Push (28 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Emma—Present Day

My ass is stuck to the couch because I am immobilized by dread. The knock at my door plunged my heart straight down into my stomach, and now I am frozen here, holding my wine glass, knowing that Ricky is just outside my door. A moment passes before my brain kicks in. The instant it does, I put down the glass, run to my bedroom and open the bottom drawer of my nightstand.

It’s there. Thank-fucking-god. Sitting alone in the drawer, it looks small and powerless. It isn’t, though, that much I know. I know that this gun is
far
from powerless. I know exactly what this piece of metal is capable of. I pick it up, and a surge of gratitude washes over me. I’m thankful that David taught me how to use it, thankful that it is here now, in my hand. It feels smooth and heavy. I slide the safety off.

On my way out of the bedroom, doubt washes over me. Jesus. I’m about to aim a gun at a person I once loved and adored. A person who gave me a heart-shaped gumball-machine ring for my third birthday. A person I looked up to. I’m about to stick a loaded weapon into my own bother’s face and tell him to go to hell. What the fuck is wrong with me? What am I doing? Am I even capable of shooting him if shit hits the fan?

Standing in the living room holding the gun, I try to unravel another option, but I can’t focus. It’s only been a dozen seconds since he knocked, but I already know that he isn’t going to go away. He will wait for me. If I pretend I’m not here, he will just find another time, another place. If I don’t do this now, I’ll go back to being afraid. I’ll go back to being nothing more than an emotional hostage. It will be the same as it was with Michael. I will be trapped.

Do this, Emma. Do this now. Stop thinking of Ricky as your bother. He’s not the sweet kid he was so many years ago.

Do this.

I take a breath and straighten my back.

Fuck him. Fuck Ricky. I’m not giving him
jack shit.
There’s no way in hell am I going to let him blackmail me, too. I’m done thinking about this, and right now, I’m going show him just how done I am.

I lift the gun, holding the barrel up to my line of sight. My other hand grasps the dead bolt and twists it open. I hear it click and drop my hand to the knob, turning it as quickly as possible. I whip the door open and hold the gun straight out in front of me.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ!” I shout. My heart is pounding, and my body is shaking with rage.

David stands outside my door wearing a hoodie and a pair of jeans and looking surprised as fuck.

“What the hell?” I scream at him. With my finger pressing tightly against the trigger, an inhumane amount of horror soaks into my body. “You scared the living shit out of me! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He stares at the gun still pointed at his chest. His body braces with realization.

I lower the gun to my side. The idea of the flicker of a single finger changing absolutely everything screams through me. I could have wiped out the world with a squeeze. Jesus. The rush of adrenaline pulsing out of me is blatant and fierce, and I can’t stop myself from lashing out at him. “Why would you do that? Why would you knock on my goddamned door at ten o’clock at night when you’re supposed to be at poker?”

Apprehension settles into his face. “I needed to see you,” he says, his expression wide-eyed and electric. “I needed to look at your face and to hear you say that we are all right. I need to know that you to forgive me for what I did.”

It occurs to me that even though our earlier text exchange made it clear to
me
that we were okay, it did not do the same for David. He is here because he is unsure of himself. Unsure of me. Unsure of us. The vulnerability in his words streaks through me.

I take a deep breath and turn away from him, walking back into the apartment. “I thought you were Ricky. I was
positive
that you were Ricky. Hell, I didn’t even bother to use the peephole, I was so sure,” I say as I put the gun down on the table. My voice has changed. It’s steadier now. I hear David close the door behind him.

“Then you were right to have the gun,” he says, “but I told you, Emma, he’s not coming back here.”

“I almost fucking shot you, David. Don’t you see? I don’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either,” I say as I turn to face him.

“Do you trust
me
when I tell you that he isn’t coming back?” he asks after a brief pause.

I need to think for a second, because it’s a good question. Before I found out about what he did, I trusted David completely. But do I still trust him? Do I trust that he isn’t going to lie to me again?

“I trust you as much as I can right now,” I say, “but this isn’t a matter of trusting
you
. It’s a matter of trusting Ricky. I know him, David. He is selfish and greedy and about as sharp as a marble. And
that
is anything but a good combination.”

“It
is
a matter of trusting me, Emma. I am telling you that he is not coming back, and I need you to believe that. I need to know that you aren’t going to panic every time there is a knock at your door.” His face looks pained, as if my response is somehow a matter of life and death. “I need you to trust me on this.” I am left, yet again, wondering how he can be so sure that Ricky is not coming back. I sigh and rub my hands against my face.

David sits down at the table, sucks in a gigantic gulp of air, and says, “I can’t stand the thought of you being so afraid, Emma. That’s why I did what I did. I wanted to get rid of Michael so you would never have to be afraid again. But after you opened that door and I saw the gun and the panic in your face, I know that your fear of Michael has only morphed into a fear of Ricky. And that is the
last
thing I ever wanted to happen. So I’m going to tell you something, and you aren’t going to like it, something that I decided not to tell you last night because I thought it might be too much. But clearly it’s the only way you’re going to trust me on this—the only way you are going to
stop being afraid.
” My eyes narrow. “This is not a lie, Emma,” he adds emphatically, “and the fact that I didn’t tell you about it last night does not make it a lie. I left it out to protect you.” I roll my eyes at him and cross my arms over my chest. Again with the protection crap.

“You’re right,” he continues. “Ricky
is
selfish and greedy. Not only did he come here to blackmail me, he was the one that convinced Evan to kill Michael.”

I am staring at David in disbelief, shaking my head.

“When I took the rest of the money to Ricky on Saturday night, he had been drinking, and he said some things that gave him away. He said that Evan killing Michael was the best fucking thing in the world. He and Evan had known for years that they would inherit everything when Michael died because they had a copy of his will. Michael gave it to them a few months after your mother died. He had it redone because he wanted you left out of it completely. So, now that Michael is dead and Evan’s in jail, Ricky will get it all—and, believe me, he was thrilled as shit about it.”

It’s no surprise that Ricky would be thrilled with his new windfall, but why would he tell David about Michael’s will? What would he gain by revealing that information?

“Why the hell would he tell you all this?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I guess he knew that I would tell you. Maybe he thought that you would be pissed about not getting anything from Michael. Maybe it was some sort of revenge.”

“I could care less about Michael’s money,” I say. “I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

“Yeah, but Ricky doesn’t know that. As he was telling me about Michael’s will, I was thinking about how convenient it all was for him. Then it dawned on me—it wasn’t convenient. It was planned. From the moment I pointed out that he and Evan would inherit nothing if Michael was found guilty, Ricky’s wheels were turning. Somehow he convinced Evan that getting rid of Michael was the only solution, and Evan did it.”

As David is talking, things grow clearer inside my head. I can see precisely how Ricky planted that seed because I know the suggestive power he has always had over Evan. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how much Evan looks up to Ricky and how readily he is influenced by him. I can hear Ricky convincing Evan that it would mean the end of his financial troubles and an opportunity to start a new life. I can see Ricky bringing up my mother’s missing jewelry and using it as fuel against Michael. I can see Ricky manipulating Evan, and Evan falling for it headfirst and not even recognizing that he’s being played. Ricky knew that Evan was stupid enough to get caught; hell, maybe somehow he even made
sure
Evan got caught. At this point, I wouldn’t put it past him. But most importantly, Evan would never rat out Ricky, and Ricky knows it. I feel sick.

“And, to top it all off,” he adds, “Ricky knew that he could still get money from me, simply by threatening to take my offer to the police. He’s clever, Emma.”

“So, did you tell him that you figured it out?” I ask. “What did he do?”

“I took a risk, and I called him on it. I told him straight up that I knew he convinced Evan to kill Michael. The look on his face was priceless, and I knew I was right. He was fucking stunned. I handed him the rest of his money and then I told him we were facing a stalemate.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

David shrugs and raises his brow. “I paid him what he wanted, and I made it very clear that if he tells anyone about my offer, or if he contacts me or you ever again, I will tell the police about his involvement in Michael’s death. And when Evan finds out that Ricky set him up, he’ll sing like a motherfucking bird. It’s plain and simple—as long as we both keep our mouths shut, neither one of us will end up in prison.” He takes a breath and drops his hands down to his sides. “And
that’s
why I know he isn’t coming back. That’s why you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Because I don’t know what else to do, I pick up my glass of wine and finish it. Then I walk into the kitchen to pour myself another. I set the glass down and put my hands on the counter, leaning my head forward until it’s resting against a cabinet door. Holy hell.

“Is that all, David?” I ask. My voice is quiet and rife with exhaustion and distress. “Is there anything else I need to know about my fucked-up family?”

“No,” he says. “That’s it.” I hear him push away from the table. His feet brush against the carpet as he walks toward the kitchen, and then he is behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding my back tight against his chest. I pull my head away from the cabinet door and drop it back down, repeatedly banging it against the wood in three firm, successive smacks. “Do you want me to leave?” he says quietly.

“No.”

David doesn’t move a muscle, and we stay together in the kitchen for a long time. I think about how happy I was to have someone who wants to protect me. How happy David made me when he told me how covetous he feels. How many years I have lived with no one to look out for me aside from myself. And here I am now, in the arms of someone who wants to protect me so much that he is willing to risk everything, and I don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to say thank you and let life roll on.

“Did you really leave the poker game just to make sure we were all right?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“Brad is going to be pissed at you for leaving, you know.”

“No, he isn’t,” he sighs. “He’s the one that told me to come.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

David lets go of my waist and leans back against the door frame. I turn around and rest my rear against the edge of the counter so that we are face-to-face.

“We’re all right,” I say with a small smile. “I get it now, David. Thank you for wanting to protect me. Thank you for caring about me enough to do what you did. But I still think you’re an idiot.”

“I know you do,” he says, completely unfazed. “I guess I’m just a little crazy.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

“It’s your fault, you know. You turned me crazy,” he says, the playful lilt returning to his voice. “I was normal before I met you.” And then he is smiling again. I can see the same happiness I saw at the tattoo parlor. The same happiness I heard in his laughter when we were overlooking the city and I asked him about his last name. The same happiness I sensed when I agreed to be his girlfriend. It thrills me to know that I can make David happy, to know that he is crazy about me. Because I’m a whole bunch of crazy right back.

“Normal, huh? Well, if that’s the case, then I guess the same could be said for me,” I tease. David’s body straightens, and his chest rises, and then he looks down at the floor. What? His happiness is gone, just like that, and now he looks ashamed. It catches me by surprise, and suddenly, everything seems very serious. I feel as if I should apologize, but I’m not sure what for.

“I’m sorry,” I say as he looks back up at me. “I was just teasing. Look, it’s clear that both of us have very valid reasons for being a few coils short of a Slinky, but I say we embrace it.” I plaster an overly dramatic smile across my face and give him two enthusiastic thumbs up. “I say we run with our crazies, and to hell with everybody else.”

He chuckles softly and sinks his hands into his pockets. He regards me intently for a minute before he replies. All I can do is smile at him and wait.

“I can’t tell you how unbelievably relieved I am to hear you say that we’re all right,” he says at last. “I thought I’d fucked everything up. When you shoved my phone in my face and said that you saw Michael’s number, I swear my heart stopped beating. I thought we were done. I thought the bottom dropped out, and you were gonna walk. That’s what always happens with me. The bottom drops out, and everything that was good ends. Just like that.” His eyes are back on the floor.

“The bottom isn’t going to drop out on us, David,” I say with the compassion and reassurance he so clearly needs, “because I love you. And now that I know what love is, I can see that it makes you willing to do anything to make sure that the bottom stays intact. It makes you forgive the other person for their mistakes. It makes you see past their crazies and their fucked-up past and their underwear fetish and their gun-toting, drug-addicted ex-girlfriends and their complete lack of self-preservation.” He looks up at me, and as his scalp draws back, I can see acceptance spread across his face. “And what you don’t realize, David, is that you already know all that. You know it because what you tried to do to Michael was meant to keep the bottom intact.”