22. Emma
22
Emma
By the time I get to the clinic, I’m nearly shaking, but clearly, Sharon has already heard the news, and she jumps from her chair when I walk in the door.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says as I dump the paper on the desk. “Maybe he met up with her in the bar accidentally. Maybe they just bumped into each other,” she babbles. “Maybe it’s not even real.”
“She’s right,” Ryan’s voice comes from behind me. “It’s not real.”
I spin to look at him, but I’m already too far gone. From the store to the office, my mind has whirled with all the possible scenarios. Megan had been here for three days. In fact, she’s still wearing that darned red dress in the picture, which tells me that it was taken that same night. Clearly, when we all went home, Ryan went back to the bar.
“Emma,” Ryan says, his voice thick with regret. “Please listen to me.”
“I can’t,” I say, my voice breaking, my hands shaking, my whole body feeling numb. “Get out.”
“What?” He gawks.
“I said, get out,” I yell, fighting back the tears.
“Emma,” Sharon cries from behind me.
“Get out,” I yell again.
Panic dances across Ryan’s face, but I don’t care. If he met her, why didn’t he tell me? Even if nothing happened between them, why didn’t he tell me? He’s done it again. He’s humiliated me, but this time, in front of the whole world.
“Get out!” I scream.
Ryan backs away with his hands raised. “Emma, let me explain.”
But I stalk toward him until his back is against the door. Pushing my hand against his chest, the door opens a little behind him. “Leave,” I hiss, a tear now trickling down my cheek.
His brow rises and falls, every emotion he’s experiencing plain to see on his face. But I don’t care. I need him to go. I can’t see him, speak to him, listen to him. Not one more second.
Eventually, Ryan backs out of the clinic, and when the door closes, I take the keys from my pocket and lock the doors, giving him one last glare.
“Emma, sweetheart,” Sharon begins.
“I need you to cancel my appointments today,” I say, struggling to swallow the sobs that are starting to break through.
Sharon hurries around the desk, but I hold my hand up, forcing her to halt before she reaches me.
“Please, Sharon. You’re my friend. I need you to do this one thing for me. Please.”
She stands there, deadly still, just looking at me. “Alright, darling,” she whispers.
As I head to the door, I pause and speak over my shoulder. “Lock up when I’m gone.”
Tears blur my eyes as I drive erratically down the street. Sobs wrack from my chest, making it hard to breathe, drive, and see all at the same time. I’m not even thinking. I’m just driving. I can’t think. I’m too numb.
At the house, I abandon the car, hurry to my front door, and make sure it’s locked from the inside. I don’t want to see anyone. Not even Debs and Sharon. Dumping my bags at my feet, I head upstairs, strip off my clothes, put on my pajamas, and climb into bed.
Texts have already started to come through on my phone, but I don’t look at them. I just turn my cell off completely and then lie there as I let the grief pour out of me in heartbreaking sobs.
I don’t know how long I cry. It seems to go on for ages, even though it’s probably not. But afterward, I just lie there, my body jerking in the aftermath, while I stare at the wall and finally allow the thoughts to come.
This morning, everything was so perfect. After talking to my closest friends last night, I had been willing to risk it all. The fear, the doubt, the unknown, everything. My heart was willing to take whatever came, good and bad. I’m not a fool. Relationships can get tough sometimes.
Now, I want the world to close down around me. I want to stay here in this bed and never leave. I don’t care if I never see another soul again. I just want darkness, and silence, and to be left alone in my sorrow.
Doubt simmers at the corner of my mind, replaying Sharon’s and Ryan’s words that the picture isn’t real. But I can’t believe that. It’s in the newspaper. These guys don’t print stuff that isn’t real. The logical explanation makes far more sense. Ryan met up with Megan at some point that night. Clint was right there, serving customers behind them.
Who knows? Maybe he went to tell her to leave. But I don’t care what his reasons were. He should have told me. Besides, they looked like they were having a great time, his arms wrapped around her with a great big grin on his face.
He’s done it again. He’s done what he promised he would never do. He’s made me look like an utter fool. But that’s not why my heart is breaking. It’s not the reason I feel like I can hardly breathe. The truth is, I’ve fallen in love with him. I think I knew it, deep down, but this morning, I was certain of it. It’s why I was so willing to give this relationship a chance.
My eyes feel heavy, and I let them fall closed. I’m tired. Emotionally exhausted. Not just from today, but all this acting we’ve been doing for the last couple of months has taken its toll. My breathing gets long and deep, and soon enough, unconsciousness overtakes me.
When I wake again, it’s to the sound of a thumping noise downstairs. My heart jumps as I’m pulled from my sleep, and feeling a little disoriented, it takes a few minutes to settle my racing pulse. The metallic knock comes again, and then the doorbell rings.
It’s Sharon or Debs.
Or Ryan.
I shake my head and pull the covers up over me, like the duvet is somehow going to block out the sound, or the grief, or hide me from the tatters that my life now lies in.
The metallic sound comes again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
And then the doorbell.
Whoever it is, they’re persistent. But I don’t need to answer. I can just stay here and pretend I can’t hear them. Pretend I’m not here. Wish I wasn’t here. But the knocking and ringing continues. On and on, for ten more minutes.
“For heaven’s sake,” I huff, throwing the duvet off me and sitting up in bed.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I lift a hoodie that hangs on the back of a chair and pull it over my head. Clearly, my visitor is not going to leave, and their constant knocking is driving me nuts. It feels worse than Chinese water torture. At least if I go down there, I can send them away and get back to my grieving in peace.
Thumping down the stairs, now feeling more angry than sad, I walk down the hallway. A familiar shadow hovers at the door. It’s tall and broad, with dark hair.
“Go away, Ryan. I don’t want to see you,” I call through the closed door.
“It’s Thomas,” the deep voice comes back.
I hitch a breath and hesitate for a second. “I don’t want to see you, either,” I say with a little less animosity. He’s never done me any wrong, I can’t really shout at him, right?
“Emma, please open the door. I need to speak to you.”
“No. I know why you’re here. I know Ryan’s sent you to do his dirty work. Leave me alone, and tell your brother to do the same.”
“He hasn’t sent me,” Thomas says. “I’m here of my own volition.”
Typical Thomas-speak. He always was the smarter of the brothers. I don’t answer because I’m busy thinking. Thomas being here is a bit unusual, especially given the fact that he and Ryan don’t get along. Well, that’s the understatement of the year. I’m pretty sure they hate each other’s guts. No, maybe that’s too harsh.
Oh, Emma, shut up and answer the darned door!
Stepping forward, I slide the bolt, unclip the latch, and then open the door a tiny crack. Hearing the locks, he turns and peers in at me, standing there in his suit and tie, looking as handsome as he always does. He has the same chiseled jawline as Ryan, those same deeply set eyes, though his forehead is higher and his hair more neatly cut.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want you to let me in,” he says calmly.
“Why?”
“Come on, Emma. Do you really want to do this on your doorstep with all your neighbors looking?” He twitches his head with a backward nod.
I glance past him and notice Mrs. Wilkins already lingering at her door, pretending to clean the windows as she nearly breaks her neck to look over.
“Fine.” I yank the door wider to bid him entry before quickly closing it again.
As polite as he’s always been, Thomas stands in the hallway, waiting for an invitation. He’s too big for me to pass him in the tiny space, so I nod further into the house.
“Go in, unless you want this conversation here in my tiny hallway,” I say, sarcasm lacing my tone.
He half smiles, and heads toward the kitchen.
“So?” I stare at him, my hands crossed over my chest, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen from him. “Let’s get this over with.”
“May I?” He gestures to a chair at the breakfast bar.
“Yes, you may,” I snarl. And then I feel bad for being so snarky. “Do you want coffee?”
“I don’t want to put you through any trouble.”
“Hmph,” I snort, turning behind me and grabbing at the coffee machine. “Don’t worry. Your brother beat you to it.”
With the coffee on the breakfast bar that separates us, and with me finally sitting opposite Thomas’s large frame, he begins, and I listen. There are a few times I think of interrupting him, but I stop myself. The more he talks, the more things begin to fall into place and make sense. And at the end of it all, I sit there and realize that I can’t argue with anything he’s said.
“You’ve been in the house, Emma,” Thomas concludes. “You know there’s no love lost between me and Ryan.” He then gives a slight shrug. “Though maybe that’s been as much my fault as his.” He looks across the table at me with sincerity shining from his eyes. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe him. Which”—the corner of his mouth lifts—“is not easy for me. I can assure you.”
I sit there for a long time, my hands wrapped around my empty cup, holding on to it as though it provides me with some sort of emotional support.
“So, what are we going to do?” Thomas asks.
I look at him for a long moment because now, I need to make a decision.