My breath hitches. What am I supposed to say? That Wick’s in, but she doesn’t want to be? She doesn’t want anything to do with Joe? He’s forcing her and she wants to escape? Wick wants out.
The knowledge bothers me, a lot more than it should, and that’s when I realize why it does: Wick and I are alike. I get her, and the understanding kicks me in the knees. We’re both fighting against what we’re supposed to be. We both want out.
Can I take that away from her? God, no. Ben’s right. I do have to save myself, but that damn sure doesn’t mean I should do it at her expense. She wants the same things from life I do. I can’t take that away from her. I don’t want to be that guy, which means I can’t tell Carson anything. If she’s going to escape too, I should give her the space to do it.
I focus on the dark windows on the trailer across our street. “They don’t have her doing anything.”
“Impossible.”
“I have to go,” I say, and disconnect before Carson can reply.
The kitchen’s clean and most of the garbage is gone by the time Emily shows up. She lets herself in through the back door, my emergency keys in one hand and a jar of sweet tea in the other. I’ve never been so effing glad to see her.
“Hey, Em.”
“Hey yourself.” She stops halfway to me and wrinkles her nose. “Lord, Griff, did you tell your mom she could smoke in here again? You’re going to get cancer tonight.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what she was thinking—she wasn’t, I guess. I think she was with Vic.”
Em frowns and offers me a sip of tea. I take it, grimacing at the bite of vodka. “How much did you put in there?”
“Enough to make the day go away.” She sidles closer, curving her arms around my neck and tightening her grip until our mouths are inches apart. “But it’s not working, so I thought I’d come see you instead.”
I don’t move and Emily tilts her head, studying me. “Are you okay, Griff?”
“No.”
“Maybe we can make each other better?” Emily’s hand fists in my hair, urging me to fit my lips against hers. The way her breasts press into my chest, how her bare toes curl against the top of my sneakers . . . she feels amazing. Why am I not kissing her?
“Em . . .” I place both hands on Emily’s upper arms, untangling myself.
Her sigh is a hot puff against my throat. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Which means I have officially gone emo—or Carson’s gotten to me. I can’t shake the rotten feeling in my stomach. He has my mom. He has me. We’ve been collected like secrets.
I push away from Emily, concentrate on filling another garbage bag. “It’s been a bad day. Look at this place. She just—”
“I’d believe you if I didn’t know about Wick Tate.”
I stiffen. “What about her?”
“Missy said she saw you two leave Joe Bender’s house together.” Em rocks from her heels to her toes and back again, watching me as I tie off the bag. “Are you getting involved with them? I thought you were better than that.”
“Don’t start, Em.” I yank the plastic ties tighter and put the bag next to the others I’ve piled by the front door. “You know what I have going on.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I’m not sorry about the Wick thing though.”
“I gave her a ride home. That’s all.”
“No, it isn’t. I can tell.” Emily tugs her yellow hair behind her ears and hops onto the newly cleaned kitchen counter, crossing one long leg over the other. “You remember that first year you moved here? When we did that neighborhood potluck and Wick came with her sister?”
Yeah, it was the first time Wick dyed her hair cobalt blue. “I vaguely remember.”
“You’re so full of it. You totally remember.”
I squint at Em as I rifle through the cabinets. I’m suddenly and savagely hungry and I can’t find anything to eat. We had one last can of tomato sauce; surely they wouldn’t have eaten that with their Big Macs.
I try the other cabinet. No luck. I do find a box of Lucky Charms near the back though and pour both of us a bowl.
Emily takes the cereal and pokes it with her spoon. “Seriously? You don’t even have milk? Do you need to come eat at our house?”
I smile and take a big bite of stale Lucky Charms. “Like you have anything in the fridge.”
“True, but that’s only because we haven’t gone shopping.” Emily pushes the cereal around in the bowl. “You had a thing for Wick all the way back then. I can see it, Griff. It’s the way you look at her. It’s different from how you look at the rest of us.”
I concentrate on eating so I don’t have to look at her, and for a while, we’re quiet. There’s just me crunching on marshmallows that taste like cardboard and Emily circling the heel of her tennis shoe against the cabinets.