Emily craves the truth and I’ve admitted to keeping some of it from her. I won’t betray the club, but I can give Emily more. I tip my chin, indicating the top drawer of my nightstand.
“There’re some pictures in there. They used to be on the fridge, but Mom took them down when you arrived at Olivia’s. The one with the two babies?” I turn my head to look straight in her eyes. She won’t be calling me out on integrity issues with this. “It’s me and you.”
Emily
THERE’S A FLASH in his blue eyes—an unspoken challenge to call him a liar, but I don’t have to push for the truth. It’s written all over his face. Nervous adrenaline floods my system as I wipe my palms against my jeans.
I open the drawer, grab for the stack of pictures and my entire world freezes. A small toddler. Chubby cheeks and fingers. Black hair. Big blue eyes. An infectious grin. He’s settled into a patch of tall green grass and he’s extending a dandelion to a baby girl old enough to sit. Long brown hair. My eyes. Pink Elephant James is by my side. I’m smiling as I accept the gift.
I twine my fingers in my hair and pull tightly enough to cause pain at the roots. Another picture from another time with another person who should not be a part of my past.
My back hits the wall and I lightly rap my head. “I don’t understand.”
Oz extends his leg so that it touches me, then he gently bumps his knee to mine as if offering comfort. “As I said before, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. You lived here. Farther down the road, that’s your family. Me and you, Emily? This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”
My body goes numb and I sort of enjoy the feeling. Numb’s better than confusion and hurt and anger. All of which I should be experiencing, but I’m embracing numb. Numb chases away the terrifying, nausea-inducing memories of Olivia’s twitching body.
Even though I’m welcoming numb, even though I’m trying desperately to dive headfirst into it and lose myself in the blackness, an overwhelming wave of sadness hammers into me like a tanker truck and I flinch with the impact.
Olivia’s dying and if she was supposed to be in my life, but wasn’t because my mom ran... “What did I miss? With Olivia? What did I miss not being around her?”
Oz
EMILY’S KILLING ME. Tears pool at the bottom of those dark eyes and I watch helplessly as she bleeds. What did Emily miss by not living here? What will she miss if Olivia dies? Everything worth living for.
“Olivia took care of me,” I say and my own voice tastes foreign. My heart rate increases because this sharing shit, it sure as hell isn’t me. “When I was younger, my parents weren’t ready for...” Me. “A kid, so Olivia took care of me until they could. Don’t get me wrong. They love me and I love them, but Mom was working her way through nursing school and Dad had a job with jacked-up night hours. A kid made things complicated.”
Emily’s waiting for me to continue and I don’t want to continue. I’d prefer to return to the kitchen and suck down a few more bottles of beer.
Olivia had a seizure tonight.
A seizure.
She’s had them before. It’s not new, but the cancer has spread to her blood. It’s over. It’s all fucking over.
“Olivia...” My voice breaks and I clear my throat. “She raised me. The room across from the one you’ve been sleeping in? That was mine. Slept in it every night until my mom switched shifts when I was eight.”
Emily’s too damn pale and those eyes are too damn wide. Who the hell can process so much shit in such a short period of time, but because Emily’s quick on the draw, she does. “So Olivia is like your mom?”
My throat goes raw and I can only nod. Screw this. “I don’t want to play this fucked-up history game anymore. You can go to sleep if you want. I’ll take the couch.”
“Oz,” she says.
I strum the guitar again. “Can we let this go?”
She sighs and I accept the sound as her moving on from the conversation.
“Want me to head to the living room?” I ask.
Emily yawns while she shakes her head no. She’s fighting sleep and I don’t understand why. “Tell me why you’re scared of the dark.”
“If you could do anything other than work for the security company, what would you do?” she counters.
“Nothing. The security company is what I want to do.”
“Yeah, but what do you like to do? You know, in your down time, and please don’t tell me play guitar.”
“Don’t think I’m rock-star material? I took two months of lessons for this.” I play one more chorus of “Smoke on the Water.” “Why are you scared of the dark?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me what you would do if the security company didn’t exist.”
In the soft lamplight, Emily looks like a dream. White cotton shirt that hugs her perfectly, those skintight jeans and her silky chestnut hair tumbling around her shoulders. Normally, I wouldn’t answer this type of question, but Emily’s breaking down her walls and I’ll be damned if I give her an opportunity to build them back up.
“Deal.”