83. Chapter 81
Derek
Hustling out of the bathroom, still wet, with my towel around my waist, I check the time on my bedside clock as the third ring of my doorbell is accompanied by the sound of someone pounding on my door.
Five twenty-two.
It’s too early for the Japanese I ordered to have arrived and almost an hour earlier than the pre-confirmed time for the others to appear. And even if this does turn out to be the three of them, they all have keys in case of an emergency.
Which begs the question, who the hell is banging on my front door like their life depends on it?
Cold air mixes with the water droplets clinging to my skin as I grip the tuck-knot on the towel and march through my house to the door, irritation ticking up with every step making my chest burn. “I’m coming!”
The banging gets loud, and somehow, even more insistent, which is pushing all my buttons. Then they ring the doorbell, again, and I can actually feel my blood pressure spike.
Cranking the deadbolt, I turn the knob and yank the door open, ready to tear whoever is on the other side a new asshole. “What—Emery?”
The fight leaves, replaced by a whooshing sensation like I’ve just been launched out of a plane non-consensually.
“Where the fuck are they?” Fire burns in her eyes with a viscous ferocity. Cheeks pink, hair falling from the scrunchie hanging lopsided from her head, and an outfit that looks like she threw it together as she flew out of her dorm.
She’s never looked more gorgeous.
“Where is what?” My hand tightens around the towel, very aware that I do not have enough clothes on for whatever is happening right now.
I’m not sure if the sudden prickling sensation all over my skin is from the blast of cool evening air or from the dawning realization that my chickens have come home to roost.
“Don’t play stupid, Derek.” She practically spits my name as she takes a step closer to me, index finger jabbing into my chest. “It looks fucking ridiculous on you. Where the fuck are my sketch pads, Teddy, and my graphite? I know they’re here. They are mine, Derek. Mine. I want them back.”
Her advancement into my space has me automatically stepping back as I try to catch up with her.
Sketch pad.
Teddy.
Graphite.
Fuck.
“Emery, come inside and we can—" I start, needing to get control of this conversation, however I have the distinct feeling that I may have already lost that battle.
“Oh, you bet I’m coming in-fucking-side, asshole.
” Emery steps into me again, forcing me to step back enough that there is a gap she can pass through and into my house.
Her voice is so far removed from the usual even-toned, lightly attitude-filled one that I’m used to that it throws me more so than her actual presence.
“There is absolutely zero chance of me leaving here without my things.”
But it’s the lack of tears that has icy cold rolling down my spine.
She is furious. Burn-the-world-to-the-ground rage consumes her.
And I don’t blame her.
She’s right. I am an asshole.
I’ve been lying to her for weeks. Have I felt like shit the entire time?
Yes. But those things of hers are my only bargaining chip with her as Derek.
They are the only reason she will contact me of her own free will.
Watching her through the screen most nights is becoming more torture than pleasure.
I’d already made the decision to let her know tomorrow that I found her things.
I was planning on asking her to retrieve them from the apartment, something about the cleaner having put them in a cabinet that we hadn’t checked.
We’d all be there, a united front, ready to have whatever conversations she needs.
That is clearly no longer going to be an option.
I need to get this back on track, right now.
“Emery, wait,” I demand as I grab her arm and halt her from making any further progress.
Apparently, I’m not done being an asshole.
She glares down at my hand, then snaps her fiery gaze up to mine. “Let go of me.”
Swallowing, I shake my head. “No, we need a moment to talk first.”
Fuck, my heart is pounding.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the pain-filled laugh that she all but cackles. “Talk? Now you want to talk? Fuck you, Derek. Seriously. Fuck you.”
She wrenches her arm out of my grip and stalks off down the hallway, leaving me standing there, wondering if I’m too young to have a heart attack and fucking confused as to how she found out I have her missing things.
Emery rounds the corner, disappearing from view, and there is a weird concoction of a scream for joy and an anger-filled growl. The noise kicks my nervous system into overdrive, and I slam the front door before making a dash to catch up with her.
She has her ear pressed to the chest of the bear, eyes closed, and a more-than-serene expression on her face. Is there something special about the bear? Am I missing some crucial piece of information?
Slowly, I approach her until I’m only an arm’s length away, and that’s when I hear it—a quiet thudding.
“Emery…”
“It’s his heartbeat.”
“His?”
“Xavier’s.”
My confusion must be evident in my silence because she opens her eyes as she lowers the now-quiet bear to her chest.
“Teddy is from Build-A-Bear, and one of the accessories was a little heart with a pre-recorded message on it. Xavier had his heartbeat recorded and saved onto the heart. For the nights that I can’t be with you.” Emery alters her voice to sound a little deeper in an attempt to mimic Xavier.
“I didn’t know,” is all I can manage to reply with. The fact that I am completely aware that I have fucked up even more than I had calculated, does not stop the adrenaline that is secreting into my system.
“This teddy bear is mine. Those”—she turns to point at the art supplies on my table—“are mine. You took them from me. You had no right.”
“I know, baby. I know, and I am so sorry. I was already planning on giving them back to you tomorrow. You were going to receive a text message from me—”
“You and your fucking plans!” Her voice raises, and that fire returns, making my heart trip over itself. “You’re stupid fucking plans are what got us into this situation. Oh my fucking god, Derek! Why can’t you just let things happen naturally? Why do you have to manipulate everyone around you?”
My head snaps back at her accusation. “I don—”
“Yes, you fucking do. Everything about our entire relationship has been scripted by you. After our weekend together, which I am sure you planned out down to the very last second, fuck, did you even choose the order of the scenes? Of who got to fuck me first and last?”
When I stand there silent, unwilling to further incriminate myself, she lets out that ugly laugh again.
“Of course, you fucking did. So, first you decided what order everyone got to fuck me in, then it was your idea to keep me in the dark on the plan that kept us separated for three whole fucking weeks. The plan that left me alone and miserable and abandoned in the worst possible way. And whatever the four of you are up to right now, I just know that was your idea, too, right? And this bullshit with my things. What was the plan there?”
I go to answer, but she doesn’t let me. Instead, she puts her bear down and turns to face me, one hand on her hip and the other tapping a finger to her chin, like she is seriously contemplating the options, when we both know it is a condescending tactic to increase my discomfort.
The thing is, it’s working.
“No, let me work it out, because contrary to your belief, while I might be young, I’m not stupid.
Hmmm…Okay, so you were the one to pack up my things, and I already figured out that you must have separated them from the things that you let Xavier return to me.
” She swivels her head as she thinks before locking eyes with me.
“Oh, I know. You kept my things, knowing I would be desperate to get them back, which would force me to talk to you because I knew you were the one who packed my things. But you never lied to me about not packing them.”
I can’t even deny it. “Emery, I—”
“Once I went back and checked, it was easy for me to figure out. At first, I truly thought I was wrong, but nope, that you wouldn’t deliberately withhold my things from me.
Not Derek, the man who loves following rules and believes in strict honesty.
He would never do something like this. But, it’s all there, in our text messages.
I checked on my Uber ride here.” She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and then starts reading from the screen.
“Hi, Emery, I’m sorry to hear that your things are missing.
I did not forget to pack your sketch pads and graphite set. I know how important they are to you.”
With hardened eyes, she glares at me. “You didn’t forget to pack my things because my things were packed in your bag, weren’t they? That is a rhetorical question—we both know the answer.”
She paces toward me, but I refuse to give up ground this time. I need to find my control, to get this situation back on the rails so that we can have a proper conversation.
“Baby girl—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Emery—”
“The thing is, Derek, I don’t want to talk to you.
I don’t even want to see you again. I thought I did, I thought I missed you, but that was the dickmatization.
” She stops close enough that I can feel every single one of her huffed breaths against the bare skin of my chest. “But I was so fucking wrong. I don’t miss you. I hat—”
Before she can utter the words that will rip my chest apart, I lose my fucking mind, lean down and kiss her.