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chapter Twenty-Seven

Emma—Present Day

Saturday is heavenly. David and I sleep in, eat a leisurely brunch, catch a movie and take a walk. Before we know it, evening arrives. I make us some dinner, and we talk about how to spend the night.
“I think Caleb and the guys are playing somewhere tonight. If you want, I can find out where and we can go,” he says. I don’t have to think twice about it. I tell him I think it’s a great idea.
Turns out they are going to be at a club on the south side of the city. The show starts at ten, and David calls Caleb to get us on the guest list. He seems excited to be going out to see his friends and tells me that this time we should plan on hanging out with them after the show.
“I’m not worried about them scaring you off anymore,” he says with confidence. “No matter what f*cking song they decide to play for you.” I smile at him, remembering how ridiculously crazy he looked the last time. And then I promise him—and myself—that I will not get absurdly drunk tonight. I will stay in line, and I will not humiliate either of us. He laughs and tells me I can do whatever the f*ck makes me happy. He doesn’t care, just so long as he’s the one who puts me in the shower this time.
We have so much fun. Before they start playing, we hang out with everyone backstage. I meet John and Steve’s girlfriends and enjoy watching David chatting and posturing with his friends. He seems so relaxed with them. And this time, when the band is playing, we don’t stand by the bar. Or rather, I don’t stand by the bar. I dance. With the other girlfriends and a few other people. I glance over at David from time to time and watch him watching me. It is the first time he’s seen me dance, and I hope I am not embarrassing him. He eyes are alight every time I glance at him, so I think I must be doing all right.
By the time the band finishes and the DJ begins, I am drenched in sweat, laughing my ass off at Mandy, Steve’s girlfriend, and her antics. She’s a howl, traipsing around pretending to be a supermodel and flirting with everyone she sees. I like her—and everyone else here, for that matter. They are unpretentious and uninhibited.
About an hour later, I decide to have a seat on a bar stool a few feet away from David. He is busy talking with John. I can’t tell what the topic is, but it must be light because they occasionally crack up between drags on their cigarettes. As I am watching the pair of them and drinking a gin and tonic of my own, Saz sits down next to me and starts talking. He is overly animated, telling me about how much he likes my shirt and how he thinks the DJ looks like a young Hugh Jackman.
Suddenly, he stops blabbering and starts smiling at me like a silly little boy. “Emma,” he says, dragging my name out slowly.
“Saz,” I say. “You all right?”
“Shit, girl, I’m more than all right. I’m thrilled to f*cking death.” I think he might be a little drunk. He leans over into me as if he is going to tell me a secret. “You, girl. You and David. Things are tightening up again for that man.” Uh, okay. What does that mean?
“Tightening up?” I say, forcing a cautious smile on my face. He is smiling, too, and his eyes are lit.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s a good thing. A really good thing. He hasn’t had a girl around since Lucia f*cked him over, man. That was some tough shit to witness right there.” Who the hell is Lucia?
“Oh,” I say. “Lucia, huh? What happened there?”
“He never mentioned her?” I shake my head cautiously. “Aww, man. I’m not surprised. It was bad. The whole time the two of them were together, she was f*cking some other cocksucker. The dude even lived in David’s building. It was a really f*cking bad scene. The guy lived two floors down from David. They were friends, man. Nothing worse than finding out your woman is screwing one of your mates. She was just a rotten f*cking whore.” This is news. Holy f*ck. Two floors down. That’s my apartment. I’m not sure I want to hear any more about this, but I can’t help myself.
Screw it. I’m going to take advantage of Saz’s candor.
“Wow. How long ago did all this happen?” I ask, trying to act casual but choking on a wad of apprehension.
He thinks for a moment, then says, “Must be a year or so ago. That Lucia, man, she was trouble right from the start. David, he’s got a good heart, man, and she f*cking threw that shit right to the floor.” Saz balls his hand up into a fist and starts tapping it on his chest. His face suddenly looks emotional, as if he hurts for David. “He went a little crazy after Lucia f*cked him over. He was doing some wacked-out shit. Skydiving, motor-cross racing, jumping off of f*cking cliffs—crazy shit like that,” he stresses. “Ever since I’ve known him, David’s always been in control, man, he’s always got a grip. He’s always...I don’t know...tight. But what that whore did...she put a dent in all that. All the crazy-ass shit he was doing was completely against his grain. It wasn’t like him to take those kinds of risks. It was total insanity. But apparently, it was temporary. Because he’s back, man, he’s tight again. It’s like he buckled his ass back down and got a grip. Once he met you, all that shit stopped.” His eyebrows go up and he shrugs. I’m silent because I don’t know what to say. A few seconds later, Saz starts talking again.
“Just so you know, Emma, he was never like this before,” he continues. When he says the word “this,” he opens his arms up toward me and then gestures back and forth from me to David. I cannot believe what I am hearing.
“What happened to her?” I ask as casually as I can. She can’t possibly still be part of David’s life? Surely he would have mentioned her.
“Don’t know. He put the guy in the hospital, though. He beat the living shit out of the dude. Then he got Carl to evict the guy for selling stolen merchandise out of his apartment, which apparently David had known about for a long time. The day the guy got out of the hospital, David put all the dude’s furniture and shit out in the parking lot and changed all the locks. David even had the cops there to make sure it was a clean eviction. The dude never said a word to anyone about David being the one that beat the living shit out of him. I think he was afraid that David would tell the cops about all the stolen shit he was selling. And, as far as I know, David told Lucia to go f*ck herself. We never saw her after that. Maybe she’s with the other guy, I don’t know.”
“Jesus, Saz. That’s crazy.” I grab my drink and take a long sip. My mind is racing. For all the talking that David and I have done over the past few weeks, we have never discussed any of his ex-girlfriends. And now I know there are at least two. Maybe three, if the “gun hound” isn’t Anna or Lucia, or if you count him sleeping with his dad’s secretary. I have always considered past relationships in the none-of-my-business category, but it seems as if David’s exes are a complicated bunch. I suddenly feel very naive.
Saz is taking a sip of his beer, and I glance over my shoulder at David. I need to see him. To confirm that he is the same man that Saz and I are talking about. When my eyes meet his, I can see immediately that he is uncomfortable. That he is guarded. His body language is screaming it. His arms are crossed over each other but not across his chest, around his midsection. Like he is protecting himself from a shot to the gut. For the first time ever, I look at David and I see insecurity. He knows we are talking about him, and he is clearly uneasy as shit about it. John is talking to him, but I don’t think he is listening. He is focused on me and Saz.
Now I feel guilty and dirty for talking about this. For making David feel insecure. For making him wonder what we are saying. I need to stop. I turn back to Saz.
“I’m going to go check in with David now,” I tell him. “It was nice talking with you, Saz.”
“You too, Emma. And take it easy on him, okay?” he says. I don’t answer. I just smile and walk over to David.
As soon as I get there, his arms release his waist and wrap around me, folding me against him. I put my head on his chest and slide my hands around him. I’m sure everyone is looking at us, hugging like this at the bar, but I don’t care. It’s nice to know that David doesn’t either. It makes me realize that there’s a lot of stuff I don’t care about. Really. When it comes down to it, I don’t care about what kind of crazy shit David did because of someone named Lucia. I don’t care that he didn’t tell me about the cocksucker who used to live in my apartment. I don’t care what Matt knows about David that I don’t. I don’t care about gun-toting ex-girlfriends or illegal poker nights or his f*cked-up family. I don’t care. He’ll tell me what he wants me to know. And none of it will matter anyway. Because I already know I love him, and all that shit won’t make a damn bit of difference.
Shit. I love David Calgaro.
“I want to go,” I say to him, my head still against his chest.
“F*ck.” It comes out of him sounding sick and disturbed. “Why can’t any of my friends keep their mouths shut? What did he say, Emma?” I lean back away from him and look at his face. He thinks I’m angry.
“It doesn’t matter what he said. None of it matters,” I say softly.
“What the hell does that mean?” He sounds hurt.
“It means that any one of them could tell me that you snorted coke with the pope, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.” His face relaxes. He recognizes his own words of assurance from Monday night. From the night I said I would be his girlfriend. He briefly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head.
When he opens his eyes, they dig into mine. “Two of the same,” he says stone-faced. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *

Neither of us brings up my conversation with Saz. We don’t talk about it on the drive home or all day Sunday. He doesn’t ask, and I don’t offer. But I think David already knows what Saz told me. I think he called or texted him about it. I also think David probably chewed Saz a new one for sharing what wasn’t his to share.
On Sunday, I get my period, so by the time Monday rolls around, we have both caught up on our sleep. And grocery shopping and laundry. David is still not letting me out of his sight, driving me wherever I want to go and hanging out at my apartment as if it’s his own. I make it no secret: I love how safe I feel when he’s around. When I tell him as much, his face shines, and he plumps himself up like a horny rooster strutting through the barnyard. It makes me laugh out loud.
At work on Monday, Matt goes back to being Matt, though he does ask me if David was mad at him for his departing comment on Friday. I laugh and tell him that David wanted to chase him down for it, but in the end, I managed to hold him back. We had a great weekend, I tell Matt, and then I thank him again for our little talk on Friday. I don’t want to make things awkward between us, so I make no mention of his discussion with David about “the new hottie at work.” Inside, though, I think of it every time I look at him. It still makes me feel giddy. And stupid.
On my way to lunch, I get a text from David.


Hi.


Hi back.


Day going well?


Slow. Yours?


Hands in a toilet so not so great.


Um, ewww. TMI.


Sorry, but true.


I guess I never thought about David having to do that kind of work for Carl, but obviously he does.


Not your favorite job, I’ll assume.


Correct.


See u at 6:00?


I’ll be there.


I appreciate it.


Good.


I miss u.


Better.


I don’t really think about what his reaction will be. It is something else that doesn’t matter. And so I put myself out there.


I love u.


I press Send. I stand in line for a deli sandwich, holding my breath. My stomach is dancing. I don’t expect him to say it back. Hell, I don’t know what I expect. My phone pings almost instantly.


Best.


It makes me smile. Clever motherf*cker.
* * *

David is waiting outside for me at six, double-parked and sexy as shit. I am really freaked out about our little text exchange. I would never forgive myself if it changed things between us. If it was too soon.
I have never said “I love you” to a guy before, because I have never loved one before. Hell, compared to this, I barely gave a damn about a guy before. But, David. David makes me love him. He makes me love us.
“Hey,” he says to me as I reach the car. He is freshly showered. I can smell the soap and the remnants of his shaving gel. He is wearing dark blue jeans and a plaid button-down. It’s ironed. Very neatly ironed. The idea of David ironing is an absurd turn-on. I think I must be nuts. “How did the rest of your day go?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Great, thanks,” I say as he plants a small kiss on my forehead. “You look extra mighty fine today,” I add as I climb into the car.
“Must be a girl,” he says, closing my door. I am wearing a stupid-ass smile, and he grins at me as he walks around the front of the car to his side.
When we arrive home, I get my mail before we head inside. I haven’t checked the mailbox since early last week. David is standing behind me when I insert my key and open the slot. There is only one envelope inside, and when I look at my name and address written on the front, I know immediately who it is from.
I wave the letter at David. “Christ all-f*cking-mighty,” I blurt out emphatically. “What the f*ck is it with these people?”
“What is it?” David asks. I am sure he sees my skin starting to sear. I feel the red creeping up my neck and across my face. He is looking at me cautiously. And then I see his face change. I see the crazy current starting to move through him. I see his body tighten and his skin flush, just like mine. “Is it from him? Is it from Michael?” he asks.
“No,” I say, practically shouting it at him. “It’s from one of my f*cking a*shole brothers.” I recognized Ricky’s handwriting the moment I saw it. He must have gotten my address from Michael. I want to break something.
“What?” David spits back at me in disbelief. “Jesus, Emma.”
“Michael must have given him my address. F*cker. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” he says. He’s calmer now. His voice settled.
I work my index finger under the lip of the envelope and tear it open. Inside is a written letter. A note, really. My heart stops.


Em—
Michael is in the hospital. He might not make it. I thought you should know.
R.
241-445-7878


And folded up with the note is a newspaper clipping.