Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
She bursts out laughing, but the sound is off.
That’s when I notice the tears streaming down her cheeks. I abandon the grooming tools and close in, scooping her into my arms.
Emery doesn’t fight it, sinking against me, her entire body shuddering with ratcheting sobs. What’s driving it, I can only guess. Holly’s case, her parents’ death, her daughter’s heartache, me.
Probably all of it.
I pull her in tighter as a lump swells in my throat. I don’t have much to offer, but I can offer her this.
“I’m sorry.” Her words are muffled.
“No. Don’t you dare.” I kiss the top of her head before I rest my chin on it, letting my fingers weave through her hair. “I’ll do this all night.” Is it wrong to hope she’ll let me? I close my eyes and hold her, wishing she could pass all her pain on to me to bear.
Eventually, she quiets, but thankfully she doesn’t pull away, turning to rest her cheek on my chest. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers.
I stroke strands of hair off her forehead. “Do what?”
“Any of it.” She sniffles against me. “Be a cop when my daughter needs her mother. Be a mother when Holly and her parents and my detachment need a cop. When you told me Isla wished she’d been there that night, all I could think about was how I was there. I saw Holly sitting in the back of that pickup, and I barked at her to go home. What I should have done is driven her there myself, or called Jenny.”
“That wasn’t your responsibility.”
“Wasn’t it, though? If my fifteen-year-old daughter was hanging out outside a busy bar, and her best friend’s mother witnessed her doing what I did, I’d expect a phone call to come and get my kid.” She adds after a beat, “And then I’d ground her ass for the next year.”
“And is that what Holly’s mother would have done?”
“I doubt it. Holly was always off somewhere, making friends and grabbing rides. But God, saying that makes me feel guilty, like I’m blaming Jenny. You should have seen her today. I almost didn’t recognize her. She’s a husk, living off caffeine and Ambien.” Emery brushes at her cheek, wiping away tears. “I wouldn’t be any better, though.”
I vaguely remember Jenny. She was a few years older than us, and she had a big crush on Jay. “This isn’t on you, Em, no matter how much you want to claim all the blame for it. Just like what happened to me and Jay was never Clive’s fault.”
“Yeah, but he thought it was. I watched him carry it all the way to his grave.” She pulls away, leaving me cold.
On impulse, I snag her fingers in mine.
She doesn’t shake my touch, her red-rimmed eyes peering up at me with anguish. “Just like he watched me suffer for so many years after I’d lost my best friend. He used to say that seeing me like that was killing him. I didn’t really understand it. But tonight, I had to look in my daughter’s eyes and tell her that her best friend is very likely dead, and I get it now. I get what he meant. Seeing your child suffer so much and not be able to do a damn thing to fix it.” She sniffles. “And I can’t tell her what happened. I can’t give her that much! At least with you, I knew where you were.”
“I was alive.” There’s no closure for Isla where Holly’s concerned.
“It didn’t feel like it. To me, you died that night like Jay did.” Her eyes are glossy again as her hand slips free of mine. “And now you’re back from the dead, and I am really struggling.”
“With seeing me?”
A burst of laughter sails from her lips, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Seeing you, talking to you, feeling for you.”
I take a step forward.
“No.” She steps back, keeping us apart as she takes slow deep breaths, as if to compose herself. Or to keep herself from falling apart. “All those years, I told myself that I’d accepted what happened and moved on. I wanted to move on so badly. But the truth is I never did. Never. Not when I married Dillon, not when I had Isla, not in all the years between then and now. This whole time, I’ve been lying to everyone, including myself. And that night the girls threw the rock through your window—” Her words break on a sudden, sharp inhale, as she turns away and the tears spill out. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop loving you, no matter how hard I try.”
Her raw confession strikes deep. I don’t know if she means to comfort or wound me, but she certainly doesn’t seem happy. I swallow the rising lump in my throat. “I guess neither of us have much control over things because, like I told you back then, it’ll always be you, Em. Always.” My admission comes out in a hoarse whisper.