Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2) (17 page)

I’ll forget everything there.

“Goodnight.”

Lindsey’s door is still open; Emma pauses on the other side of the hall and speaks, her profile outlined by the faint light spilling from her room, which means she can see just as much of us. I knew the door was open; I wanted her to see. I timed that kiss just right. I hoped she’d walk by, but another piece of me wants to take that last kiss back.

Lindsey’s mouth tightens up and eventually falls away from mine.

“Goodnight,” she says back to her friend, her forehead sliding along my shoulder until her face is tucked against my chest.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

“I’m sorry.”

Lindsey is apologizing to me. The irony.

“It’s fine…really,” I say, looking over her form as Emma’s door closes behind her. Emma never looks back again. She’s seen enough. Maybe I have, too.

“Something’s with her, tonight. I think it was the speech. I…I probably should have talked to her more, or maybe gone with her.
Gah
…I’m so sorry, I just feel bad now. You probably think I’m nuts.” Lindsey looks up at me with her mouth caught between an apology and a frown—waiting for me to tell her it’s okay. I pull her in against me for a hug, mostly because I can’t handle looking in her eyes anymore. I don’t like the reflection in them.

“You know what? I’m gonna go ahead and go,” I say, my lips tight now, too. I’m not looking at Lindsey though. I’m looking beyond her. I realize it a little late, and she catches me. When my eyes drift back down to hers, there’s a hint of suspicion in them. “Why don’t you and your roommate have a night—do that girl-talk thing, huh?”

Her misgivings about my motivation seem to melt, and her hands squeeze my arms in thanks. The puppy-dog grin she looks up at me with seals it. I hug her again, but my eyes stay on the shut door across the hallway.

Lindsey follows me through their kitchen and living room, where I grab my gear and pull it back up on my shoulder, leaving this apartment one more time without satisfaction.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says as I back out of her door.

I hold up a few fingers and start my steps toward the elevator bank, but remember that tomorrow’s Sunday, and Harley told me to keep my evening open in case he could line something up. I could really use the stars to align for a fight—financially and emotionally—I take a few quick paces back to her door, catching it before she closes it completely.

“You know what? Actually, I’ve got some family things tomorrow, and I’m not sure how late I’m going to be. I’ll just text you when I get home?” She looks down, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if she wants to believe the line of bullshit I’m giving her. Part of me wants her to call me on it, and part of me also thinks maybe that’s what I need—a good fight to distract me, to let me feel something other than angry and alone.

“Sure,” she says. It’s a pained response, but for now, I’ll take it. I’m tired; I’m also not in the mood for a breakup. And a breakup would mean no more Emma…and I’m not so sure I’m ready for that either.

“Great,” I smile, leaning in to kiss her lips lightly, just to leave her feeling something better than how I’m sure my blow-off just did. I really do have family shit to deal with tomorrow; I really only stretched the truth some.

The doorman is starting to recognize me, and he smiles and waves as I pass by this time. It’s the hockey gear, and my Tech sweatshirt and hat. It works on girls and doormen, it seems.

As long as everything felt like it took at Lindsey and Emma’s, I end up walking through my apartment door forty-five minutes behind Trent. He didn’t go to the bar, and I have a strange feeling that he was waiting for me—probably sitting here stewing in his own self-righteousness and whatever-the-fuck he thinks he has all figured out. He’s sitting on the couch, his feet up, beer in his hand, and the TV on a replay of some NASCAR race. He hates racing, so I know he’s just posturing.

I walk behind the sofa with my gear, hell bent on not stopping or taking his bait.

“You’re in over your head, Harper. What are you doing?” he asks, and mother fuck! I stop. I stop because he knows more than I thought he did. And since he has the bad shit all figured out, maybe he can help me wrap my head around what the hell is wrong with me—and why I’m still so angry.

I reach over the sofa and take the half-empty beer from his hand, claiming it for my own. I drop my gear behind the sofa and walk the rest of the way around the couch, sitting on the corner of the coffee table across from him.

My eyes are on his chin for the longest time. It’s like when you’re a kid and you know you’re wrong, and you’re about to get your ass chewed, but you just don’t want to give in to the adult and take your licks. I don’t want to have to face his goddamned honest face, so I keep my eyes on his chin and take a long sip from the beer I commandeered, draining it almost completely.

“I don’t know, Trent. She was there. It was her, and I don’t know, but I can’t fucking stop,” I say.

“Drew…who the hell is Emma?” He says her name, and my chest flips inside out, my heart running through an irregular rhythm of several fast beats followed by nothing at all.

“I’ve told you,” I lie.

“No, Drew. Not the drunken version you tell when you think you’re being honest. I mean the
real
story,” he says. I give in and look up the inch it takes to meet his eyes, and I hold his gaze while I wait for my heart to begin working again. I don’t talk about Emma. It started as a promise I made to myself that night, and then it grew into a rule I made to protect myself. I’m not so sure what would happen if I broke it now.

“There was a girl,” I say, letting my eyes wander over to the TV, which he’s conveniently muted. There’s a pile-up of cars in the race, one is on fire, and I can’t help but find some kind of sick humor in the many ways that scene mirrors my own life. “I got screwed over by the law…” I start, my eyes moving back to his, the recognition in his expression already there. He knows the story. And now he’s filling in the details.

“Harp…” He shakes his head, literally biting his tongue, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, as if this is somehow stressful for him. I’m about to tell him to drop the empathy act when there’s a soft knock at our door.

It’s probably one of the guys, wondering why we’re not celebrating at Majerle’s. I use it as an excuse to get out of our conversation, and as Trent moves to the door, I walk into our kitchen to get each of us another beer. When I come out, she’s standing in the doorway, and Trent is rubbing his chin.

“Over your head,” he says under his breath as he trades spots with me near the door. He takes one of the beers from my hand and pauses to make sure my eyes meet his, get the warning in them, before he moves back to his spot on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” I don’t even waste time with being nice. I’m so pissed she’s at my door. It means she knows where I live, and she doesn’t get to know things about me. That’s not how this works.

“Why are you doing this, Andrew?”

I hear Trent scoff behind me, and it pisses me off that he’s hearing any of this. I slide my beer on the small shelf nearby and grab my jacket from the hook on the back of the door, motioning for her to get the hell out of my way. She takes a step back as I move outside with her and hand her my jacket. She looks at it like I just handed her a slab of meat.

“It’s forty degrees out here, and your teeth are chattering. Just put the damn thing on,” I say, walking down the path toward the road. Our street is filled with cars nestled up next to meters, and graffiti mars the sidewalks. It’s a far cry from the tree-lined cobblestone walkway that leads to Emma’s front door. I live in the real world.

Emma joins me near the roadway, but she’s still holding my jacket in her hands. I nod at her hands to put it on, and she scowls.

“Seriously, don’t make this a thing. It’s a twenty-dollar winter coat from Target. Just wear it for five minutes for fuck sake.”

She takes in a sharp breath before shoving one arm into a sleeve. “I don’t even know who the hell you are anymore,” she mumbles.

“Isn’t that the point? We pretend we don’t know each other?” I move in close, and she takes a step back. She wants to keep distance between us, which only makes me want to shatter her comfort more. I advance again, this time a little aggressively as my chest rumbles with light laughter. She doesn’t move this time, instead her shoulders sagging as she lets out a slow breath.

“Is that the point? Why is that the point, Andrew? What are you doing? Do you
want
me to pretend I don’t know you? I mean…I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought you really liked Lindsey. But then you keep doing things and saying things and you’re so—”

“So what, Emma?” I challenge her, waiting for her to say it. Her toes are matched with mine, and I feel her shoe against the tips of my own. My lip curls, unable to stop from grinning when I tap my foot against hers softly. Her eyes wince, just a little, but enough that I see it. She’s drowning in the fog of my breath, and I exhale once hard just to erase her. She backs down, her eyes falling to both of our feet as she takes a step back.

“Go on, Emma,” I say, moving toward her again. “What am I? Am I mean? Am I…angry? Am I the kind of guy who returns a girl’s license to her so she doesn’t have to worry? Does that make me your hero?”

She nods, but then shakes her head, bringing her hands up to the side of her face. Her eyes are threatening tears, and I know I have her on the brink.

“Or am I the guy who tells a lie for you, and then sits back while your life is perfect and mine is a fucking nightmare, and you can’t even bother the common decency of saying
thanks
?”

Her body grows rigid at that last one, and her face finds mine, her eyes wide and red, the water pooling in them, ready to fall to the ground in front of her. My hands out to my sides, I shake my head at a loss. I tried to make sense of it so many nights I lay awake at Lake Crest. I even tried to understand why she didn’t care after I moved to Iowa. I think about it every time my feet touch the ice, every time a fist lands on my face, and when I look at the scars I got for her.

“Come on, Emma. Tell me…what am I?”

Her breath falters, and the tears finally release down her cheeks as her bottom lip quivers with her cry and her gaze falls to the ground.

“You’re different, Andrew,” she says. I laugh her answer off, looking up at the sky, knowing she’d say something like that. I’m different. No shit, I’m different. You would be too.

“I…” she continues, stopping to sniffle once. I fold my arms and tilt my head to the side to watch her. I look at her with contempt, but I enjoy the view—of her struggling. I might as well enjoy the show.

“I used to just not know where you went…”

My brow pinches as she pauses to take a slow breath to steady herself.
Where I went?
She pulls my jacket from her body, folding it in half and handing it back to me. I look down at it, no intention of taking it from her. She’s being ridiculous. It’s cold outside, and her body is shaking.

“Just keep the jacket, Emma,” I protest. I’m not loud now.

“No. I don’t want it,” she says, her eyes meeting mine and leveling me with her temporary strength as she drops the coat at my feet. She swallows hard, as if this hurts. “You asked me who you are, Andrew. But I think maybe I never really knew. Whoever I met when I was a kid, that boy…he’s gone. I don’t know where he went. And I think maybe he never existed.”

I look down at my jacket, then back up to Emma, her arms hugging her body, her long hair wild in the night wind. She’s wearing a long-sleeved white shirt that’s thin enough the wind forces it against her skin, showing every curve of her body. My eyes scan lower to her jeans and the Converse on her feet, so much of her still
that
girl, still trapped in the past.

“Why did you come here? Was it just to tell me some poetic shit that I already know?” I ask.

Her eyes soften into pity as she begins to take a step back in the direction of her apartment. It’s late, and freezing, and I’m pretty sure she followed me here by foot. I shouldn’t let her walk home alone. But then again, she shouldn’t have come here in the first place, so kind of her fault.

“I hope you really like Lindsey…” she says. My mouth flinches because I don’t want to accept her statement. I don’t want to
deal
with her statement.

I bend down and grab my jacket, slinging it over one shoulder as I salute her with my other hand.

“Have a safe walk home, Emma. Maybe next time you drop by, you’ll start being honest with yourself,” I say over my shoulder, as angry with her as I was before her impromptu visit, but maybe now for other reasons.

“I won’t be back,” she says. “In fact, I plan on never seeing you again.” She turns and walks away with purpose, back to where she came from, her stride fast, confident, and maybe…free.

“Fuck!” I yell when I’m sure she can no longer hear me. I tug on the sleeve of the jacket in my hands, ripping a seam in the middle.

When I come inside, Trent is just where I left him, but I’m no longer in the mood to deal with his psycho-babble-shit, so I throw my jacket onto the coffee table and walk right by him into my room, slamming the door behind me.

“This is one of those bad ideas, Harper,” he says through my door a few seconds later. “We all have them, but you went ahead and put it into action. Just…stop now.”

“Shut the fuck up, Trenton. I don’t need you to tell me things I already know,” I say, pulling my pillow up over my face and ears. It won’t matter; I can’t drown out the voice in my head. Turns out, I can’t drown out Trent, either.

“I kinda think you do, Harp. Otherwise you wouldn’t make such shitty decisions,” he says.

I open my mouth to swear at him again, but I decide against it, sighing instead. I smack my hand on the base of the lamp next to my bed, turning out my light, then I flip to my side to plug my phone into it’s charger—setting my alarm to make sure I’m up in time to drive to Woodstock and endure more criticism and advice from my family.

I used to just not know where you went.