Busted (Stacked Deck Book 11)

by Emilia Finn

  “See ya, beautiful Emma.”

  “Yeah, bye.”

  I watch him walk away, through the shop and into the reception area where Zelda sits at the desk and draws. When he walks out the front door and Ian zooms in to lock it behind him, my eyes finally go to the darkness outside, the blackness, and then to the clock above Ian’s right shoulder.

  It’s not all that late, but winter is coming, so the sun is gone, and the moon is shouting, What’s up, bitches?

  “Go home!” Ian drops the blinds so they fall and block everyone out with a decidedly final crack. “Eat something that isn’t chips and soda, rest, come back tomorrow and do it all again.”

  “You got somewhere to be?” I grab my tray and cross the shop to the autoclave. Opening the door and setting my things inside with gentle movements, I glance over my shoulder and smirk for my dangerous, burly boss. “Hot date?”

  “Yup. So fuck off.” He makes his way around the desk and grabs Zelda under the arms so she has no option but to drop her pencil and stand. “Get up, ladies. Go home. Get the fuck outta my space.”

  “Your hot date is here?” I close the door to the sterilizing machine and set the timer for it to start. “Seriously, Ian? That’s unsanitary.”

  And I’m a big fat hypocrite who had sex here… with Rob.

  My phone dings across the shop where it sits on my desk, so I walk over and grab my things – phone, car keys, ChapStick – and sliding all but my phone into my pockets, I stop and turn back to Zelda with a lifted brow. “We fuck in here one single time, and he’ll set us on fire. But what he does here would make a stripper blush.”

  “Do you ever wonder whose chair he’s using?” Zelda does as I do – grabs her things, finishes for the day – and meets me just on the outside of my cubicle. “We disinfect, not for safety’s sake, but because we don’t wanna accidentally touch Ian’s jizz.”

  “I’m always wondering.” I shake my shoulders as though to shake off that gross thought, then turning toward the door when Ian literally takes out a tray of candles, I walk away and slap my palm on the back door release. “He’s romancing her first, candles and alone time. Then he’s gonna get jizz everywhere.”

  “We demand better working conditions!” Zelda thrusts a hand in the air. “We demand it!”

  “I demand you fuck right off,” Ian chuckles and lights one candle. Two. Three. “I love you girls, but it’s time for Daddy to have quiet time now.”

  “He wants us to call him daddy?” My lips peel back into a sneer that is at least seventy-percent genuine. “I feel violated.”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it,” Zelda snickers and steps through the door.

  As soon as she’s clear, I release the heavy Griffin-secured door and shake my head when it clicks into place.

  No way was my father going to allow me to work in a tattoo studio, often at stupid hours, almost always with men who are bigger and stronger than me, without calling in favors and having security installed to keep me safe.

  “You heading home now?” my coworker asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Finally, I allow myself time to check the notifications on my phone screen – texts from my sister, my niece, my mom, and when I didn’t reply to that, a text from my dad. None seem to indicate emergency, they’re just nosy, so I wander toward my car, parked beside Zelda’s, and opening the door, I hit reply to mom. She’ll get word out to everyone else that I wasn’t murdered by a clichéd, tattooed thug.

  Finishing at the shop now. Be home in 10.

  That done, I go back to scrolling all of my messages until I stop dead in my tracks.

  Rob’s name is in bold, unread, and beside it is the number three in brackets. Three messages.

  My heart thuds, painful and burning, and though Zelda speaks – I hear a monotonous droning in some faraway portion of my brain – she goes ignored as I slide into my car and close the door so the interior lights go out, and my only illumination is my screen.

  Zelda’s headlights power on and bounce off the back of the shop until they hit my eyes, but it takes only seconds for her to back away. For her to turn out of our tiny parking area. And then for her to drive away so I’m left all alone with three texts from my ex best friend and a massive lump in my throat.

  Why do my hands shake? Why does my heart race? Why am I nervous at all? It’s just Rob, right?

  And what’s more, he’s not even my friend anymore. He’s just someone I used to know. Someone I love with far too much of my heart, and though I’ll never be able to reclaim that part of me, I can certainly cherish what little of my heart I have left, and give it with more caution next time.

  I sit staring at my phone for too long, at the unopened messages, and debate with myself about whether I should open them.

  I mean, obviously I’m going to. But the least I can do is pretend to play hard to get. Put him in his place, reclaim my independence, and all that nonsense.

  My phone dings again, another message, and though I could hope for just a single second that it’s Mom, Rob’s name drops down again, then the 3 is replaced with an ominous 4.

  I sigh; for the heartache I know is coming, for the loneliness that has drowned me for a month. Longer, really. By opening these messages, I know I’m inviting more pain into my life.

  But we made a deal. When we were six, we promised that if one of us calls, the other will always come running.

  Though of course, back then, by ‘calling’, we meant someone was actually poking their head out the second-story window and hollering for attention. But still, it’s in our constitution, so closing my eyes and shaking my head, I blindly tap my screen and open them to see a string of texts from him.

  Message one:

  EmKat.

  I get that you don’t really wanna talk to me these days. But still, I want you to know I’m still here, still waiting for your friendship. I’ve missed you so fucking much. For a million reasons. But at the base of all of those reasons, I’ve missed our friendship the most.

  Message two:

  For our whole lives, you were always there to catch me when I was scared. And hell, that happened a fair bit… which is embarrassing, considering I’m the man, and it was always supposed to be the other way around.

  Ya know, I’ve always wondered why nothing scared you.

  Jump off a building? You’d say hell yeah.

  Swim in the deep end of the lake when we can barely swim at all? Yup, there you go, wading out while the adults weren’t watching.

  Meet new people? You were always in their space.

  Spar with someone much too big and strong for you? Yup, zero fear.

  Your bravery has been a puzzle all of my life, and though it meant saving you a lot, dragging you away from danger, it also meant I got to watch you in action. And hell, that was usually worth the price of admission.

  Message three:

  So… I guess I should get to the point.

  Message four:

  EmKat, I’m scared now. To my bones, in my blood, right down to my fucking core, I’m terrified, and though I tried to leave you alone – since your silence has made it abundantly clear that you don’t wanna talk – I still find myself here, right now, writing to you and hoping you can lend a little of your unending bravery.

  Hit reply, I’m begging you.

  But… if you don’t, I won’t hate you. I promise I won’t.

  I love you, EmKat. Forever.

  Fart.

  Tears burn in my eyes. They don’t fall and make tracks over my cheeks, but they itch and burn. They make my face hot, and my heart ache.

  I tap my screen when it turns dark from non-use, then I tap it again to start typing.

  I’m a glutton for punishment. A prisoner to my own heart.

  First of all, stupid, it’s easy to take risks when Rob Hart is ALWAYS there to catch me. You speak of how I was always brave, but completely skip over the bit about you being my safety net.

  Second. I was never the one ask
ing for space. I didn’t stop talking to you, asshole. You chose her, and then you stopped talking to me. You said you’d come back when you’re good and ready, so I took that and sat my ass down.

  And yeah, I’m still pissed at you. I’ve never felt so disrespected or unloved in my life. Asshole.

  Having said that, if you’re ready to hang out again, then I’m ready to see you in person so I can punch you in the nuts for being a dick. Our moratorium continues until you say otherwise; we can stay in that bubble until we’re both feeling brave again. Then… we have to deal with the emotional trauma that came from all of this Grace bullshit.

  She might be really good in bed. And who knows, maybe that’s super important to you – gag – and not something I could live up to. Double gag. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give you up. So… friends again? Please? It’s been so long that I’m at risk of not being able to tell you and Pukey apart.

  I’m gonna be pissed at you for a long time. You sent me away, and that hurt more than I’m able to express. But I’d like to be pissed… while we still get to be friends.

  I hit send, and lock my phone screen out of habit, then in the darkness, I brush a hand over my face and groan.

  It hurts. All of it hurts so much that it makes it hard to get up each morning. And that’s strange for the girl who was always rushing into her next adventure.

  Expecting my phone to light up again with a reply text, I don’t jump when I hear it chirp in the darkness. But once my brain processes the difference between a text’s bleep, and what’s actually happening – incoming call – my heart races anew as I stare at my screen and see the name that was once another part of me.

  My throat turns desert dry, and my eyes continue to itch. But I just declared an indefinite moratorium, which means not taking his call now would be rude.

  I’m not opposed to being rude, but deserting him when he says he needs me… when he says he’s scared… Nope. I can’t do that.

  Drawing a deep breath, I exhale again and hit the screen to accept Rob’s call. I bring the device to my ear, close my eyes, and say nothing. I silence my breathing and wait for him to break first.

  “EmKat?” Rob’s voice is soft and pained, croaking and rough. “You there, Em?”

  I nod, though he can’t see it. Then I clear my throat and swallow down the ball of nerves that chokes me up and threatens to kill me. “I’m here… Hey.”

  He exhales in relief, a release of pain and tension. “Jesus,” he groans. “Your voice, Em. I had no clue it was gone until you just gave it back.”

  “You left me,” I tell him quietly. “This is all on you.”

  “I know,” he sighs. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes this year, and each one compounded the last. It’s all such a mess now. I don’t know how to fix it.”

  The pain I hear in his voice, the grief and disappointment, is enough to carve at my soul.

  “I’m here now,” I whisper. “So whatever those mistakes were, I could maybe grant you a pardon if you promise not to leave again. I… um…” I close my eyes and tip my head back so that my face points to the sky.

  The talk I had with Uncle Jack plays through my mind. His advice, and his unbending certainty that I can be selfless for my best friend.

  “Um… If you love Grace,” I rasp out and hate how I can’t make myself sound more sincere, “if you truly want to be with her, then it’s my job to accept that. I’ll play nice, I promise. Because I would rather be the best man in your wedding than nothing at all.”

  “You…” His voice trails off for a moment. “Really? You would be nice to her?”

  “Well…” I chuckle and look back to my unlit dash. “I would hide my homicidal urges, and not openly threaten her anymore. That’s about all I can promise.”

  “That’s pretty big of you,” he concedes. The funny thing is, he’s being serious. Me not openly belting that bitch is a pretty big deal for me. “Um… I was thinking of calling a family dinner tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I pull the phone away from my ear, glance at the time, then bring it back again. “You want to initiate dinner for everyone… we’re talking, like, forty people, and you wanna do that right now… with zero planning or notice?”

  “Are you saying it can’t be done?”

  “No. It only takes twenty seconds to call Pip’s Pizzeria and tell him we’re going big. Food will be delivered within the hour. I’m only checking that you meant tonight, and not, say, next week.”

  “I mean tonight.” His voice lowers. Quivers. “I, uh, have some news for the family.”

  My stomach falls out of my asshole. I swear it does. My bowels liquify, and my heart spontaneously bursts into flames.

  “News?” Please don’t be engaged. Please don’t be engaged. Please don’t be engaged. “What kinda news?”

  “Um… it’s kinda massive,” he murmurs. “It’s scary and horrible, but at the same time… not. Ya know?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t know! Because you’re purposely being vague and annoying. What news, Robert?”

  Please don’t be engaged. Please don’t be engaged. Please don’t be engaged.

  “Grace…”

  Please don’t be engaged.

  “You remember that time at Piper’s Lane, after we… um…” He coughs and clears away the words I want him to say. I need him to acknowledge who we are. What we had. “When she kept trying to talk to me?”

  Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. “Then when she texted a million times,” I insert. “And there was the time she turned up at your apartment and ruined everything? Yeah,” I whisper to hide the shake in my voice, “I remember it all.”

  “She’s pregnant, EmKat.”

  My stomach lurches. Heaving and horrible.

  “She told me she was pregnant,” he continues, “and that she needed me to help her.”

  I press a hand over my mouth in an attempt to not puke all over the inside of my car.

  “You and I were… And then Grace told me… and,” he groans deep into my ear so that I feel the vibrations.

  I could close my eyes and pretend he’s right here beside me, close enough to hug. To touch. To comfort. But this one time, I’m glad to be alone. I’m thankful to have privacy while my lunch repeats and my eyes water.

  “She said I had to help her,” he whispers, “because of the baby. But you have to know, I never chose her, EmKat. It was never about you versus Grace. That night at the apartment, and for every single day we haven’t talked since, it’s been about choosing the baby.”

  “You chose,” I push past the sickness in my throat, “the baby.”

  The baby.

  The baby!

  “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I did. And I still do.”

  “So why do you need me?” I can’t help the way my words carry anger. Betrayal. Disgust. I’m still mad, and I’m just not sure how to make it all better.

  “I need to tell the family,” he groans. “And it’s gonna be a fucking mess. You said you’d rather be the best man in my wedding than nothing at all, right? So… what if… um…” He hesitates. “What if I asked you to be my baby’s godmother instead?”

  “Fuck.” I finally let myself crumble. Tears spill over and drip from the end of my chin. “Rob… I…” My voice cracks. “You’re seriously asking me to be godmother to a Grace Risotto baby!”

  “To my baby,” he clarifies. “Half mine.”

  “Would you do it in reverse?” I bite out. “Say I was pregnant with someone else’s baby. My stomach is growing, my body is changing, and I’m fucking choosing him over you, even if neither of us much like him. Would you be that child’s godfather?”

  “Well…”

  The call goes silent for almost a full minute. Is he thinking about me being pregnant? Is he thinking about me at all?

  “Rob?”

  “I think… that I’m glad it’s not me being asked that question right now. I’m not sure I could be that selfless.”

  “But you’re asking me to be!”<
br />
  “Yes.” He clears his throat, and sighs when I say nothing else. “Yes, I’m asking you to do something I’m not sure I could do in return.”

  “Well hell,” I spit out. “At least you acknowledge the hypocrisy of this bullshit.”

  “Please help me, Em. It’s happening, all of this mess is already in motion, so I’m asking you to be my best fucking friend for a minute. Don’t be the girl I kissed. The woman I…” He trails off and again robs me of the words we need. “Don’t be the scorned woman. Be my best friend, just like you promised you would be.”

  “I guess I don’t get a choice, huh? Nowhere in our rules did I think to add, Don’t knock up some bitch we don’t like. These are unprecedented times.”

  “I need you,” he grits out. “I need you so fucking much that I don’t know if I can stand without you. I’m begging for your help, Emma. And while we’re in unprecedented times, we still have the rules in place. Be there when your bestie is scared to his fucking bones.”

  “Of the two of us, I always thought I’d be the selfish one,” I say after a long moment. “I thought I would hold the title of selfish, self-centered attention seeker. I didn’t see this coming at all.”

  “Heh.” He chuckles, though there’s no humor in the sound. “I didn’t see this coming either. I used protection every single fucking time, Em. I was careful.”

  “Gag.” I say it out loud, but he can’t know that my stomach actually jumps when I think of them together, protection or not. “Don’t be surprised if you find out she was poking holes in the condoms.”

  I didn’t intend for that statement to feel as true as it does. It just rolled off my tongue, a result of my nausea and dislike for that slut. But the second the words are free, and my brain catches up to my mouth, my eyes narrow to suspicious slits.

  “Fuck. Betcha that’s what she did.”

  After driving home and parking at Mom and Dad’s house, I walk through the living room and toss a cushion at my parents as they lay on the couch and make out.

  Yeah… not traumatizing for their children at all.

  Mom is on the inside, hidden by Daddy’s large form but for her long, blonde hair, the rest of her features covered by his broad shoulders and his need to be all up in her space every single second of the day.