Busted (Stacked Deck Book 11)

by Emilia Finn

  “Well… if she’s his one, then I know you’re strong enough to accept that. This is your first ever heartbreak, Little Bit. It hurts worse because it’s the first. And I bet it hurts so much more because it’s Rob. But eventually, I think you’ll be able to accept it for whatever it is. And if he’s truly in love, then I’m certain you’re selfless enough, you love him enough, that you’ll be okay with it.”

  “And the caving her face in thing?”

  I chuckle and toss my spoon back into the ice cream cup. “Get all the information first. Then go from there. But if you do hurt her, never mention this talk we’re having. That’s the difference between pre-meditated and a crime of passion.”

  I reach across and tuck loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear. Bringing her face around, I smile, small and supportive, when our eyes meet. “Don’t go to prison over a bitch you don’t even like.”

  “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I’m not ready to look like an idiot at family dinner yet.”

  I bring a hand to my chest, extend my pointer finger, and cross my heart. “It’s for us, honey. All ours. But if I see Piper’s Lane dust on your car ever again, I’m gonna kill you. Then I’ll tell your mother, and she’ll kill you again. But she’ll make it hurt so much worse. You know it’s true.”

  Emma

  Battle

  I sit in the window of my childhood bedroom, and sigh at the view right outside: Rob’s home. Rob’s room. The view I’ve known all of my life.

  Except… he’s no longer there.

  I’ve spent more than twenty years with my best friend just a matter of seconds – or a rock’s throw – away. I saw him and Luke playing the PlayStation through that window a million times. I saw them working out. I saw them screwing around when they were supposed to be doing their homework.

  I saw the letters Rob would place in the window – plans for sneaking out, or a simple, random I Love You that always turned around even the shittiest of days for me. Luke sometimes left notes, too, but they tended toward explicit and stupid, and when they were discovered, Rob would tear them down and toss them in the trash.

  When there were no letters, or if it was night, but I wasn’t in the mood to climb trees, we had our walkie-talkies.

  I hold mine now; the device that once was black, but now it’s a little glittery, a little nail-polish-y. I long ago sketched designs onto it, then I tried to paint art on, though my paint skills are first-grade-level, really.

  Just because I can draw, doesn’t mean I can paint.

  I hold the talk button down now and stare at the house next to mine, but all I get is static.

  It’s doubtful Rob’s has fresh batteries, and even less likely that, even if he took it with him when he moved, it will work with the distance now between us. These were twenty-dollar bargains, not state-of-the-art, Griffin-type devices.

  But… I do have a Griffin phone, so I place my walkie-talkie down, and instead pick up my cell. Unlocking the screen, and hitting the icon for text, I start typing.

  Hey, Fart?

  I’m not sure what I was hoping for; to be ignored, to be called, to get a sweeping declaration of love… regardless, I was unprepared for any kind of reply, so when my text instantly gets a ‘read’ receipt, my heart spikes, and my hands turn clammy.

  Which is so fucking stupid, because it’s Rob Hart! I don’t get nervous around that asshole. He’s my buddy, my partner in crime, my alibi, and my fall guy when we’re not sneaky enough to get away with our shit.

  I look away from my phone, put myself out of my misery, but that lasts only seconds before my eyes stray back to it again, and I discover the dots that indicate he’s typing.

  My breath comes faster, heavier, until I’m not just breathing, but panting. I’m running a marathon, but I’m sitting still. I’m freaking out, but silently.

  Finally, my phone dings, and a single phrase pops onto the screen.

  Mm?

  Tears spring to my eyes and spill over, but I hurriedly reply before I lose my nerve.

  We’ve practiced this sequence of words a million times. There are expectations. There are feelings and history involved.

  My hands shake as I type, and I fat-finger the letters, so I have to backtrack and fix before hitting send. But I get there in the end. Three simple words. Eight letters. One heart.

  I love you.

  The bubbles start up instantly. Furiously. Fast.

  I love you too, EmKat. Forever.

  Hurriedly, I type talk to me, and hit send.

  I type it out and hit send before thinking. Before considering what might come of it. But it’s how I feel, it’s what I need, so I set my phone down and push up to walk laps into my carpet.

  I have the energy of a three-year-old flying on sugar, but mixed in with the anxiety of that toddler’s mother, because she’s tired, but that little shit isn’t going to sleep any time soon.

  I clasp my hands together, concentrate on my breathing, and walk to my bed and back. Three laps. Four. Five.

  When my phone dings, I spin back and sprint to where it sits. Knocking on my wall – for good luck – I pick the device up and unlock it again, since it locked in my absence, and holding my breath, I grit my teeth, prepare for disaster, and open the text.

  I can’t get into the details yet, EmKat. I just… I can’t. I’m begging you to give me a minute to work on my shit. Don’t hate me yet.

  Exhaling an exhausted huff, I begin typing my reply.

  I hate that you sent me away. I hate that you chose her. I hate that you made me feel like I don’t matter. I hate that we were together, and it was really fucking good, but now you make me feel like I should be ashamed of it. I hate that you moved, which means you’re not in your window right now so I can see you while we fight and don’t talk to each other. I hate that you ever met her. And I especially hate that you made me cry.

  I never cry for boys, Fart. Ever. You know that about me.

  It’s a lot of hate. It’s a lot of hurt. But it’s my truth, so I hit send and toss my phone again, then I go back to pacing.

  I can’t remain still while he reads my words. While he replies, and edits his thoughts so I get the cleaned-up version of whatever he wants me to think, rather than the real him, the unedited version I get when we’re in the same room.

  “Aunt Em?”

  I spin at the soft knock at my door, frown and press a hand down over my shorts like I feel I need to look presentable for my niece, but when Alyssa – my sister’s daughter – pokes her head through my doorway, I smile and try to make it look real. “Lyss? What’s up, baby?”

  She walks into my room, and right behind her, Twain, her Great Dane, follows, only stopping when Lyss sits on the edge of my bed and sets a notepad out by her thigh. Twain plops onto his butt with a heavy sigh, then dropping to his chest, he promptly closes his eyes and settles in.

  I remain standing where I started, my heart pounding, my eyes burning, and my nerves stretched thin as I await Rob’s reply. But I have to keep my shit together. My job as a grownup is to not show the kids that I’m upset – especially not when the thing I’m upset about is beyond their comprehension or ability to fix.

  Clearing my throat, I swallow and make my way over to the bed. “Um…” I sit and wiggle a little to get comfortable, cough again to clear the nerves from my throat, then I glance down to the notebook Lyss picks up, and tilt my head to read what she’s already written.

  Something about blonde hair, but dreadlocks. Pointed ears and sky-blue eyes.

  “Uh… whatcha doin’, Lyss?”

  “I’m writing you into Mommy’s book.”

  “You… uh…” I bob my head and try my best to catch up. “Okay. Is it normal for you to write someone else’s book?”

  She shrugs and positions herself on my bed so she sits cross-legged and faces me. Her eyes are a little too large for her face, but they’re stunning, deep and soulful as she stares up into mine.

  It’s funny that I should feel
uncomfortable, but there’s only so much staring I can take before my nerves almost send me over the edge… and across the room to my phone that is yet to ding with Rob’s response.

  “Mommy is writing another book in that other series,” she explains. “You know, the one with Rome?”

  I nod. Because yup, I know who Roman DeLuca is. And Tully King. And Malachai Noble. “Okay?”

  “Well, Mommy needs a new warrior princess, and when I was eating breakfast this morning, I was telling her how she should be blonde, but with the long braids that are sorta dreadlocks, but cooler.”

  “Alright.”

  Lyss grins. “She also has blue eyes and maybe she has a little elven magic, so—”

  “The pointy ears?”

  “Right,” she preens, satisfied that I’m following along. “She also wears armor, but it’s kinda sexy.”

  “Wait. Sexy?” I choke out. “Who taught you that word?”

  She blushes. Bright red cheeks she hides by glancing back to her book. “It’s just a word. It means she’s really pretty and looks dangerous and cool.”

  “I mean… Dangerous and cool…” I chuckle. “Okay. Now remind me again why you’re here.”

  “Well… you’re my warrior, Aunt Em.”

  “Me?” My heart stops, thuds, then goes back to mostly normal. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re dangerous and cool,” she says, as though, duh, I should know this already. “You’re strong and smart,” she adds, “and I feel like, if someone gave you a sword, you’d be able to kill a million men.”

  “I’m certain I could kill a couple,” I say when my phone remains silent. “Just one or two.”

  “Momma said that, since I could already see the warrior, it was my job to write her out. How she looks, and how she acts. How she speaks. All that sorta stuff.”

  “Does my sister know your warrior is me?”

  She shrugs and begins jotting things down; crinkly lips when she’s confused. Sparkling eyes, like maybe she cries sometimes but doesn’t tell anyone about it.

  Damn.

  “She didn’t ask,” Lyss says, “And I didn’t say. But I bet she’ll figure it out later.”

  “Okay, well…” I hurriedly reach up when her eyes are on her paper, and swipe away any remaining tears. “Do you, uh, need me to do anything? Can I help?”

  “Nope.” She glances up and flashes a wide grin. “You can go back to doing whatever you were doing before I came in. I’m just gonna watch and write you, the way you watch and draw me.”

  She’s too clever, too intuitive for her age, because she’s right; I’ve watched and drawn her a million times over the years.

  My phone dings, making me jump, and though I try to play it off and pretend I don’t care, when Lyss’ attention goes back to her paper, I spin and dash to my phone.

  I never wanted to make you cry. And the fact I did might be the worst crime I’ve ever committed. It’s worse than letting you drive at Piper’s Lane. Worse than letting you play with gas and a flame. Worse than letting you date douchebag after douchebag. And way worse than allowing us to risk our friendship for more.

  My heart aches at that sentence. At him calling us a crime.

  But his text continues, so I check on Lyss – she’s writing – then I come back to read more.

  I’m sorry I sent you away, EmKat. It’s not that I don’t want you around. I just… I have some big shit happening right now, the biggest I’ve ever had, and I’m not handling it very well.

  It’s better you don’t have a front row seat to that bullshit.

  It’s not that I choose Grace over you. It’s just that I have something to lose right now, something… well… more important than you. And I know how that sounds! I know it probably hurt to read. But I’m begging you to give me time. It’s not all over. It’s just… I have to pay attention to other things right now. And I hope, with all of my heart, that you can give me that time.

  We have to be in another moratorium right now. The kind where we don’t get anything we want. The kind where we hardly even get to be friends. But I promise, eventually, I’ll tell you everything.

  When I can.

  When it’s not killing me anymore.

  “Aunt Em?”

  Lyss’ melodic voice tears me away from my text, away from my world imploding on itself, and back to her notebook and her dog, watching me from under heavy eyelids.

  “Don’t move for a sec,” she murmurs and goes back to writing. “I like how your tattoos look when you stand like that. Can I write your tattoos in, Aunt Em? Is that allowed?”

  She glances up when I say nothing. When my attention is still focused on Rob’s text.

  “Auntie?”

  “Hm?”

  “Can I write your ink into my warrior bio, or will you be mad because they’re your designs?”

  “Um… it’s okay. Write them in. I’ll sign a waiver if you need it.”

  “Cool!” She bounces in place and keeps writing. “I’ll have my attorney send yours an email.” She pauses writing, looks up to me, and flashes a wide grin. “I don’t actually have an attorney, Aunt Em. But I’ve heard Mommy say that a million times. It sounds cool, right?”

  “It does.”

  My phone dings in my hand once more, so I remain still – for Alyssa’s work – but I unlock the screen and read.

  Can I ask you a favor? Just do this thing for me; don’t reply to this text, don’t come to the apartment, and don’t come looking for me at the gym. Just chill for a bit, and when I can, I’ll call you.

  I’ll see you around. I’ll come to you when it’s time. But until then, we can’t be friends.

  Goodbye, Emma.

  Tears burn my eyes. Hot, mean, and blinding, they fall just as surely as my stomach and heart.

  “Oh gosh, Aunt Em. That’s, like… that’s the look she could have when she loses battle, dontcha think? Like, see how your hand is down by your thigh, but instead of a phone, it would be her sword.”

  Rob

  Doing the Right Thing

  It’s not that I choose Grace over you. It’s just that I have something to lose right now, something… well… more important than you. And I know how that sounds! I know it probably hurt to read. But I’m begging you to give me time. It’s not all over. It’s just… I have to pay attention to other things right now. And I hope, with all of my heart, that you can give me that time.

  She never replied after that. Never considered that I deserve so much as an I love you.

  An I’ll always be your best friend.

  An I’ll always be your biggest, craziest, loudest cheerleader, even though your choices hurt me.

  No. I sent my text, went to the bathroom before Grace could see me lose my shit, and hoped, crossing all of my fingers and toes, that by the time I got back, EmKat would have replied something insanely insightful, something that would fix this problem I created for myself, something I can’t think of while my brain is all addled, but that would let me keep my baby and my best friend.

  And if the universe was really looking out for me, perhaps it would help Grace become a decent person too – someone who won’t be pure torture to try to co-parent with.

  “So, I was thinking…”

  Grace lays out on my bed now. It’s dark out, the curtains are closed, and the TV drones in the living room. Luke is watching an action film that elicits random ‘fuck yeah’s and ‘behind you, bro!’s every now and then.

  Grace has settled in for the night, despite my lack of invitation, and though few girls would cart an overnight bag around on a day-to-day basis, I guess Grace is extra vigilant on that front. Which means she wears frilly little panties and a crop-top shirt, so she can show off her mostly flat stomach and keep my attention exactly where she wants it.

  “Rob?”

  She says my name on a purr that she thinks turns me on. The problem is, my sex drive died three-point-two seconds after I was dragged away from EmKat, and my world was changed with a baby bomb.<
br />
  When I still don’t respond, Grace huffs and pushes up to her elbows so her belly rolls a little.

  “Rob? I’m speaking to you.”

  “Yeah?” I sit down on the end of my bed and run a hand over my face. I’m tired, but it’s not a physical thing. It’s so much more, and sits on me at a soul-deep level. “What were you thinking?”

  “Well…” She perks up at my question. “We’re in this situation now, right? For better or for worse, this is our reality. So I was thinking, let’s make lemonade out of lemons, ya know?”

  I roll my head in my hands and squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t understand.”

  “I just mean, we could be super bummed about all this, right? We’re young, we had plans, and though we’ve had fun over the years, I never expected you would be the guy I stick with. But, I mean, everyone knows it’s best if a mom and dad are together, right? One home, one Christmas, a united front.”

  If that were true, most of the happy families I know wouldn’t exist… starting with EmKat’s sister and the baby she never birthed now calling her momma.

  But that’s not the response Grace wants, so I keep that to myself, and instead answer with, “Okay.”

  “So let’s try to make this legit. We have, what, six months before the baby arrives.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So ask me out to dinner, silly. Romance me. Date me.”

  Finally opening my eyes, I roll my face her way and meet her gaze. “Date you?”

  “Right! We’re here, and this baby is real, no matter what we wanna say about it. Maybe it’s not conventional, and definitely not planned, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the world, right? Maybe we’re the romantic story we’ve both been waiting for.”

  “Um…”

  “Ask me out, Rob. It’s not so hard. And who knows, by the time the baby arrives, maybe its mommy and daddy will be a real couple.”