Beastly (The Ever After Collection) (11 page)

Jaw clutched tightly shut, Heath turned to glare at the door. “What do you want, Charlie?” he demanded angrily.

Charlie didn’t seem fazed. In fact, he opened the door and peeked inside the room. “The cookies are done! Mom says you guys should come down and get some while they’re still warm.” Evidence of said cookies were on Charlie’s face. Crumbs surrounded his mouth, and chocolate was smeared on his chin.

Heath sighed. “Are you hungry?” he asked, turning to face her.

“Of course she’s hungry!” Charlie answered in indignation before Emma could so much as open her mouth. “These are chocolate chip cookies we’re talking about! With M&Ms!”

Emma shrugged, shooting Heath a helpless look, before turning to face Charlie. “Cookies sound great.”

“Who could resist M&Ms?” Heath agreed sarcastically, but he obediently got up from the bed. He surprised Emma by offering her a hand up as well. Keeping in mind what had happened the last time she’d grabbed Heath’s hand, Emma gingerly took the appendage, paying way too much attention to the way his large calloused palm felt against her softer one. Forcing herself not to analyze the way Heath seemed reluctant to let go of her hand once she was on her feet, Emma followed Heath and Charlie down the stairs and into the kitchen, where they sat at the table in the center of the room.

Mrs. Potter immediately set a plate stacked high with over a dozen cookies down in front of them. “Eat up!” she ordered.

The cookies, of course, were delicious. Heath shot her an incredulous look when an obscene moan escaped her mouth after she took her first bite of one. “What?” Emma asked. “They’re good!” she defended.

Mrs. Potter insisted Emma eat at least three more after that, and it was no hardship to do so. The buttery, chocolatey morsels all but melted in her mouth. The group washed the cookies down with large glasses of milk poured for them by the ever hospitable Mrs. Potter.

“Play with me,” Charlie pleaded with them afterwards, not letting Emma and Heath escape back upstairs. Charlie’s round, angelic face was hard to say “no” to, and she and Heath were quickly suckered into playing two rounds of Old Maid (Emma lost both times) and a game of Candyland (she lost again). Charlie was in the midst of trying to talk an amused Emma and a pained-looking Heath into playing Twister with him when Mrs. Potter interrupted them.

“It’s nearly three, Heath,” she said, shooting him a pointed look before offering Emma a wane smile.

Emma was shocked at how fast the time had gone by. Heath was, too, if his startled expression was anything to go by. “Right,” he muttered, glancing Emma’s way. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I have to… I have to…”

“It’s okay,” Emma interrupted, offering Heath an out. As curious as she was where he went every Saturday at three, it was clear enough that Heath wasn’t comfortable telling her, and she could accept that. Really. She could. Even if he obviously wasn’t heading into work like he’d told her all those weeks ago. “It’s getting late. It’s time I get going anyway.”

“It was great having you over, Emma, dear,” Mrs. Potter said. “We’ve missed your face around here.”

Charlie nodded vigorously in agreement.

“I’ll grab your coat and the poster from upstairs,” Heath offered before heading up the stairs to do just that.

Emma froze. Until he’d mentioned the poster, she had completely forgotten that the supposed reason she was coming over to Heath’s house in the first place was to work on their project. But they hadn’t worked on the book report at all.

Emma pressed her lips together in an effort to keep from smiling as widely as she wanted to, ignorant of Mrs. Potter as she bustled about the room. She’d been worried that she and Heath would no longer see each other – at least not outside of school – after presenting their project. And it was due this coming Wednesday, at the end of the half week of school they had before Christmas break.

As that worry withered away, something warmer took its place in her belly.

“You can come back tomorrow!” Charlie exclaimed, starling Emma and dragging her out of her thoughts.

“Maybe,” she agreed kindly, but doubted that Heath would go off script and invite her over on a Sunday.

“You should!” Charlie insisted excitedly. “It’s Heath’s birthday! He’s turning eighteen!” He sounded both impressed and envious.

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s Heath’s birthday?”

“Yeah! I made him this.”

Emma watched as Charlie rooted around in the Batman backpack slung over one of the kitchen table’s chairs. He pulled out a homemade card. Although composed of simple construction paper, it had clearly been made with love. The card was decorated with an abundance of glitter and featured a drawing of two boys – one obviously taller than the other – who Emma assumed to be Heath and Charlie.

“This is great, Charlie,” she said sincerely, handing him back the card.

“So, will you come?” he asked.

Emma frowned, thinking it over. “You know, maybe… maybe I will.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Emma refused to acknowledge the amused grin Luca was attempting – and failing – to hide behind his hands, and she outright ignored the
twelfth
exasperated sigh from Collette.

Instead, she focused all of her attention on her current task: fishing out the multiple egg shells she’d accidentally dropped into the cake batter.

“Can you remind me again if this is supposed to be a gift for Heath on his birthday or an attempt on his life?” Collette asked.

As if her skepticism of Emma’s baking skills wasn’t obvious enough.

Emma shot her a half-hearted glare as she finally retrieved the last sliver of egg shell out of the gooey batter. “Luca said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but I doubt he meant for you to actually make anything! Trust me, I’ve experienced your
prowess
,” the word was drenched with sarcasm, “in the kitchen. Why can’t you just
buy
him a cake?”

“Because then it wouldn’t be as personal of a gift,” Emma explained for the umpteenth time. “Plus, I don’t exactly have money to waste on a cake from a bakery when I have all the ingredients I need to make one right here,” she added.

Nearly all of the money she’d made from working as a counselor at a community summer camp had gone to buying Oliver. And since the Potters no longer needed her to babysit Charlie, well… she wasn’t exactly rolling in it.

“I’m just saying-”

“Oh hush, Collette, she can do it.”

The redhead raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“It’s from a box!” Luca exclaimed in response. “How hard could it be?”

“Gee, Luca, thanks for your vote of confidence,” Emma deadpanned as she began pouring the batter into the two circular cake pans she’d prepared.

Luca shrugged helplessly. “Well, you are… you.”

Fair enough.

And honestly, Emma really should have been prepared for their arsenal of comments when she’d invited them over to think of gift ideas for Heath. (They’d been as surprised to learn of his upcoming birthday as she was.) After about twenty minutes of brainstorming, Luca had finally suggested the idea of getting him something he could eat. All guys liked food, he assured her. Emma had decided that a birthday cake would be perfect, and after spending another twenty minutes debating if he was a chocolate or funfetti type of person – definitely chocolate – Emma had gotten to work.

That had been a half an hour ago.

After another hour of listening to thinly disgusted barbs at her baking ability later, Emma was staring at her creation. The two layers of chocolate cake were covered generously in fudge frosting – from a tin, of course, even
she
knew what a train wreck it would turn out to be if she attempted to make it herself – and speckled liberally with multi-colored sprinkles.

“It actually looks… good,” Luca offered.

Emma huffed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“It looks okay,” Collette agreed dubiously after examining the confection. “But how does it taste?”

Fortunately, Emma would only have to wait until the next day to find out.

* * *

On her way to Heath’s house the next morning, Emma couldn't stop herself from second guess her decision to make him a birthday cake. Mr. and Mrs. Potter ran a restaurant for a living, for God’s sake. Downtown Diner served a smorgasbord of delicious desserts. They had probably already prepared him a massive, six-layered masterpiece – made from scratch, of course, not a Betty Crocker box. She couldn't help but glance at the simple chocolate cake sitting on her passenger seat and find it lacking in comparison to the imagined confection.

Emma wasn’t a coward, though, and she hadn’t made the cake for nothing. So she gathered her courage and continued on her way to his house until she was parking in front of the property at precisely – according to her truck’s radio clock anyway – 10:22 AM.

Carefully balancing the glass platter that held the cake with one hand, Emma opened the truck’s driver side door with the other and after exiting the truck, made her way to the house.

Stepping up onto the Potters' front porch, she took a deep breath and knocked.

She didn’t have to wait long before Mrs. Potter answered the door, a delighted smile plastered to her face as she took Emma in. “Emma, what a surprise!” Her eyes positively gleamed when they caught sight of the cake she was holding in front of her chest.

“I-I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Emma stammered, cursing the heat she could feel crawling up her neck. “Charlie told me yesterday that today was Heath’s birthday so I thought I’d stop by to wish him a happy eighteenth.”

Mrs. Potter looked like she wanted nothing more than to pull Emma into a hug, but was prevented from doing so by the large platter she was holding. “That’s sweet, honey,” she said instead. “He’ll be ecstatic to see you, I’m sure. He’s up in his room if you want to surprise him.” She ushered Emma inside, closing the door behind her. “Go on then, you know the way.” She gestured towards the stairs.

“Oh, um, okay,” Emma agreed. “Thanks, Mrs. Potter.”

“Call me Molly, dear,” she reminded Emma before taking her leave.

Relieved that she hadn’t been stepping on Mrs. Potter’s toes by baking the cake for Heath, Emma did as the woman suggested and made her way up the stairs. She found the door that led to Heath’s room and knocked.

No one answered.

So Emma knocked again.

Still no one answered.

Frowning in bemusement, Emma carefully adjusted her grip on the cake before reaching forward with one hand to twist the brass knob and open the door. She didn’t make it more than a single step inside the room, however, before she caught sight of Heath.

And promptly froze.

Her grip on the cake platter went lax. But Emma couldn't even bring herself to tear her eyes away from Heath’s form to watch as the platter hit the floor with a loud
crash
. Despite the carpet softening its landing, the glass container shattered.

The loud sound was enough to finally gain Heath’s attention, and he whipped around to the source of the noise, his eyes widening in shock as they caught sight of Emma.

She absentmindedly noted the earbuds he had plugged into his ears. He pulled them out with a ruthless yank before tossing them onto his bed. The muscles in his shoulders were incredibly tense – she could see every line and dip – as he faced her.

The reason Emma could see every line and dip was because Heath was shirtless. The only thing he
was
wearing, in fact, was a pair of loose sweatpants slung low on his waist. As impressive as Heath’s physique was, however, it wasn’t the rippling biceps or lean stomach that had so wholly captured Emma’s attention.

Because there were scars. Everywhere. Heath was covered in them.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded through clenched teeth. And while Emma had seen Heath mad before, his anger had never truly been directed at her.

“I-” Emma attempted to explain, trying to push the words past her mouth, but it was hard when her lips weren’t cooperating. Much like her insides, they were quivering without her permission. “I-I wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” she finally managed to spit out past her clumsy tongue.

Heath snorted, his mouth contorting into a scowl. “Well, it looks like you’re the one that got the surprise, huh?” He sounded bitter. Angry.
Mean.

“Heath…” Emma didn’t mean for her voice to come out sounding wet with tears, but the damn things were quickly gathering in the back of her throat. She desperately tried to contain them.

“Get out,” he spat.

“But…”
But you’re hurt. You’ve been so hurt. Oh God.

But Emma could no longer force her voice to work. The tears in her throat were suddenly in her eyes, clouding her vision as she stared. She flinched when Heath abruptly grabbed the nightstand next to his bed and flung it violently to the floor. The stand landed with a loud
thud
, its drawers and the items contained in them spilling out onto the floor. “I said to get the fuck out!”

And so Emma bolted. Abandoning the mess of cake and glass on the bedroom floor, she ran. She flew down the staircase, nearly crashing into a concerned looking Mrs. Potter at the bottom. The woman had obviously heard
something,
judging by the expression on her face. “Emma, what-”

“I’ve got to go,” Emma somehow managed to choke out despite the fact that her throat felt like it was rapidly closing in on itself. She threw open the front door and hurried to her truck, shoving the key into the ignition through the thick sheen of tears attempting to blind her. She threw her truck into drive and left.

It wasn’t until Emma reached her house that she allowed herself to completely break down. Collapsing against the steering wheel, she buried her face into her hands and cried. It was the kind of ugly, loud sobbing that was sure to produce a headache, but Emma hardly cared.

Because Heath’s body had been littered in scars.

And not the type that one acquired through accident or circumstance.

His entire back, his shoulders, his upper arms. Even his stomach. The marks had varied from flat and pale white to raised and angry red. They would be etched into his skin forever and she could tell by the shape of them that many had been left there by a belt.

Heath had been horrifically abused.

Emma’s stomach heaved, its contents threatening to make an appearance as she continued to cry into her hands. The worst part was that while she’d never wanted to hug Heath more, she was also never more certain that Heath would never accept her comfort.

* * *

Emma forced herself to get up and go to school the next day. Instead of her usual shower, however, she cracked open the jar of concealer her father had misguidedly bought her for her last birthday and smeared the goop under her eyes, trying to somehow disguise their puffiness.

The attempt had obviously been in vain, however, judging by the alarmed looks her friends shot each other when she arrived at school and met up with them at her locker like she did every morning.

“Uh… are you okay, Emma?” Collette asked gingerly, staring in concern as Emma dumped off her backpack and grabbed her supplies for their upcoming Art class.

Emma knew she must look terrible if Collette, of all people, was attempting to be sensitive.

“Fine,” she managed to say, but she couldn't bring herself to add anything more.

“Oo-kay.” Collette shot Luca what Emma suspected was supposed to be a furtive glance.

“Uh, so how did the cake go over at Heath’s house yesterday?” he asked in an obvious attempt to break the weird tension Emma knew she was inadvertently causing.

The breath whooshed from Emma’s lungs.

“What, it didn’t actually kill him, did it?” Luca teased.

Collette elbowed Luca in the side, but was oblivious to the fact that tears were quickly gathering in Emma’s eyes. “Come on, Luca, I’m sure her cake didn’t kill anyone. Cause a mild case of food poisoning, sure-”

Emma slammed her locker door shut, ignoring Collette and Luca’s startled expressions as she turned and hurried down the hallway.

“What-?”

“Emma!”

By the time lunch rolled around, Collette and Luca had deduced that Emma and Heath had gotten into a fight of some sort. It was close enough, Emma supposed, so she didn’t bother to correct them. She was just grateful that they had the tact not to mention the fact that Heath didn’t sit with them in the cafeteria like he usually did.

Emma wished that
she
was as good at ignoring his lack of presence. Her stomach churned the entire half hour, and she couldn't bring herself to do much more than eat a bite or two of her fries.

But that didn’t compare to how Emma felt when Heath didn’t show up for American Literature.

There was no sign of him in school on Tuesday either. Or the Wednesday after, the last day of school before Christmas break.

That afternoon, Emma presented their book report alone.