Beauty and the Running Back (24 page)

Emerson locks his eyes on mine, and we might as well be the
only two people on the planet. He lingers there for just a moment, on the
precipice of our knowing each other in an entirely new way. My whole body is
screaming to feel him drive into me, demolish and rebuild me with the force of
his need. I reach up and take his face in my hands.

“I’m all yours,” I whisper, my gaze steady on his face.
“Take me.”

Something blazes behind his eyes as he brings his mouth to
mine. He bucks his hips, pressing himself into me. A moan fills my throat as he
parts my silky flesh with his staggering length. I can feel him diving into the
very core of me. At last, he’s all the way in, and I can scarcely believe that
he fits at all. But he does. And it feels fucking fantastic.

Our bodies move together, limbs tangled, chests heaving. He
drives into me as I pull him in further, each of us trying to feel as much of
the other as possible. A low, thudding bliss is building inside of me once
more, and I can feel him growing to fill me—he’s right on the edge. He thrusts
hard and deep, his face screwed up in a mask of ecstatic wonder. I grab hold of
his perfect, firm ass, pulling him in as far as I can as I tell him, “Let go.”

Both of our voices swell into a huge groan as he pummels
into me once more and comes, hard. I clutch onto him as I feel him spasm and
gush inside of me, I gaze up at him as his mouth falls open into a perfect “o”.
It feels like a year goes by before we even begin to come back down to earth
again.

Emerson lowers himself down next to me on the bed, pulling
me to his chest. I rest my cheek on his hot skin, listening to the wild beating
of his heart. I can’t formulate a single word to tell him what this has meant
to me, that it was so much better than I ever could have hoped, and that I
don’t know how I’ll stand to never have him again.

But the thing is, I don’t need to tell him. Just laying here
beside me, it’s clear that he already knows.

Chapter Nine

* * *

I arrange my blonde hair into a hasty up-do, trying to keep
from crying. I’ve been on the verge of tears since about five minutes after I
woke up this morning—when I remembered what today is. Our parents’ wedding day.
The day that Emerson and I become step siblings.

I’ve changed into my maid of honor dress, a lavender sheath,
and tried my best to apply fancy makeup. We have to head right to the church
this morning, just like we promised, and we’re already getting kind of a late
start. I lock eyes with myself in the mirror, see the tears shining there.

“Stop it,” I whisper, “You can’t cry now. You always knew
this was coming.”

But even though Emerson and I had our one night together
knowing full well that it would be our last, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Stepping out into the hotel bedroom, I feel my heart clench
painfully as Emerson turns to face me across the space. He’s wearing a simple
gray suit, but it might as well be a tux for how good it looks on him. His hair
is pushed away from his face, though the signature stubble I love so much is
still in place. His blue eyes are shining with remorse for what’s about to
happen and elation at what passed between us last night.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice ragged with
conflicting emotion.

“Thank you,” I say softly, “You look amazing, too.”

“Here,” he says, moving to the motel mini-fridge. He opens
it up and takes out a corsage in its little container. It’s a small sprig of
lilac tied with an ivory ribbon.

“What is this, prom?” I laugh tearfully, as Emerson eases
the band of the corsage up over my wrist.

“Just as miserable as prom, probably,” he grins wistfully,
lacing my fingers through his.

“Well, don’t go overboard,” I joke, stepping toward him.

Without preamble, he pulls me into a tight embrace, pressing
his lips ardently to mine. I take his face in my hands, kissing him hard. We
both know that this is the last kiss we’ll ever share. It’s closed-lipped,
almost sacred. And I’ll never forget it.

“I don’t know how just yet,” Emerson murmurs, running his
hands down my arms, “But it’s going to be OK, Abby. We’re gonna make it through
this.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say, shaking my
head, “Because right now, I can’t see how I’m ever going to feel alright
again.”

“At least we’ll still be in each others’ lives,” Emerson
says, searching for a silver lining. “Even if it won’t be...how we’d prefer.”

“I hope you know that I’ll never stop wondering what might
have happened between us,” I whisper, “You know. If only...”

“I know,” he says softly, kissing me on the forehead, “Me
too, Abby.”

Knowing that we won’t be able to utter another word without
breaking into tears, we silently gather our things. We stand in the threshold
together, looking back at the motel room. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be as
happy again as I have been here. As Emerson closes the door behind us, it feels
like something is being entombed here—some part of me that is lost forever.

I sink into the passenger seat of the Chevy and stare out
the window as we set off on the long drive back to our home town. Hopefully, by
the time we get there, I’ll find it in my heart to fake a smile or two for my
father’s wedding day.

* * *

Things are already well underway at our home by the time we
pull up. My dad is waiting on the front steps, looking tense. I recognize my
grandparents’ car, and another that must belong to the justice of the peace, in
the driveway.

“There you two are!” my dad cries, beckoning us forward.
“Come in, come in. Frank and Gillian are waiting to see you.”

That’s why he looks tense. He and my grandparents are
already sure to be butting heads. I give Dad a quick kiss on the cheek as I
pass.

“You look nice, Daddy,” I tell him, trying to be chipper.

“You too, sweetie,” he replies distractedly.

A pang of sadness twists my core at our clipped address.
He’s taking so much away from me today, more than he could ever know, and for
what? A shadow of the relationship we used to have? I force myself not to think
of it as I hurry toward the kitchen with Emerson in tow. Stepping inside, I
spot my grandparents huddled over the counter. They’re dressed to the
nines—Grandpa Frank in an Italian wool suit, Grandma Jillian in her favorite
fur stole. They’ve always looked to me like first class passengers on some
old-timey luxury cruise line. The only things unappealing about their
appearances today are the twin scowls they try to cover up as I approach.

“Abigail,” Grandma Jillian smiles, air-kissing both of my
cheeks. A soft wash of her signature Chanel perfume brings back a million
memories of tense family gatherings and etiquette lessons. I love my
grandparents, but there’s definitely a lot of pressure that goes along with
trying to meet their expectations.

“You look gorgeous, dear,” Grandpa Frank says, giving me a
swift kiss on the hand. They’re a beautiful couple, and look much younger than
they actually are. Grandma’s perfect crown of platinum blonde curls, Grandpa’s
swoosh of silver hair, and their bright white smiles make them look like an
advertisement for the swankiest retirement community around.

“Grandpa, Grandma, this is Emerson—Deb’s son,” I say,
glancing Emerson’s way. He’s got both hands shoved into his pockets, and his
mouth is a hard, solemn line.

“Ah,” Grandpa says, without warmth. “Well. Hello, Emerson.”

“Hey,” Emerson nods.

“I’m Jillian. It’s nice to meet you,” Grandma says, offering
her hand for Emerson to kiss. I watch, trying not to laugh, as he takes her
hand and gives it a good solid shake instead.

“And here’s the man of the hour himself,” Grandpa says,
looking up as Dad walks into the kitchen with the justice of the peace—a
balding man with a cheerful red face.

“Are we starting soon?” Grandma asks, “The girls are playing
bridge at three and I’d really prefer not to be late.”

“We’ll start as soon as Deb is ready,” Dad replies curtly.
“I’m sure she’s just putting the finishing touches on—”

“I’m all set!” Deb sings out from the stairs.

We all turn to watch her grand entrance as she clatters down
the last few steps and struts her stuff our way. I can practically hear my
grandparents’ jaws crack against the tile floor as Deb meets us in the kitchen.
Her rhinestone-encrusted heels must be five inches high, and fully visible
beneath the micro minidress that’s serving as her wedding gown. A huge, flowing
bustle trails along behind her, and her already voluminous blonde curls are
stacked a mile high in a hairdo that would make the most seasoned pageant girl
raise an eyebrow. Her makeup looks painted on, most especially her hot pink
lipstick. She looks positively ecstatic...but not exactly the picture of the
blushing bride we all had in mind—especially my grandparents.

“I can’t believe our wedding day is finally here!” she
squeals, leaping into my dad’s arms. She kisses every inch of his face, leaving
little smudges of pink all over. I’m a little concerned that my grandparents
have literally turned to stone beside me. Dad manages to pry Deb off of him
long enough to turn her Frank and Jillian’s way.

“Deb,” my dad says through a forced smile, “These are my
parents.”

“Oh. My. God,” Deb breathes, splaying her hands out over her
heart. “You are just about the fanciest people I’ve ever seen in my entire
life.”

“Yes. Well,” Grandma says, unable to form any additional
words.

“That is...some dress you’ve got there,” Grandpa attempts.

“Dad,” my own father hisses warningly.

“Oh, you like it?” Deb chirps, giving us all a little spin.
“I got in at forty percent off. Still a rip off, if you ask me, but heck—it’s a
special occasion, right? And it’s not like Bob here is hurting for money.” My
grandparents’ eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into their hair lines. Deb
falters, looking back and forth between them. “I’m sorry. Was that tacky?”

“Ah, so you are familiar with the word, then,” Grandma says
coolly.

I glance at Emerson, embarrassed by my grandparents’ icy
behavior. But his face is totally unreadable—I have no idea if he’s even
listening. Deb, not knowing what to do with my grandparents’ disdain, turns to
Emerson and me with a tight grin.

“Now you two look so darling,” she sighs tearfully. “Our big
happy family, at last.”

I catch grandpa rolling his eyes as the justice of the peace
claps his hands.

“So!” the jolly official says, “Shall we head to the backyard
for the ceremony?”

Deb grabs hold of my dad’s hand and yanks him out the back
door. They’ve set up a flimsy white altar in front of the pool, which is filled
with floating flower blossoms. Emerson walks out ahead of me, keeping his eyes
straight ahead, and my grandparents bring up the rear. Deb’s heels sink into
the grass as she teeters toward the altar on my dad’s arm. Emerson stands
beside her, and I take my place next to Dad. The justice of the peace stands
between them, and my grandparents move front and center, all but wrinkling
their noses.

The wedding of the century, indeed.

I can’t make myself focus as the justice of the peace starts
rattling through the motions. Emerson and I stand facing each other, looking
over our parents’ shoulders. I’ve never seen him look so miserable. More than
being upset for my own heartbreak, I hate our parents in this moment for
causing Emerson so much pain. He’s been through so much already, and now this
fiasco? It’s more than anyone should have to bear.

“OK then,” the justice of the peace goes on. “If we could
have the rings...”

Emerson thrusts them into my dad’s hand. Our parents slip
the gaudy trinkets onto each other’s hands, grinning like two teenagers. The
words of their vows and even their “I do’s” fade into white noise as Emerson
finally lifts his eyes to mine. We stare at each other, laid bare in this
anguished moment. Our gazes say what we never got a chance to: “I care about
you more than anything in this world. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.” And as our
parents share their first kiss as man and wife, I try my best to tell Emerson
one more thing with my silent, pleading eyes:

“I love you.”

And as I look on, my heart breaking, I could swear his blue
eyes tell me, “I love you too.”

Chapter Ten

* * *

By midnight, the house is all but silent once more. Leftover
food and cake clutters every surface of the kitchen, crushed petals stain the
floors, and the plastic flowers on the rickety altar out back have started
dropping off, one by one. Dad and Deb have flown the coop, off on the first leg
of their honeymoon in New York City. Grandma and Grandpa beat a quick retreat
after a bite of cake and three brandies each. The house, my home, feels like a
crypt now. But I suppose that’s appropriate—I’m certainly in mourning.

Emerson and I, still dressed up in our wedding day best, sit
side-by-side at the kitchen island. There’s an open bottle of vodka and a
gigantic round of wedding cake sitting between us, and we’re helping ourselves
to an abundance of both. Neither of us can think of anything productive to say,
but are loathing to be alone tonight. We sit there in silence, being careful
not to brush elbows or even look at each other for too long. As of this
afternoon, when the ink dried on our parents’ marriage license, our
relationship can only be strictly platonic.

I haven’t been this miserable since my mom passed away. This
feeling of running up against devastating injustice is something I’m all too
familiar with by now.

Without a word, Emerson refills our glasses of straight
vodka. He snatches up his glass and downs his booze in one swallow. Tearing off
his necktie, he staggers to his feet. I stare at him as he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” I murmur, the room spinning as I
stand up after him.

“Bed,” he growls, not looking at me.

“That’s it?” I ask around the sudden lump in my throat,
“It’s just gonna be one word answers from now on?”

“What did you expect?” he replies, keeping his back to me.

“I expected you to...to be...”

“Your friend?” he scoffs, shoving a hand through his hair.
“That was never going to happen, Abby. You know that as well as I do.”

“We have to at least try,” I say softly, reaching out to
touch him. At the slightest brush of my fingers, he rips his arm away from me,
spinning around with fire in his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” he rages. “No fucking way can I just be
your
friend
.”

“Don’t yell at me,” I say, steadying myself against the
counter. “You’re drunk. You’re upset. This isn’t you talking—”

“As if you know the first thing about me,” he fires back,
shaking his head. “One fuck, and you think we’re soul mates or something?”

“Stop it,” I tell him fiercely. “I know what you’re doing.
You’re trying to hurt me. Trying to drive me away so that you don’t have to
deal with what’s happening. Well too fucking bad. I’m not going anywhere,
Emerson. You can’t scare me away.”

“No?” he demands, stepping toward me. He plants one hand on
either side of me, caging me in against the counter. “You really think so?”

“Yes. I do,” I whisper, keeping my hazel eyes trained on his
face.

Our lips are mere inches from each other, our bodies all but
pressed together. The sudden proximity of him sets me to trembling. I can’t be
strong enough for both of us. I need his help.

“Please, Emerson,” I say, blinking away the tears that blur
my vision. “Could you just...hold me? Just for a second.”

He stares at me, his blue eyes frozen over. But as the first
tear rolls down my cheek, I watch the ice crack. The fight goes out of him,
making way for the despair he’s been trying to cover up with aggression.

“Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms to me.

I rush to him, throwing myself into his embrace. He enfolds
me in a fierce hug as the tears come hard and fast. He kisses the top of my
head, pulling me tightly against him.

“You can’t disappear on me like that,” I cry, burying my
face in the front of his suit. “I can’t get through this without you, Emerson.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rasping. “This is
just...It’s so hard, Abby. What am I supposed to do without you in my life? The
way I want you to be, I mean...?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I say miserably.

We hold each other, each unwilling to be the first to break
the embrace. As the sky begins to lighten, we finally trudge upstairs, entirely
spent. I walk ahead of Emerson, my body tired and aching. The prospect of
sleeping alone tonight is too much to bear. It’s hard to believe that it was
just last night that I fell asleep next to Emerson, my cheek resting against
his bare chest. It feels like years ago that our bodies met, collided, moved as
one. It was, without question, the best night of my life. And would you look at
that? It’s being followed up by the worst.

Emerson and I reach the top of the stairs and pause, each
glancing at our bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. Turning away from each
other now seems like the final step, the last nail in the coffin sealing up our
barely-formed relationship. After the wrenching, brutal escapade that was our
parents’ wedding ceremony this afternoon, I don’t know if I can take it.

“You know,” I say softly. “Today was sort of like a
nightmare.”

“That’s for fucking sure,” he murmurs, glancing my way.

“And after a nightmare...isn’t is usually OK for a little
sister to crawl into her big brother’s bed?” I ask tearfully.

A slow, sad smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Nice
justification, weirdo,” he teases softly, offering me his hand.

I lace my fingers through his. Silently, we walk down the
hallway toward his room. We don’t even have the energy to change out of our clothes.
With vodka-clouded heads and heavy hearts, we collapse onto his bed. Emerson
wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. There’s no question of things going
any further between us now, but this simple comforting embrace is a balm for my
battered soul. In an instant we’ve fallen into a deep, mercifully dreamless
sleep.

* * *

I’m jerked out of slumber the next morning by the sound of
screaming voices. Prying open my eyes, I notice two things straightaway. First,
I am massively hungover, having eaten next to nothing yesterday and had half a
bottle of vodka to drink. Second, I’m still lying beside the sleeping Emerson,
despite the fact that it’s Monday morning and school is set to start in a mere
twenty minutes.

But before I can worry about my attendance record, the crash
of shattering glass catches my ear from downstairs. Two hysterical voices rage
at each other as other objects go hurtling around the ground floor. Emerson’s
eyes fly open at the sound of the unfolding chaos, and we turn to look at each
other, at a loss. I recognize Dad and Deb’s voices at once, but I’ve never
heard either of them so irate.

“Funneling my money to that lowlife junkie!” my dad bellows,
as something heavy topples over.

“
Your
money?” Deb cries shrilly, “You mean your parents’ money, don’t you?”

“Don’t start with that class warfare bullshit—”

“I don’t have to!
They
already did. You think I didn’t see how they looked at me yesterday? You’d
think I was wearing a g-string and pasties—”

“Well, you weren’t wearing much else!”

Something else smashes into a thousand pieces, and I grab
for Emerson’s hand, panicked.

“Don’t try and change the goddamn subject,” my dad snarls.
“You’ve been stealing from me for your scumbag ex and your loser drug baby!”

Emerson’s fingers tighten around mine, his body rippling
with fury.

“My son is not a loser!” Deb weeps, charging up the stairs,
“And he’s not staying here in this house for another second!”

The entire world grinds to a standstill as Emerson’s bedroom
door flies open. Deb appears in the doorway, thick rivulets of mascara coursing
down her cheeks. Emerson and I stare up at her, entwined in his bed, as my
red-faced father appears on the top of the stairs. The four of us are frozen in
a surreal tableau, and for a second I hope against all hope that this is just
another terrible dream

But in the next moment, reality floods back in.

“What the
fuck
is this?” Deb shrieks, falling back
against the door in horror.

“We were just—We—” I stammer, looking helplessly at Emerson.

“Get away of my daughter, you piece of shit!” my dad roars,
charging into the bedroom. He grabs me by my arm and wrenches me brutally out
of bed.

“Dad, you’re hurting me,” I gasp, trying and failing to
break free from his grip.

“Don’t touch her,” Emerson shouts, leaping to his feet and
shoving my father away from me. He shields me from my dad’s wrath with his
solid body, but my dad lunges for me all the same. The smell of booze seeping
off of him turns my stomach.

“Are you drunk?” I gasp, staring at my father.

But his swaying stance and bloodshot eyes answer my
question. I whip around toward Deb and see that she, too, is standing
unsteadily, unable to focus on a single point for more than a second. It’s not
even nine o’clock, and they’re both wasted.

“Jesus Christ, Mom,” Emerson growls, staring at his mother
in disbelief. “Again?”

“Don’t you judge me,” Deb snaps, shaking her mess of wilted
curls. “If you knew the sort of night I had…This man is a monster.”

“I’m a monster?” my dad returns, whirling unsteadily toward
her, “You’re the lying, thieving whore—”

“Emerson, no!” I screech, as he cocks back his fist and
slams it against my father’s jaw.

Dad goes reeling through the open doorway, and Emerson leaps
after him. Deb collapses into a teary puddle as Emerson and Dad brawl on the landing.
I rush toward them, ready to throw myself into the fray. But a loose punch from
Dad hits me square in the stomach, knocking me back against the wall. Emerson
snaps his face toward me, too worried about my wellbeing to focus on my dad.
But in the moment of his distraction, Dad strikes back—sending a cracking blow
railing against Emerson’s high cheekbone. A sickening crunch rings out through
the house.

A scream rips out of my throat as Emerson stumbles against
the second story railing. My dad tries to grab him by the front of his suit,
but misses. In a burst of rage, Emerson grabs hold of my dad and slams him
against the bannister, ready to throw him off the landing.

“Stop it! Emerson, stop!” I scream.

Finally, I seem to get through to him. With gritted teeth,
he lowers my dad away from the edge, tossing him roughly onto the floor. He
raises his blue eyes to mine, and my heart shatters as I see the furious tears
streaming down his face. Stepping over my dad’s drunken, prostrate form,
Emerson marches into his room and snatches his mother up by the arm. She can
barely stand, beside herself with wasted emotion. Emerson swings her arm over
his shoulders and all but drags her away, carrying her dead weight down the
stairs.

“Wait,” I call out, my voice a strangled cry, “Emerson,
where are you going?”

But he doesn’t answer me. He simply makes his way to the
front door. I pull myself off the ground and race after him, grabbing for the
back of his suit.

“Emerson,” I plead, clutching the bannister as I reach the
final stair. “Stop. You can’t go. Not now.”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Turning back to
look at me, his eyes are full of hardened resolve. He’s shut his heart out of
the equation, I know. And try as I might, there will be no reaching him now.

“Goodbye Abby,” he whispers, and wrenches the door open.

He guides his mother across the threshold and out to his
Chevy. It isn’t until I hear the engine start that I sink down onto the stairs,
hollow and cold. He’s gone. And this time, I know he won’t be coming back for
me. I glance around the house, at all the artifacts of my childhood that were
destroyed in Dad and Deb’s wake. But of course, it’s not the material things I
grieve for, now. It’s my entire life as I’ve known it. The future that will
never come to pass.

I sit there at the foot of the steps for hours, listening to
my dad’s anguished groans from the landing. At some point, he manages to stand
and pull himself into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He
won’t come down to check on me. Not in the state he’s in. But who am I kidding?
Even at his best, Dad couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about me.

Numbness creeps through my body as I sit stock still, unable
to process what’s happened to me. To Emerson. To our splintered family. Nothing
that’s happened this morning makes any sense. What happened that set our
parents to drinking like that? What was my dad saying about Deb stealing from
him? And what about my grandparents’ interference with dad and Deb’s brand new
marriage?