Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (22 page)

He kisses me again, his hands roving all over my body. My
back arches as he cups my breasts through my thin cotton tee shirt, letting his
thumbs brush over my hard nipples. As he kneads and caresses me, a low, pulsing
pressure starts to build in my core. I can’t remember the last time I got off
without my handy dandy vibrator. It’s been ages since I’ve hooked up with
anyone, and the intensity of the pleasure Emerson is bestowing on me is almost
too much to bear.

Almost
.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” I sigh, letting my
head fall back against the couch cushions. “You have no idea, Emerson...”

“Oh, I think I do,” he chuckles, pressing his hips against
me, letting me feel that staggering length. “Is that the secret you were going
to trade me for?”

“W-what?” I stammer, my eyes springing open.

“You know. A secret for a secret. Like we said,” Emerson
clarifies, propping himself up on his forearms.

“Oh,” I say softly, feeling the wonderful peace this evening
has brought slipping away as the moment of my big reveal approaches. “Um. No,
I—”

“Shit,” he mutters, brushing a lock of hair away from my
face, “I’m sorry. I’m totally killing the mood, here. I can’t be trusted not to
fuck up something as awesome as this.”

“You haven’t fucked anything up,” I insist, but it’s too
late. I can already see his expression darkening. I need to backpedal, right
things before it’s too late. Deep Dark Secrets can wait for a spell. I need to
show him that we’re on the same page. And like Emerson says, better to show
than tell. Without a word, I reach for his belt buckle, whipping it open with a
metallic clank. Emerson’s eyes go wide as I slowly ease down the zipper of his
jeans. I guide him onto his back, climbing on top of him as I work to release
his member from his jeans. His hardness strains against the thick denim, ready
to burst through—

We both sit bolt upright as the sound of keys in the front
door lock ring through the empty house. Giddy giggles sound from beyond the
door as Emerson and I look at each other in abject horror. No more playing
house for us. Deb and Dad are home.

“Shit,” Emerson fumes, buckling in his staggering erection
and covering his lap with a throw pillow. “Fucking
shit
.”

“It’s OK. They’ll never know,” I assure him, smoothing down
my hair. “How would they ever even guess, right? I’ll still be right down the
hall, you know. This isn’t over.”

We trade wary smiles as the front door bursts open. If I
didn’t know any better, I’d say that our parents are absolutely trashed. My dad
all but carries Deb over the threshold, humming some sort of ridiculous—vaguely
familiar—marching tune. But taking a closer look, it’s plain to see that
they’re just excited, not drunk at all. Thank god for that. A two-for-one
relapse is not what we need right now.

“Abby! Emerson!” Deb squeals, kicking her high-heeled feet
in the air as Dad spins her around the foyer. “I’m so glad you’re both here!”

“You seem...glad,” Emerson says, his brow furrowed as he
takes in the sight of our giggling parents. “What’s, uh...what’s going on with
you two?”

“Did you win the lottery or something?” I wager a guess,
trying not to think of what would have happened, had they come home just a few
seconds earlier.

“We did win the lottery, in a way,” my dad beams, setting
Deb down at last.

Emerson and I trade baffled looks, overwhelmed by our
parents’ behavior, and the bizarre turn this evening has taken. Between our
mutual confessions and whatever’s going on with Dad and Deb, I, for one, can’t
seem to get my bearings.

“You tell them the good news, Baby,” my dad urges Deb,
wrapping an arm around her slender waist.

“OK Honey Bear,” she squeals, bouncing on the balls of her
feet. “Abby, Emerson. Bob and I...Well. Let’s just say we finally figured out
what to get you guys for your birthdays.”

“And what’s...that?” Emerson asks cautiously.

In answer, Deb simply holds her left hand up for us to take
a gander at. For a split second, I’m totally at a loss. That is, before I catch
the sparkly glimmer shining off her ring finger. There on her hand is a rock
the size of Rhode Island. An engagement ring, by the looks of it. The
implications of her new accessory wallops me as I sit beside Emerson, staring
in horrified silence.

Deb’s wearing an engagement ring.

“We’re going to get you each a brand new sibling! We’ll be
one big, happy family at last!” she cries ecstatically.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Emerson says,
springing to his feet. Safe to say any lingering evidence of our blissful
excitement is long gone.

“Bob and I are going to get married, sweetie!” Deb goes on,
her smile wavering. “We didn’t want to upstage your eighteenth birthdays,
though, so we’re going to wait until the weekend after.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Emerson snarls, his face turning
bright red. “Remind me to make sure and nominate you for Mother of the Year.”

“Stop it,” Deb says, her eyes filling with angry tears. “You
don’t get to ruin this moment for me. You’re going to be happy for me, Emerson.
For once in your goddamn life.”

“Yeah. I don’t really see that happening,” Emerson scoffs,
his walls and defenses springing back into place.

“At least tell your mother that you’re happy for her,
Emerson,” my dad says harshly. My eyes go wide at his tone. He never reprimands
Emerson for anything.

“Already playing at being my old man, Bob?” Emerson says,
with a cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, but
that ship sailed a long time ago. Thanks for at least waiting until I’m a legal
adult to pull this crap. That way I can bail on this shit show with no strings
attached.”

“Emerson, please,” Deb says plaintively, but it’s no use.
He’s already turned his back and marched out the door once again. We hear his
Chevy start up and peel out of driveway.

I blink back devastated tears, looking longingly after him.
He could have at least taken me with him. After everything we shared this
evening, everything we did...he said I could trust him. Was that just another
lie to get in my pants? No. Of course not. He’s just hurt by our parents’
carelessness. Hurt by what it means for us.

“Are
you
going to say congratulations at least?” my dad asks me flatly, placing a
comforting hand on Deb’s back.

“I...I don’t...” I stammer, looking back and forth between
them. “I don’t know what you want from me, Dad.”

“That...is very disappointing,” he replies, looking as hurt
as I’ve ever seen him. But how the hell am I supposed to congratulate them on
what is clearly nothing more than an impulsive, terrible decision? They barely
even know each other. They’re still in the early stages of recovery. What the
hell are they thinking?

“So ungrateful, both of them,” Deb mutters, marching up the
stairs.

Dad heaves a sigh as she slams their bedroom door. An eerie
silence falls over the house, punctuated only by Deb’s muffled sobs from
upstairs. My dad and I look at each other across the wide open space. This is
as alone as we’ve been in months, ever since Deb showed up on the scene. I wish
I could be honest with him right now, tell him how reckless he’s being, tell
him how much it hurts me to see him pick up with the first woman he meets
without actually giving a shit about her. But I’ve never been able to call my
dad out on his bad behavior.

“This is not how I saw tonight ending,” he mutters, shaking
his head.

“I just wish you would have asked us if we were OK with
this,” I say, frustrated tears stinging my eyes.

“Excuse me,” my dad replies, “Since when do parents ask
their children for permission?”

“I just...You hardly know her! She hardly knows you!” I
exclaim. “What is it you even love about her, Dad? I mean, you do love her—?”

“Of course I do,” he says gruffly. “I love how she looks.
How she carries herself. Her eyes. Her hair.”

“Seriously?” I ask, scoffing, “You like the way she
looks
? That’s it?”

“You and Emerson will be adults soon,” my dad says firmly.
“Before long, you’ll know what it feels like to want something—someone—so badly
that you’re willing to do just about anything to be together. I hope you’ll
have the courage to make that leap when the time comes.”

I almost laugh as he spews theses words of wisdom. He
practically just told me to go ahead and jump my soon-to-be-stepbrother’s
bones. But as absurd as this all is, I can’t laugh about it just yet. The pain
is far too raw.

There’s a good chance it always will be.

Chapter Five

* * *

It’s three in the morning before I hear Emerson’s car swing
back into the driveway beneath my window. In the four hours or so he’s been on
the road blowing off steam, I haven’t slept a wink. Haven’t even come close. My
nerves have been on a hair-trigger, ready to snap clean in two, as I wait for
him to return. The second I hear his car door slam, I throw off my covers and
roll out of bed. Throwing my blonde hair into a messy ponytail and crossing my
arms over my chest, I pad over to my bedroom window and ease it open. Leaning
out into the warm spring air, I see Emerson leaning heavily against the hood of
his car, looking up at our house with despair.

“Hey, Emerson,” I whisper, waving to get his attention.

“What are you doing up?” he murmurs back.

“What do you think?” I say, “I was waiting for you. Stay
there—I’m coming down.”

“You don’t have to,” he starts to say, but I’ve already
turned away from the window. I take the stairs two at a time, not pausing long
enough to be self-conscious about my tiny cotton shorts and camisole.

I gently pull open the front door and step out into the
darkness of the very early morning. Emerson watches as I cross the driveway
toward him. He smiles wryly at my approach.

“Are you trying to kill me with those shorts or what?” he
says. Though I know he’s teasing, there’s a frustrated, regretful hunger
beneath his words that breaks my heart.

“Some of us have been in bed for hours now,” I remind him,
leaning against the car by his side, “Instead of rending our shirts and
bellowing into the wind. Or whatever it was you were doing out there.”

“That about sums it up,” he replies. “What, are you pissed
at me?”

“It would have been nice to not be stuck alone with our
parents after all that,” I point out, “Your mom cried for hours.”

“It’s one of her favorite hobbies,” Emerson shrugs.

“You could have at least taken me with you,” I shoot back.
“After everything...”

“I know,” he says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not
used to looking out for anyone besides myself, Abby. I gave up on my mom years
ago, and I guess when shit gets real, I just look out for me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I whisper, reaching for his hand. To my relief,
he lets me take it. “You’re back now. That’s what matters.”

He looks my way, his blue eyes gleaming even in the
darkness. I can see a million thoughts swirling behind those eyes, afloat in a
churning sea of turmoil and rage. I wish there was something I could do to ease
that pain. And maybe, just maybe, there is.

“Come on,” I say, tugging his hand, “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” he asks, standing stock still. “I’m exhausted,
Abby.”

“Just follow me, Sawyer,” I reply, pretending impatience.
“Unless you’re too chicken shit, that is.”

He rolls his eyes with just enough playfulness to give me
hope. Without another word, I tow him away from the car. Silently, we make our
way around the perimeter of the house, the expansive back yard, the black water
of the in-ground pool. I lead Emerson along the edge of the woods that surround
our property, peeling off down a well-worn dirt path. I expect his body to
tense up as I drag him into the foliage, but he follows gamely. I suppose he
doesn’t scare so easy, Emerson Sawyer.

“Here it is,” I say, after a few minutes of trudging along
through the underbrush. We’ve come to a stop before a thick, sturdy trunk,
inlaid with wooden planks that serve as footholds. It’s a place I’ve come to
love and depend on as a safe haven. During the worst of mom and dad’s fights,
and later the worst of his drunken rages, this is where I’d come.

“What is ‘
it’
?”
Emerson asks, raising an eyebrow at the makeshift ladder.

“I’ll show you,” I tell him, grasping a plank and pulling
myself up a foot. “Just don’t check out my ass the whole time I’m climbing,
now.”

“That...is not a fair request,” he smiles, as I scurry up
the trunk before him. I can feel his eyes raking along my body the whole while.
And despite my instructions, I can’t pretend that I mind too much.

As we hit the point where the tree’s branches begin to fan
out, I pull myself onto a wide wooden platform, scooting over to make room for
Emerson beside me. This weathered deck was built to last, but it helps that
I’ve maintained it over the years. It’s not quite a treehouse, but it does the
trick as far as secret hideaways go.

“Well, this is rustic,” Emerson laughs, swinging himself up
onto the platform to join me. “Did your dad make this?”

“My grandpa did, actually,” I tell him, “Back when my dad
was still a kid. This was his and my grandma’s house, before they passed it
along to my mom and dad.”

“Did they...pass away? Your grandparents?” Emerson asks
gently.

“Nah,” I chuckle, “They just decided that Florida was more
their scene is all. Didn’t want to go through the hassle of selling this place.
They’re, uh, pretty well off, my grandparents. Good people, but loaded as
hell.”

“Not a very typical combination, is it?” Emerson replies
gruffly. He looks over at me as I avert my eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t
mean you. I just—”

“Didn’t you?” I ask softly.

“Of course not,” Emerson says, reaching for my hand. “I told
you not four hours ago how I feel about you, Abby. You’re not just some rich
girl to me. Christ, I would never hold you accountable for your family. That
would mean you could hold me accountable for mine.”

“Good point. And I wouldn’t dream of it, for the record,” I
laugh shortly. “Though apparently, we’re about to have our shitty families
joined in holy matrimony. So...congratulations to us?”

“Or something,” Emerson grumbles, shaking his head. “It’s a
terrible fucking idea. They don’t even know each other. They’re going to make
each other miserable.”

“I know,” I reply, heaving a sigh, “This is why marriage
gets such a bad rap. Because assholes like our parents fuck it up for
everyone.”

“Seriously,” Emerson says, pulling out a cigarette. I don’t
even have to ask for one this time, he just passes it my way. He holds the
lighter for me as I run the tip of my cigarette through the flame. We inhale
deeply in unison, peering up at the stars through the canopy of leaves above.
Our fingers are still entwined, natural as can be. That might be what hurts the
most—the potential of a relationship that feels as easy as breathing, scattered
by our parents’ carelessness.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper, my eyes prickling with tears.

“No. It’s not,” Emerson replies, pulling me tightly against
his side.

“I mean Jesus Christ, their timing,” I laugh, though nothing
about this is funny.

“No kidding,” He replies, “If they hadn’t shown up when they
did...Abby, I don’t know what would have happened back there. I mean. I know
what I
wanted
to
happen.”

“And...what’s that?” I ask softly, unable to look him in the
eye.

“I think you know,” he says, circling my waist with his
muscled arm. “But what I don’t know, at least for sure, is what
you
want out of this. Out
of...us.”

My heart is lodged in my throat as I think of how to answer.
I need to be bold now. To tell him the truth. Even if I’ve read him entirely
wrong, and he thinks I’m insane for what I’m about to say, we’ll be out of each
others’ lives in a few months’ time. So, here goes.

“If we hadn’t been interrupted,” I say, softly but steadily,
“I wouldn’t have stopped until we’d had each other. That’s all I wanted.”

He glances down at me, and I force myself to meet his gaze.
His eyes smolder with wanting me. The intensity of his lust nearly bowls me
over.

“That’s what I wanted, too,” he growls, catching my chin in
his hand.

He brings his mouth to mine, kissing me forcefully, deeply.
But there’s a hint of finality in his kiss that nearly brings me to tears.

“What are we supposed to do?” I whisper, pulling away from
him. “It’s Wednesday. No, Thursday now. By Sunday, we’ll technically be
siblings.”

“I know that,” Emerson replies, his teeth gritted in
hopeless frustration. “And once that’s the case, we can’t...”

“I know,” I whisper. “Of course we can’t. It wouldn’t be
right.”

“Nothing about this situation is right,” he scoffs.

“God,” I mutter, “Why couldn’t we have just found each other
years ago, before we were out of time?”

“We’re not out of time. Yet,” Emerson says carefully, as if
testing the waters. My heart clenches tightly as he goes on. “Tomorrow is my
birthday, Abby. Saturday is yours. That means that on Saturday, and
only
on Saturday, we’ll
both be legal adults. Legal, unrelated adults. Who can argue with that?”

“Are you...are you suggesting...?” I reply, my eyes going
wide.

“If I don’t at least suggest it,” Emerson says, pulling me
into his lap. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. So, yes. This is me
telling you that I want you, Abby. I want to be with you. I want us to have
each other, if only once in our lives. I’m suggesting that we give ourselves
that before it’s too late. You can tell me I’m nuts, or to go fuck myself, or
whatever you like. But I have to at least tell you...that, that’s what I want.”

“Well, Emerson,” I say, struggling to take a deep breath,
“That’s convenient. Because I...want that...too.”

We stare at each other for a long moment before bursting
into uproarious laughter. Gut-bursting, tension-relieving, hysterical laughter
that almost sends us both toppling off the platform at once. I throw my arms
around Emerson’s shoulders as we both roar at the insane, absurd hilarity of
this whole situation. A wave of relief crashes through me as laugher wracks my
body. God, it feels good to let some of this pressure release.

“That might be the most awkward thing I’ve ever said in my
life!” I crow, wiping tears from my eyes.

“This may be the most awkward conversation that’s ever
occurred between two people,” Emerson replies, “‘Hey, I know you’re about to be
my sister, but I really want to
do
you.’”

That sets us off again. We collapse into each other until we
end up lying on our backs, chests heaving, staring up at the stars. Our hands
are clasped, our smiles wide. Despite the crapiness of the whole situation,
here we are together. On the same page.

“Promise me it will happen,” I say to him. “Promise me that
on my birthday, we’ll get to be together. The way we want to be.”

“I promise,” Emerson says, giving me a sweet, chaste kiss on
the forehead. “But. Um. I hope you don’t mind if I ask another sort of awkward
question,” Emerson goes on, his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly.

“Shoot,” I tell him, turning my head his way.

“Well. You know, I’m no novice, when it comes to sex,” he
begins, delightfully blunt as ever. “I’ve been with a few girls in my time. But
in your case...I guess what I mean is...Have you ever...?” My smiles fades at
once as I jerk my face away from his. He senses my entire body tense up in the
wake of his question. “Shit,” he groans, “That was so stupid of me—”

“No,” I cut him off, steeling myself for what I have to say,
now. “No, it wasn’t stupid. It’s just...not an easy question for me to answer.
That doesn’t mean I’m not going to, it’s just...bear with me.”

He squeezes my hand, but doesn’t say a word. I take a breath
and go on.

“I was going to tell you this earlier. When we were trading
secrets. I wanted to explain what happened at the diner tonight, but I was
afraid that you...anyway. The short answer to your question is, yes, I’ve had
sex before. The slightly longer answer is that I didn’t really want to. Didn’t
want to at all, actually.”

“Oh, Abby...” Emerson says, his voice as soft as I’ve ever
heard it. “Do you mean—?”

“It was back in freshman year,” I go on, plowing ahead
before I lose my nerve. “I was sort of a late bloomer, so I was really only
beginning to get attention from some guys at our school. There was one in
particular that I’d had a crush on since about Kindergarten. He and I were at
the other middle school, not yours. Anyway, he teased me pretty mercilessly
through eighth grade—for being smart, for always having my nose in a
sketchbook, all that. But come high school, that teasing gave way to flirting.
And we started, uh, hanging out.

Right when my mom died, he was still sort of in the picture.
We weren’t dating or anything, but we were spending time together. I went over
to his place one night when my dad was wasted, just to get out of the house for
a minute. His parents were away, so it was just us. He’d broken into his dad’s
liquor cabinet and offered me something to drink. Said it would make me feel
better. I had some booze, he gave me more. He over-poured my drinks. I got
drunk. Then he started touching me, pushing me further than we’d been before.
By then, we’d only really kissed. But he was feeling me up, trying to undress
me. I told him to stop, I was too wasted to enjoy it, to want it. But he kept
on me. Said
that
would make me feel better, too.

He was much bigger than me, and I was so far gone. I passed
out in the struggle. When I woke up a few hours later, I was naked from the
waist down. He was asleep. Passed out. There was some blood on my thighs,
and...you know…everything else. I got dressed, went home, and took a shower. He
and I never spoke again. The only other person who knows this besides you is
Riley. But I need you to know. It’s important to me that you do.”

A heavy, thick cloud of silence descends as Emerson’s jaw
pulses with rage.

“This guy,” he says, his voice ragged, “It was Tucker.
Wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, “Yes. It was.”

“Abby, I’m so sorry,” Emerson says, “I’m so sorry that
happened to you. I’m sorry no one was there to help you. If I’d known—”