Chapter Twenty-two
Kade
We’re lying close now, and she’s tangled up in my arms. We’d napped a bit, talked more, and now I’m just enjoying how soft her skin is and how the delicate morning light illuminates her features.
Every detail we’ve shared has tightened the bond between us and for the first time, I have real faith that maybe, just maybe, we have a chance at... whatever this is.
A knock jolts us from our relaxation. The sharp sound is urgent, loud, and catapults my heart into my throat. Who could possibly be at the door this early in the morning? “You are so unlucky,” I mouth as she glances at me, startled up from my arms and looking anxious. My teasing seems to ease some of her worry.
“Maybe they’ll go away,” she mouths back. But the knock comes again, and she tenses up before standing. I move with her, but in the opposite direction, out of the line of sight of the door, but not out of earshot in case she needs me.
Emma pads across the living room into the kitchen in her cute bare feet. She seems both afraid and curious, and I wish I shared her ever-present optimism.She reaches the door and pulls it open, her voice soft as she speaks.
“Can I help you?” Somehow there’s not a single note of fear in her voice, and I wonder how nonthreatening the person is, but I don’t dare look in case it’s someone who shouldn”t know I”m here.
But the person doesn”t say a word, and I hear the click of the door closing. The deadbolt slides home with a quiet snick that makes me worry more.
“Who was it?” I ask.
She shrugs as she walks back into the room. “Some older guy I’ve never seen before in my life. He gave me this.” She holds out a manila envelope, and I see unanswered questions in her eyes. The front and back of the envelope are bare and her brows furrow.
“Emma?” I say as I move closer to her. My instincts are screaming that this envelope is trouble.
Her fingers trace the sealed flap of the envelope. “So weird.”
“Did they say anything?” The mysterious messenger”s silence feels more odd than any words could have been.
She shakes her head slowly, her loose hair shifting with the movement. “Not a word.” She holds her breath as she opens the envelope.
A mysterious stranger showed up on her doorstep at an ungodly hour of the morning, didn’t say a word, and left her with a manila envelope. How can this possibly be good news?
“And you didn’t recognize the guy?” I ask, curious about the stranger. Obviously, he was someone disarming enough that she wasn’t spooked by him.
She shakes her head. “No, he just looked like he could be anybody’s grandpa.” Emma”s voice is calm, her focus fixed on the envelope as she lowers herself onto the couch. Her fingers are hesitant as they pry open the flap, as if she’s internally steeling herself for whatever might be inside.
“Emma, what if—” I say, but the sentence dies on my lips. What if Alex and I have dragged her into something dangerous? What if this envelope is the beginning of an end I can”t prevent?
She doesn”t even look up, her attention glued to whatever’s in the envelope. She pulls out what looks like sheets of paper, and I wonder if maybe she got served papers, but the person would have had to verify who she was, so that idea is out.
For a heartbeat, there”s only silence, punctuated by the soft rustle of paper as she moves one from the top of the stack to the back, and I try not to lose my mind.
“Emma?” I ask, feeling each second stretch on too long. She’s too quiet, and the color drains from her face as she takes in the news.
She doesn”t answer me; she”s transfixed, eyes scanning papers I can”t see, and then pain sparkles in her eyes and her jaw tightens, a little tick that betrays she’s really, really upset. It”s not the only subtle shift—I see a furrow in her brow, a slight parting of her lips, and I know I was right.
“Talk to me,” I say in as light a tone as I possibly can and moving closer to her.
Wordlessly, she lifts her gaze from the pages, and in her eyes, I see surprise, a deep ache, and fear. Her hand trembles as she turns the page toward me. But she’s trembling so hard I can’t make out what she’s holding. So I reach out and take the sheet as it bends in half on itself, concealing the image.
My fingers brush hers and even in the midst of this suffocating event, I”m so very aware of the warmth of her skin and her sweet scent.
I look down, and suddenly the room tilts. My breath catches, my heart slams painfully against my ribs as though trying to escape before it can be destroyed.
The photos glare of me, and each one is a punch to the gut.
It’s an image of Stella and I sharing an embrace, and I remember that day and how I’d awkwardly patted her back, wanting to offer comfort, but unsure how to do so without feeling like I was betraying Emma. The timestamp screams recent betrayal, and Emma”s breathing is ragged beside me.
“Emma, listen—” I say, certain I can explain this to her. It really was an innocent moment, and she’ll understand that. “I didn’t and don”t want anything to do with her.”
Emma won’t look at me, she’s still glued to the images. “I told her there was no chance for us to rekindle anything, and she was hurting, so asked for a hug. It was just a hug, nothing more.”
Her silence seeps into my soul, leaving me feeling hollow and aching. Her teeth worry her lower lip, tearing the skin there. She peeks inside the envelope, then turns it upside down. And a plastic card drops out into her lap. Did someone send her a credit card? This doesn”t make sense.
I look closer and my heart stops. It”s the room card, glossy and accusing.
“See? Why would they send the card to you?” My hand gestures toward her lap, then back to me. “If I were using it, wouldn”t I have it?”
She’s still silent, her eyes serious and her expression one of deep consideration. I’m not even sure she’s hearing me.
“Think about it, Emma,” I say, “Why would they send you the room card if it was in my pocket or wallet all along?” My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to get acquainted with the face of whoever did this.
My guts twist as my mind races through the possibilities. Did Stella do this? Is she so desperate that she”d stoop this low? The idea of her orchestrating such malice to drive a wedge between Emma and me... it”s nauseating.
“This is some kind of smear campaign,” I say more to myself than to Emma, as I try to solve this puzzle.
Emma”s gaze is fixed on the incriminating photographs, her delicate hands shaking ever so slightly still. The room card rests on her thigh, abandoned and insignificant compared to the images before her.
“Kade...” she says, her voice unsure and hesitant, but at least she’s talking.
“Look at this positioning,” I say, pointing to the image she’s studying as if I have the answers... and maybe I do. Stella’s face looks calm, but despite the poor quality of the photos, I can see the way I awkwardly pat her back.
The morning light filters in the sliding glass door of her balcony where we’d enjoyed the rain last night. And here in the living room, we’d played, danced, and shared secrets.
My heart hammers away, each beat thudding against my chest as I internally beg Emma to see the truth. To see me.
“I wouldn”t do this,” I say, standing up as if I can let out my nervous energy that way. I pace the length of her living room.
“Kade?” Emma says again.
“Yes?” I say, turning to face her and needing to say it again in case she didn’t hear me. “There”s nothing going on with Stella.”
But even as I say the words with every ounce of conviction in my body, I know she’s sitting there, surrounded by incredibly damning evidence.
“Maybe she”s trying to mess with us,” I say, just throwing guesses out there. “Or maybe someone”s using her to get to me...to us.”
Emma”s gaze is locked on me. “Kade,” she says again, and I stop moving to look at her
“Believe me,” I say, closing the distance between us in two strides, and taking her hand, bringing her fingers to my lips and feeling the spark that pops between us. “Those photos, they”re just a single second frozen in time. They don”t show the truth.”
“The room card...” she says, but she doesn’t finish the sentence, or can’t. She picks up the shiny white plastic, turning it over in her hands as if it has all the answers. But it doesn’t.
“Why would someone do this?” she whispers, her gaze meeting mine. I see the sparkle of tears there and wish I could just take away all the pain and doubt she’s feeling. I’d shoulder all of it if it would ease her misery.
“The photos only show a second in time. It’s a lie.” I hold her gaze, silently begging her to hear me. “But this,” I say as I lift our intertwined hands, “this is real.”
She seems to suddenly snap back to reality and color returns to her face. “Someone wants to tear us apart. Divide and conquer. But why?” Her brow furrows.
I lift my shoulders. “Maybe they want chaos? Or to punish us? Ot to split us up so they can try to take us for themselves?” I glance at the image of myself and Stella once more, my guts twisting. Did she do this?
Emma is watching me carefully from her spot beside me on the couch. She wraps her arms around herself as if holding the pieces together. “We don’t have to give them what they want.”
She nods. “What should we do?” she asks, her tone serious.
But I don’t have answers for her. Not this time. “I’m not sure,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. “We could confront Stella, but if she did this, she’ll just lie.”
“Who else would want to do this?” That same question pops up again and once more, I feel uneasy. Does this have something to do with the people Alex and I have been trying to reach?
“Who else knows?” she whispers, talking more to herself than me as if internally searching for some memory that might shed some light on who would do this to us.
I think about the silence Alex asked me about—the lack of response from the people he was trying to get in bed with. My gut twists harder and I feel sick. I shove the thought away. Not now. What would they have to gain by doing this?
“Do you trust me?” I ask and her gaze snaps to me. She hesitates as if considering the question, then gives a slight nod. It’s not much, but it’s better than a no.
“I want to trust you,” she whispers, the words catching as if her throat is closing. “But love isn”t always rational, is it?”
Her delicate voice cuts through me like a knife and I lean in closer to her. “No,” I say, my lips hovering inches from hers. “But it’s worth finding the truth for.”
Her breath catches, and her gaze meets mine. In this moment, we’re so close, but somehow it feels like there are galaxies between us. Then I close the gap, brushing my lips against hers, and it feels like nothing has changed.
But everything has changed.