Beastly (The Ever After Collection) (17 page)

“Nothing,” Heath shot back, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he busied himself with finding the remote and turning on the television.

Undeterred, Emma stood in front of the screen. “Are you still mad about Gunther?” she asked, knowing that she was grasping at straws. It had been three weeks since what Emma mentally referred to as “the incident” had occurred – namely, that Gunther had cornered her at school and all but demanded she go to prom with him. Despite the time that had passed, however, Emma had no idea what else could be causing Heath to act this way. Besides, every once in a while, Emma would still catch Heath glaring daggers at the other boy, his usual blue eyes strikingly dark as obviously violent thoughts swirled in his head.

“No,” Heath denied. Then he frowned. “Well, yes, actually. Of course I’m still mad about that! I want to kill that bastard, but that’s not why…” he paused, swallowing. “That’s not why…”

But he couldn't bring himself to finish the second attempt either.

Emma sighed, uncrossing her arms.
Something
was clearly bothering him. She took a seat next to Heath, taking one of his hands into hers and interlacing their fingers. “What’s wrong?” she asked kindly.

“Quit it,” he snapped, tugging his hand away, and the kind of hurt that Emma hadn’t felt since winter break welled within her.

“Quit what?” she asked, unsure which feeling was more prevalent: the sting from his rejection or her utter confusion.

“Just quit!” He sprung up from the couch, running his hands through his already wild hair. He left them buried in the mass of waves, tugging hard at the strands. “Quit being so goddamn helpful and nice. Quit … being you! I don’t deserve it!”

Heavy tension befell the room and for a long minute, no noise but the sound of Heath’s heavy breathing could be heard. Emma didn’t even realize that she herself was
holding
her breath until just as suddenly as he’d stood up, Heath fell back down onto the couch. Emma released the built up carbon dioxide with a
whoosh
. And then…

“The Potters want to adopt me.”

The words were uttered so quietly that Emma’s ears just barely managed to decipher them.

Instead of shedding light onto Heath’s sour mood, however, they confused Emma further. “That’s wonderful,” she said, pausing and waiting for a reaction that didn’t come. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s stupid,” Heath snapped before apparently thinking better of it and tiredly rubbing his eyes before adding, “Sorry.”

“Why is it stupid?” Emma asked softly after giving Heath a minute to compose himself.

“I’m already eighteen. They don’t have any obligation to me. Why bother?”

If it was physically possible for hearts to break, Emma was fairly certain hers had fractured upon hearing Heath describe himself as an “obligation”. She quickly buried her own heartache, however, so she could better concentrate on what was causing Heath’s. “I think it’s great,” she said firmly, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and of course, Charlie… they
love
you, Heath. They’re adopting you so that you know as well as they do that you’re a part of their family. So that you know that their home is
your
home. So that you know that you’ve never been a mere
obligation
,” she practically spit out the word, “to them.”

Emma hoped that Heath would take in her words and know somewhere in him that they were true, but he just shook his head in denial. “I don’t deserve it,” he repeated his earlier sentiment. “They shouldn’t have to put up with me.” He paused, shifting slightly so that his blue eyes were drilling into her brown ones. “You shouldn’t either. I know you’re just going to the local community college because of me, but you shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”

Emma frowned, amazed that Heath could twist the topic of conversation so that it was suddenly focused on her and not him. She scooted closer to him – close enough that their thighs were less than an inch from touching – but she didn’t dare grab his hand again.

“Of course you’re worth it,” she scolded lightly. “But if you must know, you are not the sole or even main reason I’m attending Springfield this fall.”

Springfield Community College was the only undergraduate school in the area that was less than an hour away from Maple Valley.

“Why then?” Heath demanded. “You’re so smart that you could get into any school you applied to. Even Harvard or frickin’ Yale if you really wanted.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “First of all, that would be insanely expensive. And secondly
, mainly
,” she stressed, “I want to stay in the area because I don’t want to leave my dad. His heath isn’t what it used to be, especially not after his stroke last year, and I’m the only family he has.”

Heath blinked owlishly and it was clear to her that he hadn’t even contemplated Miles as a possible reason for her reluctance to leave the area. But then again, why would he have? Besides the Potters, Heath hadn’t had to worry about family in a long time. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Heath sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I’m an asshole.”

Emma pursed her lips. “It’s okay, and you’re not,” she said after a moment. “Can we talk about why you don’t feel worthy of love or sacrifice?” she dared to add.

As she’d predicted, Heath tensed when she turned the subject back to him and what he probably conceived as his short-comings. “What, you think you’re my therapist now?” he snarked.

Emma completely ignored the half-hearted baiting. “I want to try something,” she insisted.

Heath frowned, eying her suspiciously. “What?” he asked.

“Just trust me,” Emma said. “I need you to sit here,” she directed, gesturing towards the bit of floor directly in front of her.

Heath continued to stare skeptically at her, like he could somehow uncover her intentions if he looked into her eyes long enough. He must have decided that whatever her intentions were, they weren’t bad, because after a tense moment, he released a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

He stood up and then sat on the floor in front of Emma as instructed, his back to her front.

She reached down and tentatively fingered the bottom of his long-sleeved shirt. “Can I?” she asked, half expecting him to bolt. They’d tiptoed around the subject of his scars for months. Heath’s hands often roamed up her tops, but Emma hadn’t seen him shirtless since the morning of his birthday.

Heath tensed and Emma honestly expected him to say “no”, or worst, just get up and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, Heath grabbed the fabric of his shirt and tugged it off over his head himself, throwing it carelessly to the floor.

Emma wasn’t fooled by his bravado, though. His muscles were as stiff as a board.

And the scars. They were even worse than Emma had remembered. Crisscrossed patterns of white and red welts covered his skin from the tops of his shoulders to his waist, where they disappeared under his jeans.

Emma’s eyes filled with tears at the sight, but she hastily blinked them away before Heath could turn around and see them.

Biting her lip, she hesitantly reached forward and with the tips of her fingers and gently traced what appeared to be the largest scar – it ran from his upper right shoulder all the way down to the back of his left ribcage.

“Do they hurt?” she asked quietly.

Heath had somehow managed to tense further at Emma’s touch, his muscles straining against the foreign feel of her fingers, but they relaxed minutely at the sound of her voice.

“Not anymore.”

Emma wanted to ask if the scars were the reason why he felt unworthy, but she knew intuitively that the answer was much more complicated than a simple “yes” or “no”. To Heath, the scars weren’t just marks on his skin. They represented who he was – how he felt – on the inside.

So instead, Emma did what she’d intended when she’d asked for Heath to sit in front of her and dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders. Starting there, Emma was hoping to somehow rub the tension out of Heath’s body – specifically, his back.

Heath groaned at the feel of her thumbs working into his trapezius, and Emma had to fight off a blush that threatened to expand all the way to the tips of her ears. Hoping to distract the both of them from the heaviness of their prior conversation, Emma attempted to move onto a lighter subject than family or self-worth. Returning to their previous discussion about college seemed safe enough.

“I guess I always just assumed and never actually asked, but do you even
want
to go to college?” she asked.

Heath pulled his knees up to his chest and allowed his head to rest against them, giving Emma even better access to his back. “I do,” he admitted quietly.

Emma nodded to herself. “What for?”

Heath didn’t immediately respond, but did lean into her touch as she slowly worked her way down his spine. “You’ll think it’s dumb,” he said after a while.

Emma frowned. “You know I won’t,” she chastised him, but she didn’t push for an answer.

It turned out she didn’t have to.

“Social work,” he offered hesitantly after a minute. “I want to work in the foster system and help kids like me.”

Emma experienced a rush of affection so strong that she couldn't stop herself from leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to one of Heath’s shoulders, right over the top of a wicked-looking scar.

Heath stiffened, sucking in a sharp intake of air at the action, but she couldn't bring herself to apologize. She stared at the marks that covered his back.
How could anyone have done something like this to someone who was so inherently good?

“That’s amazing, Heath,” she murmured softly before continuing her massage.

“What about you?” he asked after a minute. “What sort of degree are you going to get? Something to do with reading, I suppose?” he added, a bit of his usual teasing lit showing through his tone, and a small smiled pulled at Emma’s lips.

“No,” she informed him, her thumbs digging hard into the base of his back. “I’m going to go into business.”

Emma knew she’d truly surprised him when he lifted and turned his head in order to grace her with a dubious look.

“So I can learn how to open and manage my own bookshop,” she added ruefully.

Heath snorted, turning and re-resting his head against his knees. “That sounds more like you.”

A peaceful sort of quiet descended after that and Emma was content to continue to work on the muscles of Heath’s back in silence. She took her time, hardly shy anymore about exploring his skin, scars and all. By the time she was finished, Heath looked the most at peace that she’d ever seen him, his shoulders lax like a heavy weight had been lifted from them.

Emma wrapped her arms around them, burying her face into the juncture of Heath’s neck and jaw. They continued to sit in silence for some time.

“Thank you,” Heath muttered after a few more minutes had passed, the words hoarse as they escaped his mouth, and if Emma didn't know any better, she might have said his throat was thick with tears.

She had no idea what he was thanking her for, the massage or something else entirely, but she
did
know that it was completely unnecessary. Nonetheless, she turned her head the slightest bit and ignoring the roughness of his scruff, pressed her lips to the sharp outline of his jaw. It was an innocent peck, but contained as much feeling as the most intimate of kisses.

“You’re welcome.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“How about this one?”

Emma stared at the hideous olive monstrosity her dad had picked off the rack. Not only did the color of the dress remind her distinctly of vomit, but the conservative, square neckline and capped sleeves made it resemble something someone’s granny would wear to a wedding more than what any teenage girl
anywhere
would wear to prom – fashion conscious or not.

Emma desperately tried to think of a nice way to say it looked like puke. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any.

“I want my date to be impressed,” she finally said, “not be reminded of all the times he’s barfed every time he looks at me, Dad.”

Miles’ taste in fashion certainly left something to be desired.

Emma knew that she and her dad made an odd pair – a middle-aged man and young girl shopping for prom dresses together. The store’s clerk had given them the side eye when they’d entered the dress shop together, and Emma could only hope that the woman didn’t assume anything nefarious was going on. Namely, that Miles was her sugar daddy instead of, you know, her
real
one.

Most girls her age went shopping for prom dresses with their friends or their moms, but Emma was fresh out of both. While she’d originally planned the trip to Springfield’s well-known boutique, The Glam Shack, with Collette, the redhead had fallen ill and ended up canceling at the last moment. With no mom to speak of, Miles had stepped in on his rare Saturday off of work.

When he’d offered to come with her in place of Collette, an oddly hopeful glint in his eye, Emma couldn't find it in herself to say “no.” She hadn’t even wanted to, really, despite the strange sight they made.

Between Miles’ busy work schedule and the extra time she’d been spending with Heath on evenings and weekends, Emma hadn’t been able to spend much time with her dad in the past few months.

Squinting, Miles re-examined the gown. “I don’t see it,” he admitted after a moment. “I think it’s elegant. Besides, I’m pretty sure that Heath kid will be blown away by whatever you choose to wear.”

Ignoring the heated blush she could feel crawling up her neck, Emma stubbornly shook her head. Miles sighed, but he put the dress back on the rack where Emma was sure it was doomed to spend the rest of eternity.

The father and daughter pair continued perusing rows upon rows of dresses that were close to Emma’s size.

“How about this one?” Miles asked a few minutes later, forcing Emma to tear her eyes away from a pretty lilac gown she was considering.

Emma blinked at the dress her father proudly held up this time. It looked like a peacock had exploded all over the fabric. Bright greens, purples, and blues meshed together to form a flashy, floor-length, sequined number.

However, the thing
didn’t
remind her of bodily excretions so in an effort not to hurt her dad’s feelings, Emma nodded thoughtfully. “Put it in the changing room with the others.”

Looking ridiculously pleased, he did so.

They continued to go through dresses for close to an hour. Miles’ eyes all but bugged out of his head as they took in gowns with plunging necklines and see-through panels. (He steered her well clear of them.) Emma laughed outright when he came across a black dress – if it could even be called a dress – that covered little more than a two piece swimsuit would, muttering obscenities to himself as he quickly tossed it aside.

After adding a couple more dresses to her pile of ones to try on – including a few she reluctantly agreed to test out for the sake of her father – Emma was stripping off her clothes in the dressing room.

From there, Emma tried on one gown after another, coming out to show her dad each one at his insistence. His comments were oddly helpful if one was proficient in Miles-speak, which luckily, as his daughter, Emma was.

“That one’s awfully sparkly.”
Too many jeweled embellishments.

“It doesn’t really leave a lot to the imagination.”
I’m not letting you out of the house in that.

“I didn't know feathers were a thing.”
What in the hell is this now?

“You should try one that’s a brighter color.”
Aqua washes you out.

While all of the dresses that Emma zippered and buttoned herself into were pretty in their own way, she’d gone through over half of the pile of gowns without feeling a real affinity for any of them until she tried on the yellow – almost gold, really – one that her father had picked out and she’d agreed to try on out of grace.

When she looked up to examine her reflection in the mirror, however, true surprise had her eyebrows shooting upward. Emma didn’t think that yellow was her color – or anyone’s color, really – but something about the dress...

It was a strapless number with a modest sweetheart neckline. The top was in the style of a corset and encrusted with thousands of tiny jewels, while the bottom consisted of a full ankle length skirt that was comprised of layers upon layers of sheer, gold-tinted tulle.

On the hanger the dress had looked positively gaudy. But wearing it… well, Emma almost felt like a princess.

And before that moment, Emma had never realized she
wanted
to feel like a princess.

Even when she was little and all the other little girls had dressed up as Cinderella or Snow White for Halloween, she’d been the tagalong tomboy in a handmade Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume her dad had created on the fly.

After carefully examining her reflection in the mirror once more, Emma stepped out of the dressing room.

Her dad’s eyes widened as he took her in, his jaw going slightly slack. “You look… you look… wow, Emma.”
This is the one.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” she asked nervously, playing with the tulle of the skirt.

“It’s perfect,” her dad assured her.
You’re perfect.
“How much is it?”

Emma glanced at the price tag, which in hindsight, she probably should have done before even trying on the gown.

400 dollars!

Emma bit her lip. That was way too much money to spend on a dress – let alone a dress she was only going to wear once.

“Maybe I should try on a few more,” she attempted to backtrack. “Plus, I kind of liked that purple one.”

Miles frowned in confusion before realization dawned. “How much?” he asked again, this time more sternly.

Emma sighed. “Four hundred dollars,” she answered honestly, her tone matching the incredulity she felt. “There’s no way I can afford it.”

She still had a few dollars saved up from her summer job as a camp counselor, but certainly not enough to buy
this
particular dress. She was sure she could find something else that was decent though.

Miles, however, was having none of it.

“Well, it’s a mighty fine thing that you’re not paying then.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Dad, it’s way too-” she attempted to protest.

Miles interrupted her by placing a strong hand on her shoulder and staring her straight in the eyes. “Let me do this.”

Emma looked at her dad. She took in his unyielding expression and the stubborn angle of his chin. And she realized that by agreeing, she was doing him a favor as much as herself.

She took a breath and nodded. “Okay.”

Miles smiled.

The grin didn’t leave his face even after Emma had carefully removed the gown and threw on her street clothes.

He paid for the dress in full.

They left the shop and Emma laid the garment bag that contained the dress onto the back seat of her dad’s truck before hauling herself into the front seat.

“Want to go for ice cream?” Miles asked after she’d pulled her seatbelt across her lap and snapped it into place.

Emma beamed at the reminder of their tradition. When she was younger and they had to go to Springfield for special shopping trips or dentists' appointments, they’d always stop for ice cream at the local ice cream parlor, The Waffle Bowl, afterwards. It was a small business unique to Springfield, and the tiny shop offered so many flavors and combinations of ice cream that her mouth had always watered at the possibilities. Whenever they went, she always tried something new.

“Ice cream sounds wonderful.”

Ten minutes later, Emma was enjoying her cotton candy flavored concoction, topped with crushed Oreo cookies and gummy worms while watching her reliably predictable father eat his plain old chocolate ice cream cone.

He’d gotten the same thing ever since Emma could remember.

Like always, she cajoled him into trying a bite of hers. And as usual, he gave in, attempting to hide his grimace as he swallowed it down with a forced smile. And just like every other time Emma saw that smile, it reminded her that of all the dads in the world, she had the very best.

* * *

Emma was one more hand cramp away from killing her friends.

Not really, of course.

But if some terrible accident
did
happen to befall them and she
was
involved, she wasn’t so sure that her attorney could argue convincingly that pre-meditation wasn’t a factor.

It wasn’t that Emma didn’t adore Luca and Collette. (She did.) And it wasn’t that Emma wasn’t happy that they were finally together. (She was.) But one way or another, through no fault of her own, she always ended up roped into their shenanigans.

And that was precisely what being stuck decorating the school gym for the upcoming prom tomorrow was: shenanigans.

It was considered a perk of being a senior to get the afternoon off from classes on the Friday before prom to set up. Unfortunately, she and her fellow seniors hadn’t even come close to finishing the gym’s transformation when the final bell rang at three.

And that was where her friends had come in.

Luca had allowed Lulu, whose “jolly ass” – Collette’s words, not Emma’s – was president of the prom committee, to needle him into staying after school to finish decorating with a dozen or so of their classmates. Collette hadn’t been about to let
that
go down, of course, and immediately volunteered herself to stay after as well. Which would have been fine and dandy if she hadn’t had volunteered Emma too.

Yeah.

Attending prom was one thing, but setting up for it was another thing all together. Granted, it wouldn’t have been half as bad if Heath was there too, but alas, he had to work.

So there Emma sat on the hard gymnasium floor, her right hand spasming as she attempted to cut large, intricate snowflakes out of white cardboard with a dull, school-supplied scissors. The only plus side of the lackluster blade was that if her unusually violent urges
did
take hold of her, the weapon likely wasn’t sharp enough to do anyone any real damage.

“Holding up over there, Emma?” Luca called from where he and Collette were unraveling lights and wrapping them around fake trees.

Emma glared, pointing the scissors threateningly. The cheery jerk laughed.

And might she just add that whoever had thought that decorating the prom as a winter wonderland had probably been dropped on their head one too many times as a baby? They’d finally gotten rid of the
real
snow outside. Why would anyone think it was a good idea to cover the inside with fake stuff?

Emma sighed, begrudgingly forcing herself to focus on her task instead of her friends and other classmates.

It was a more difficult task than one might think.

After all, Maribeth and her gang were there. Gunther too. Predictably, he’d asked Maribeth to prom a week after Emma had rejected him. Emma didn't know
why
Maribeth had agreed. Even she deserved better than that jerk. Even if the blonde was currently waxing prose to her boyfriend about how amazing her dress would look against the wintery backdrop instead of being of any actual help whatsoever. Meanwhile, her followers Bambi and Flower were blowing up various shades of white and blue balloons for the archway, comparing the size of them to the dimensions of their impressive chests as they did.

Emma could not make this stuff up.

“Quit fooling around, you two!”

Emma’s attention once again shifted to Collette and Luca at Lulu’s loud reprimand. The girl was scolding them for what had to have been the fifth time since the final school bell had rung. Her finger was even waving as she dressed down her friends for deciding to wrap a string of lights around Luca and decorate him instead of the tree they were working on.

She demanded they split up, allowing Luca to stay on light duty due to his height, but pointing Collette in Emma’s direction. “It looks like Emma is struggling with those snowflakes. Why don’t you be a dear and go help her out?” Although worded as a question, her tone made it clear that it was anything but.

Collette grumbled about it, looking like she wanted to protest, but resentfully headed over anyway. “Interfering little harpy,” she muttered as she plopped down next to Emma and grabbed a pair of scissors.