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Begging. Not desperate or anything, are ya, Reeves? Shoot me now.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
“Hi.”
“Hi. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”
“I’m sorry I keep calling,” I reply weakly. “It’s just hard, not hearing from you, especially after talking to you almost every day.”
Not used to being vulnerably honest like this, but I’ve got nothing left.
“I know. It’s been hard for me too.”
“I got a little scared. I thought maybe… maybe you didn’t need me anymore. You know, now that Rachel’s not around and—”
“Don’t say that.” Emma thankfully cuts me off. I can’t stand how pathetic I sound. “I’ve wanted to call, to talk to you, but… I didn’t know what to say. What you expected me to say.”
“Emma, I don’t expect anything. I just want you to be honest, that’s all.” She’s silent. I can’t push her. It’s not fair to her. “How have you been sleeping?”
She laughs. “Pretty well, actually. Maybe you did cure me, or I just don’t care anymore. How about you? Is the nightmare gone?”
“It comes back every once in a while.”
“So you’ve been sleeping too?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I say, still cursed with the honesty filter. “I keep waking up, afraid I missed your call. So… not sleeping that great.”
It’s the truth, though. After months of talking in the middle of the night, watching movies and stupid infomercials… I don’t want to miss out on a call, even when I can sleep. And I haven’t felt this rested in… longer than I can remember.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“It’s okay. When can I see you? I think we should… talk. There’s so much I need to say to you, and I don’t want to do it over the phone.”
That’s a little more pressure than I intended. But I think it’s important we talk about what we’re really feeling. And what is best for us moving forward. I suck at phone conversations, obviously. In person has to be better. I wish she could read me as easily as—
“Uh…” Emma finally responds. “I’m not sure.” A door shutting interrupts her. “I should go. Someone’s coming.”
“Emma.” I can’t leave it like this. “I know you’re confused right now, but I’ve missed us, you know, our talks—being able to share what no one else understands. I don’t want to lose that, to lose you.”
“I don’t either,” Emma says quietly so no one overhears her. “And we will talk. I promise. But I should go.”
That sucked. I mean, it wasn’t all bad. Except I feel like a dirty secret. And I can’t deal with any more secrets in my life—forget about being one.
I always expected him to call someday, but… never to hide a body. Or a crime scene. I’ve been searching the news for any information about the guy Jonathan disfigured with his fists since I left that gingerbread house last week.
I was always afraid it would come to this someday. Love J-man, but he doesn’t know his own strength when he loses it. I’ve been on the other end of his elbow one too many times. But it did motivate me to get my ass to the gym, so there’s something to be grateful for, I guess.
I didn’t tell Sadie. I did tell Kendrick. Promised we’d never hide anything. No skeletons or corpses in backseats in our relationship. He listened. Kissed me. Then handed me the number of a reputable lawyer. He’s so good to me.
When the lawyer’s office phoned with an update, I texted Jonathan to call me. And he did immediately. Miracles are real.
“He’s dead.”
“Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t you. Someone shot him. Dude was a nasty piece of work.”
“What if… what if… I left something behind.”
“Like what?”
