Chapter 55
GEMMA
Then
Idon’t know what happened—not exactly.
Launching myself off Riggs’s lap, I’m across the sunroom and throwing myself off the back porch before I even know what I’m doing, heart hammering in my chest, as I rush out to meet her.
“Em—“ Terrified and confused, I reach for her, barely catching her before she collapses into my arms, the stumbling weight of her pulling us both off our feet.
Landing in the grass, I do my best to gather her against me, holding her tight while I let the sway and hitch of her deep, wrenching sobs rock us back and forth.
Riggs and our something forgotten, heart beating wildly in my chest, I scan the trees while Emily wretches and sobs against me. Looking for someone, something that would be able to tell me what happened, all I see is nothing. No clue or sign as to what might’ve happened or where she came from.
But I know.
I might not know what or even where, but I know who.
And that makes whatever happened my fault.
It feels like it takes forever for her to calm down, her gut-wrenching sobs petering out to sporadic whimpers, her arms going limp around me. Tear stained face pressed against the T-shirt Riggs forced me into seemingly forever ago.
“Let’s get her inside.”
Looking up, I see Riggs, hovering nearby. I thought he’d left but he didn’t. He stayed to weather the storm with me.
Before I can start to struggle to stand and bring Emily with me, Riggs hunkers down in front of us, a frown digging deep lines into his face.
“Em...” He says it softly like he’s talking to a wounded animal.
“I’m going to pick you up, so I can carry you upstairs.
” Flicking a quick, worried look at me when she doesn’t respond, Riggs doesn’t move until I give him a nod, telling him it’s okay.
Even still, he goes slow, slipping his arms around her to gently lift her out of my lap until she’s cradled carefully in his arms. Still moving slowly, Riggs stands, waiting for me to follow suit and lead them both into the house.
Not wanting to wake Dent, we creep through the kitchen, our way illuminated by the light over the stove, before taking the back stairs to my bedroom.
Moving ahead of them, down the dark hall, past Dent’s closed bedroom door, I push my bedroom door open.
Rushing forward, I click on the lamp on my nightstand before turning around to watch Riggs carry Emily across the threshold.
Setting her carefully on the bed, he steps back, away from her, watching her like he expects her to fall over or fall apart.
She doesn’t. She just sits there. Still. Quiet.
Looking at me, Riggs tilts his head toward the open door, signaling me to follow him.
Even though I don’t want to leave Emily alone, I know that whatever he’s about to say isn’t something I want her to hear.
Following him through the doorway and down the front stairs, neither of us say anything until we’re standing at the base of them.
“Who did she go to prom with?” Riggs asks me quietly, even though the look he’s giving me says he already knows.
“It wasn’t Colt,” I tell him, refusing to even consider it. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t him.” Waiting a beat, I shake my head. “We both know who it was, Riggs.”
Cam.
His sister.
Even though it’s obvious he wants to argue her innocence, he’s not nearly as sure as I am.
“I should go,” he says quietly, dark gaze flickering across my face.
Reaching for me, Riggs gathers the hem of the shirt he dressed me in earlier, pulling it up, over my head.
Shirt gripped in his fist, he sighs. “Good night, Gem.” He whispers it, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my cheek before he leaves.
Alone, I make my way into the kitchen, stopping at the sink for a glass of water before heading back upstairs.
Ducking into the bathroom long enough to run a washcloth under the cold water tap and snag a bottle of ibuprofen, I get back to my room to find Emily still sitting quietly on the edge of my bed, staring blankly into middle space like someone took her batteries out.
Pushing the glass of water into her hands, I shake a few pills into my palm. Offering them to her, I watch her take them, encouraging her quietly to drink the entire glass of water before I take it from her and set it aside.
Kneeling in front of her, I start to run the cool, wet cloth over her tear-stained face, moving almost as slowly as Riggs, washing away her caked mascara and ruined lipstick before I finally find the courage to ask.
“What did they do, Em?” I say it quietly while I run my washcloth down her arms, being as gentle as I can. There are scrapes and bruises beneath the dirt. Seeing them twists my guts so hard I nearly choke.
They is Cam and Sera.
Whatever happened, I know it was them.
“Emmie…” I feel my own breath hitch on a sob but I swallow it back, unwilling to fall apart because I don’t want to scare her any more than she already is.
“Please talk to me.” Setting the washcloth aside, I find her hands, hidden in the folds of her dirty, tattered skirt.
“Tell me what happened.” Squeezing her hands, I will her answer me. To at least look at me.
She doesn’t.
More terrified than ever, I tell myself I’ll ask her in the morning, after she’s had a chance to calm down.
Retrieving a fresh T-shirt and sleep short from my dresser, I pull her to her feet.
Undressing and dressing her like a doll, I guide her back to the bed and tuck her into it.
Lying down next to her, I don’t allow myself to close my eyes until she’s closed hers.
When I wake up a few hours later, Emily is gone. All that’s left to prove I didn’t dream the whole thing is an empty water glass, a make-up stained washcloth, and a battered heap of designer taffeta.
Finding my phone, I send her a text.
Me: Where are you?
Nothing.
Reasoning that if she got up after I fell asleep and went home, she’s probably sleeping herself, I tap out another text.
Me: Text me as soon as you get this. Please, Em. I’m worried.
Rushing downstairs, hoping against hope that I’ll find her sitting at the kitchen table, watching Dent flip pancakes like any other Sunday morning, I find Colt instead.
Dent isn’t making breakfast. He’s sitting at the table across from him, a cup of coffee and a stern look, between them. When they hear me on the stairs, they both look up. The look of expectation on Colt’s face tells me he’s here because he’d been hoping Emily was too.
Pushing himself away from the table, Dent abandons his coffee cup. Stopping in front of me, he drops a heavy hand on my shoulder before planting a quick kiss on my forehead. “You’re on your own for breakfast this mornin’. I’m not feeling up to pancakes.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, whatever’s happening with Emily, momentarily forgotten. He’s seemed muddled lately. Not as sharp.
“Right as rain, Mule.” Giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze, Dent makes his way slowly upstairs. A few seconds later, his bedroom door clicked shut, leaving me alone with Colt.
“Is she here?” The look he gives me tells me I was right to be scared last night.
Jaw set, I shake my head. “She was.” Almost as angry with him as I am with myself, I cross the kitchen to sit in the seat Dent just abandoned. “When I woke up, she was gone.” Staring at him, I watch while he swallows hard and bobs his head, trying to curb the urge to scream at him. “What happened?”
Looking sick to his stomach, Colt shakes his head.
“I don’t know…” Swiping a hand over his mouth, he looks down at the cup of coffee Dent must’ve poured him.
It’s still full. “Everything was fine—we went to dinner. Got to the golf club. We took pictures. We danced. We were having a good time…” Stopping, Colt flicks a quick, guilty look at my face before he re-aims it at the cup in front of him.
“There was an after party at the river.”
“A river party.” I stare at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to finish the joke, because it has to be a joke. When Colt doesn’t deliver, I lean into the space between us on a scoff. “You took her to a river party?”
“It was her idea,” Colt says, giving me a miserable head shake that tells me he’s as sick to his stomach as I am.
“I tried to talk her out of it, but she said she was going to go, with or without me, so I figured with me was the safest option.” Looking up at me, he shakes his head.
“She promised me she’d stick with me. That she’d stay close enough for me to grab her and get her out of there if I needed to. ”
When he falls silent, I lean into the space between us and angle my head. “And?”
“And she did,” he tells me, his gaze shifting away from mine. “Until she didn’t. One second she’s standing right next to me, laughing and having a good time. The next, she’s gone and I couldn’t find her.”
“Where you drunk?” I’ve never been to a river party but I know what goes on there.
“No.” It comes out forceful. Final. “I didn’t drink last night. I had water—that’s it.”
“Did Emily?” I ask, remembering the way she stumbled and weaved her way across the yard last night.
“One drink,” Colt says. “She had one drink—that’s it.”
That’s not it.
It can’t be it.
Something happened.
Something bad.
And the only person who can tell me what, is gone.