Nine Years Ago
She stopped and looked around as I took the key from her and unlocked her back door.
It was after one in the morning, and I hurriedly twisted the handle and pulled her in from the rain.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “The coast is clear. He’s still at work.”
I closed the door, locked it, and knelt down, slipping her heels off her feet. Taking her hand, I pulled her toward the stairs.
“We really need to stand up to him sometime.”
She leaned her head on my arm, yawning. “He’s scary,” she said.
I shook my head, sweeping her into my arms and carrying her up the stairs. “He’s a joke.” I hugged her close as she wrapped her arms around my neck. “I’m your man now. He’ll have to get through me.”
She just let out a single chuckle into the crook of my neck, but didn’t say more.
I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“Paige?” someone called.
I froze, the weight of my footsteps halting the creaking on the floorboards.
Emmy popped her head up and shifted out of my arms, hurrying into her grandmother’s room.
“Yes, Grand-Mère.”
I hung back, not wanting Em to have to face questions about why she was with me so late.
“Where is your father?” her grandma asked.
I heard Em walk around the room, pour some water, and shuffle blankets.
Her father?
But Emmy answered, not missing a beat. “He had to go back to the flower shop. He got you yellow flowers, and he knows better.”
“Red flowers.” Her grandmother’s raspy voice held a hint of humor. “How could he forget?”
“Go to sleep,” Em cooed. “When you wake up, they’ll be here.”
Emory walked back into the hallway, yawning again as she pulled the door closed, only leaving it open a crack.
“Love you, sweetie,” her grandmother called.
“Love you, too.”
She gazed up at me in the dark hallway and took my hand, lying her head on my chest. She was fucking exhausted.
I led her to her room.
“Your father?” I inquired.
Adam Scott died with her mother years ago. Caught in their car when the river flooded during Hurricane Frederic that hit us head on about five years ago.
But Emmy clarified, “My grandfather. Her husband. She thinks I’m my mother sometimes.”
I nodded once, not really knowing what to say to that. It was a lot for a high schooler to deal with. In this moment, I was grateful she spared me any time, considering the bigger things she had on her plate. I was too hard on her.
We entered her room, and I turned on the lights.
But she protested, “No, leave them off.” She made her way for her bed. “I’m so tired.”
She crashed down, not even bothering to undress, and I flipped the switch off again, the room going dark.
“But I don’t want to sleep, either,” she said, yawning again. “Because when the night’s over, it ends. No more fun.”
I walked over, unable to keep the smile off my lips. “Nothing is ending.” I pulled at her comforter and then the blankets, working them out from underneath her to cover her up. “It wasn’t just fun to me, Emmy. Don’t you know that?”
I stared down at her as she turned on her side, and I covered her up.
We weren’t done. I needed more.
“You still don’t trust me?” I asked.
She remained still and quiet, refusing to look at me. Was she asleep already?
But then I heard her speak. “Part of me wishes I could have you,” she said. “Part of me wishes you were my man, but…”
I heard her swallow, and then she sighed.
“Everything will be real tomorrow,” she told me.
As if that explained everything.
Walking over to her window, I closed her drapes.
“Someday you’ll be big and powerful,” she continued.
I turned to see her sitting up in bed and punching the pillows behind her, trying to get them to the right fluffiness.
“Like I am now?” I teased.
“And stunning in a three-piece suit with fabulous hair,” she went on, thinking out loud like I wasn’t even here.
“I look better wet.”
“And everyone will love you.” She plopped back onto her pillows, lying on her back.
“They already do.”
“And you’ll be the life of the party.”
I walked over, straightening her blankets and biting back my smile. “Mm-hmm.”
“With little magazine-cover looking children.”
“My sperm will be the stuff of legends,” I joked.
“And married…”
“Several times, I’m sure.”
“And to all blondes.”
My body shook with a laugh as I leaned over her, smelling her and me on her skin and dying to crawl into this bed with her.
But she was done for the night.
“And the only time you’ll notice I’m alive,” she went on, “is when you sign the checks, paying my dog-walking service for taking care of your labradoodles every week.”
“Like a busy, important, fabulous god like me would be bothered with such tasks?” I retorted. “My eighteen-year-old former Playboy-bunny wife, Heidi, will sign those checks.”
A snarl flashed on her mouth, and I snorted.
“You’re going to remember this, Will Grayson,” she said, sounding all tough. “I blew your mind tonight. Even for just a minute.”
She turned over, giving me her back, and I smiled, smoothing the hair off her face and neck.
You’ve been blowing my mind for forever.
“Now, get out of here,” she said, nudging me playfully and closing her eyes.
I stared down at her, the shadows of the trees outside dancing across her back, and my body hummed, wanting more of her.
She was incredible, and I hated that no one saw how beautiful she was except me. I’d been dying in that bus and fucking happy for it.
Her body moved in slow, steady breaths, and I watched her lips meet, so softly time and again with each breath.
“I love you,” I murmured.
She didn’t shift or open her eyes, the exhaustion taking over as she sank deeper and deeper into sleep.
Standing up straight, I stepped away, but then I dropped my eyes to her back, seeing the bruises and scrapes.
How did she paint her back? Did her brother help her?
I doubted it.
Squatting down, I leaned in closer, studying the marks on her arm and back with the little moonlight streaming in through the sheer curtains.
Licking my thumb, I rubbed at the dark purple one with red around it, but…
The makeup didn’t rub off.
I narrowed my eyes, licking my thumb again and rubbing harder.
But then she whimpered, shifting away from me like it hurt.
I rubbed my finger against my thumb, not feeling any grease or oil from the makeup, either.
I stopped and looked up at her face, studying the drop of blood coming down from her eyebrow she said was part of her costume.
Heat filled my veins, and my pulse echoed in my ears as my mind raced.
The bruises on her legs that I saw in the swimming pool…
The bruise on her leg in lit class.
The overly baggy clothes and how she hardly ever showed skin.
Rising up, I stared down at her, tempted to drag her out of this bed.
But it was late, and she needed sleep.
Tonight was Devil’s Night. I’d let her rest for now.
Because later today I was going to find out what the fuck was going on once and for all.
