to her talk about dating William and hating us is not something I can handle for the almost thirty-minute drive to campus.
I detour into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, then leave, making my way to the elevator.
“Yeah.” Hiccup. “Yes, please.”
In complete and utter silence on my end and background party noise on her end, I ride the elevator down to the parking garage, get in my car, drive out of the underground parking garage, and toward campus.
Greek Row is adjacent to the student housing, so I follow the oak-lined road around to Newton University’s most notorious party spot.
“Baby, can you make your way out front? I’m just around the corner, and it’s probably best that as few students as possible see me picking you up.” Not for my sake, but hers.
Her intoxication is going to render this night null and void in the relativity of things. If she was sober, I highly doubt she would have called me, no matter how angry she is with me. So this conversation, for all intents and purposes, never happened.
“I’m already out front. Sitting on the curb.”
As I turn the corner, I spot a girl sitting on the curb, and if it weren’t for the sparkly phone with its pom-pom pressed up against her ear, I wouldn’t have recognized her.
“I see you.”
She looks up, and I cut my headlights so that they don’t blind her.
The call goes dead as she stands, lowering her arm.
I pull up, get out of the car, grab the bottle of water, and go around to the passenger side, refusing to allow the tidal wave of awkwardness hovering above my head to crash over me.
Calmly, I turn my back on her, reach for the handle, and pop open the door. Then I wait. It doesn’t take long before she rounds the door and stands before me.