Steel My Heart (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter 4

Emmy

"Look at you! You're not dead after all!"

Sammie's voice echoed across the square as she strode towards me.  I had arrived early and grabbed a sidewalk table.  The noise of the traffic on Walnut Street was loud, but Samara Kolb was far louder. 

My best friend knew exactly what to say to chasten me, but there was nothing malicious in her wide-open smile.  I ducked my head in embarrassment and allowed myself to be swept into a bear hug that lasted so long other patrons turned to stare.

"Hey Sammie," I murmured into her curls.  "How are you?"

She pulled back and looked at me, gripping my shoulders. 

"I'm so happy you called," she declared, her eyes darted back and forth across my face.

"I'm glad you could make it, classes must be crazy.  Is it finals yet?"

She pulled out her chair and sat down with a grunt.  Slinging her arm over the back of the chair, she sat back and regarded me.  I sat down hesitantly.  Sammie always had a disconcerting way of possessing every ounce of space she could.  I spent my life trying to be smaller, but my equally curvy best friend saw nothing wrong with being big - in every sense of the word. 

Her cloud of curls was caught back in a turquoise band that clashed riotously with her current flame-red dye job.  Several pounds of bangles jingled along each wrist.  Her big, strong, sculptor's hands were weighed down with rings of the type that my future mother-in-law would derisively call "statement jewelry."  Her generous cleavage was accentuated with a huge, flaming heart tattoo across her chest. 

"Next week," she answered, picking up the menu.  Her nail polish was chipped and I could see clay dried under her fingers.  "My crit isn't until the Friday though, gives me a bit more time to fuck around." She placed a finger on her choice in the menu, then looked up at me.  "But I'm not here to talk about myself, Em."

Something in her voice made me bristle.  "Oh?"

"Why'd you call me?"

"Because I wanted to hang out?" It came out as a question, when I didn't mean it to be.

"Is that the only reason?" Her green eyes were darting across my face.  I didn't like what I saw reflected back in them.  "You've lost weight," she declared.

"Yes I have," I replied, proudly.

"Robert make you do that?"

I swallowed.  "He didn't make me. We're dieting together." The lies jumped so easily to my lips they sounded like the truth to me.

She let out a derisive snort.  "Yeah, sure.  Together."

I leaned forward, ready to embellish on the story I was weaving in my head.  Robert and I were jogging together, I decided.  Past Boathouse Row and up Kelly Drive.  I had a story about stepping in goose poop all prepared, but was interrupted when the waitress came to our table.

"Go ahead and order first, Em.  I'm still deciding."  I knew that was a lie.  Her finger had been hovering over her favorite, Eggs Florentine, since she opened the menu.  She was testing me.

"I'll have the fruit cup and do you have any decaf tea?"  It wasn't what I wanted, not even close.  If I ordered what I really wanted, it would prove to Sammie that it wasn't my choice that Robert had me dieting.  My stomach growled loudly in protest, but was luckily drowned out by a passing SUV.

"Sure, cream and sugar?"

"Splenda, please," I replied, barely able to keep the dejection from my voice. 

Sammie raised her eyebrows at me, but didn't press.  She just let me stew in my hungry misery as she ordered a huge brunch platter and a side of home fries.  "Coffee, too please.  Bring the whole pot.  And a whole hell of a lot of sugar."

The waitress took our menus and Sammie looked around.  The trees in Rittenhouse Square were finally in full-leaf.  "It's nice to get out of the studio, actually see daylight," she declared. 

"I don't miss that," I chuckled.

"You don't?" She snapped her head back to look at me, her green eyes flashing.

Instantly I was on the defensive again.  "No, Sammie, I don't."

"I don't believe that.  You were too good to give up like you did."

I bit my lip in frustration.  "I didn't 'give up.'  I wish you'd stop saying that.  I met someone.  I'm getting married soon."

"Oh yeah?  When's the wedding?"

"Soon!"  The waitress appeared at our elbows as we stared daggers at each other.  She set our drinks down nervously and fled.

"Well I hope I'm invited."  Sammie's tone was conciliatory, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Of course you will be honey!  You'll be my maid of honor!"

She cocked an eyebrow over her coffee.  I tried to ignore how good it smelled. "I don't have to be an actual maid for that, do I?"

I laughed, relieved to be falling into our old, comfortable banter.  "Yes, I have a special French maid outfit all picked out for you."

"Oh so I'm going to be the 'French' maid of honor?"

"Absolutely. Why, did you picture something else?" I teased. 

She leaned forward in mock seriousness.  "Am I carrying a bouquet?"

"Nope. Feather duster."

"Phew!" She sagged back in her chair dramatically and I laughed again, feeling myself approaching mania.  I hadn't laughed like this in months.

"Yep, I'm picturing hot pink, I just have to find it," I continued, eager to continue our game.

She grinned. "Don't waste your money, I already have a hot pink one."

I burst out laughing.  "How come I've never seen it?"

Instantly her smile disappeared.  I felt a cold breeze that I knew wasn't real.  "Because Em.  When was the last time we got together?"

I wracked my brain.  "Not that long ago," I protested, confused by her sudden change of mood. "It was...." I trailed off, thinking.

She held up her hand.  "Exactly.  You can't remember.  But I do."  She cradled her coffee in her hand and sat back in the chair.  "It was the week after your 'holiday party.'  I came and ignored all of Robert's little digs at me, and made you promise that we'd get together the next week."

"The final shows," I recalled, and exhaled slowly.

"Yeah, exactly," she snapped.  "The final shows.  You dropped out, but wanted to see everyone else's work.  Last semester's work.  Robert hasn't let you out since."

"That's not true!"

"It isn't?  So why have you been ignoring my texts?"

I squirmed.  Tears were pricking at the corner of my eyes.  I was losing it and that made me angry.  I lashed out. 

"Because you text me all the fucking time," I spat.  "It's weird!"

I wanted to hurt her, but Sammie knew me better. 

"Weird huh? It's weird for your best friend to text you?"  She sipped her coffee and regarded me over the rim.  "Who told you that, Robert?"

"No!" I lied. 

In fact it was the absolute truth.  I could hear Robert's voice in my head right now, warning me that my connection with Sammie wasn't healthy, wasn't normal.  On his funny days, he would laugh about her wanting to be me, how she'd kill me and wear my skin if she could.  On his mean days, he just called her a crazy, man-hating bitch and warned me not to turn into her.  I had learned to stop defending her to him and now just generally tried to avoid mentioning her at all.  It embarrassed me how much I treasured her texts.  Like she was a dirty habit I couldn't give up.

But I couldn't say that. "Robert's been encouraging me to call," I continued, "I've just been so busy!"

The minute I said that, I cringed.  That lie was one lie too many.  The truth was, since I left school to go live with Robert, I was desperately bored. 

Robert wanted me home when he got home...and he had a very irregular schedule.  Some days I waited all day and half the night for him.  Other days he hung around because he 'missed me.'  I could never keep appointments with people; I could never get a part time job, because then I wouldn't be there for him when he needed me.  In fact, the very act of going out to lunch was setting off a flutter of nervousness in my belly.  I knew he had a board meeting today, but who knew how long it would last?

And I could see by the sharp look Sammie shot me that she knew I was lying.  I swallowed, ready to spin another story, when the waitress showed up with our tray.

My fruit cup was tiny.  I looked hungrily at Sammie's steaming platter of eggs, smothered in rich Hollandaise sauce.  I must have been staring.  "Want some Em? They're really good."

The clamor of Robert's voice in my head made me squirm.  "No thanks, you enjoy them."

Sammie shook her head and stubbornly spooned out a heap of potatoes onto her saucer.  "I'm just going to put this right here, you can eat it or you don't have to.  But I promise I won't say a word."

She set the plate next to my elbow.  I looked at her and was startled to see her snapping eyes soften.  "What?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

"Em..." she trailed off.  I sighed and waited for her to yell at me.  I looked down and picked at my fruit.  Yelling I could handle.  I had absorbed my parents' anger my whole life.  I was a pro at getting yelled at.

But when she didn't launch into the expected tirade, I looked up at her.  She had a pamphlet in her hand and was looking down at it.  "What's that?" I asked.  My stomach twisted and I suddenly lost my appetite.  I pushed my fruit cup away and clenched my fists. 

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Emmy, honey." She looked up at me, her bright green eyes shining with tears.  "I need to talk to you.  And I need you to listen."

"I'm listening," I spat. 

"No you aren't.  You want to fight me.  I'm not going to fight with you."

I felt the tears that had been gathering suddenly spill over.  "I don't want to fight Sammie, please.  It's been a long time; let's just enjoy lunch, please?  I don't want to fight."

I bent my head to my fruit cup, diligently stuffing my cheeks full of melons.  I felt her eyes on me, but kept mine lowered.  If I didn't look at her, then I didn't have to acknowledge what she wanted to say.

"Em..."

I swirled Splenda into my tea and took a sip. 

"Em, come on."

I picked up my purse, pretending to root for my wallet.

"Em, for the love of God, would you look at me?"  She caught my arm as I turned to look over into the square.  "Em, I want to help you."

"Help me with what?  I don't need help."  I smiled brightly.

She ignored me and pressed on.  "What he's doing to you is abuse, honey." 

I sputtered into my tea but she held up a warning hand, her eyes snapping angrily at me.  I was instantly cowed. 

"Forcing you to quit school?  Cutting you off from your friends?  When was the last time you saw your parents?"

"I don't want to see my parents," I sulked.

She took a breath.  "Well, your brother then.  When was the last time you saw Andy?"

I felt a pain in my chest at my younger brother's name.  Andy was still at home, without me around to protect him from my father's vicious temper and my mother's passive aggression.  I had asked Robert repeatedly to let him visit during his school breaks.  But Robert had always dissuaded me.

"Why would I willingly invite a thief into my home?" 

I tried to explain that Andy was just mixed up in the wrong crowd, that he would be fine as long as I was with him, but Robert wouldn't hear it.  The last time I had heard from Andy, he had asked me point blank when I was coming home.  When I murmured something non-committal, he hung up on me.  And I hadn't heard from him since.

That had been two months ago.

"Andy doesn't need me around.  He's got his own thing," I protested lamely.

"Uh huh. After all those stories you told me about getting between him and your dad when they'd fight.  He spent practically every weekend in our dorm room, trying to get away from them, Emmy." Sammie twisted her napkin to her mouth as her voice caught.   "You're telling me he suddenly doesn't need the only decent family member he's got?"

The wash of guilt made me jump to my feet.  "I have to go to the bathroom," I hissed and hurled down my napkin.  I flew through the throng of people on their lunch breaks, people with jobs and lives and interests, and pushed my way blindly into the washroom.  Grabbing the sink, I bent my face and splashed cool water around my eyes, rinsing away the hot, angry tears. 

When I lifted my head, Sammie's reflection looked at me in the mirror.

"Emilia," she whispered, running her hand up my back.  She never called me by my full name, no one did.  Except Robert.  Something about that fact made me listen. 

"Honey, when you called I dropped everything.  I hoped, I hoped so hard," she gulped and her eyes blazed with unshed tears, "that you would tell me you left him.  He's hurting you, Emmy."

"Robert has never hurt me," I bristled.

"He doesn't have to hit you to leave a mark."

I wavered there.  She opened her arms and folded me into a hug, but I couldn't relax.