Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1)

by Colleen Masters

  Almost.

  “I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” I sigh, letting my head fall back against the couch cushions. “You have no idea, Emerson...”

  “Oh, I think I do,” he chuckles, pressing his hips against me, letting me feel that staggering length. “Is that the secret you were going to trade me for?”

  “W-what?” I stammer, my eyes springing open.

  “You know. A secret for a secret. Like we said,” Emerson clarifies, propping himself up on his forearms.

  “Oh,” I say softly, feeling the wonderful peace this evening has brought slipping away as the moment of my big reveal approaches. “Um. No, I—”

  “Shit,” he mutters, brushing a lock of hair away from my face, “I’m sorry. I’m totally killing the mood, here. I can’t be trusted not to fuck up something as awesome as this.”

  “You haven’t fucked anything up,” I insist, but it’s too late. I can already see his expression darkening. I need to backpedal, right things before it’s too late. Deep Dark Secrets can wait for a spell. I need to show him that we’re on the same page. And like Emerson says, better to show than tell. Without a word, I reach for his belt buckle, whipping it open with a metallic clank. Emerson’s eyes go wide as I slowly ease down the zipper of his jeans. I guide him onto his back, climbing on top of him as I work to release his member from his jeans. His hardness strains against the thick denim, ready to burst through—

  We both sit bolt upright as the sound of keys in the front door lock ring through the empty house. Giddy giggles sound from beyond the door as Emerson and I look at each other in abject horror. No more playing house for us. Deb and Dad are home.

  “Shit,” Emerson fumes, buckling in his staggering erection and covering his lap with a throw pillow. “Fucking shit.”

  “It’s OK. They’ll never know,” I assure him, smoothing down my hair. “How would they ever even guess, right? I’ll still be right down the hall, you know. This isn’t over.”

  We trade wary smiles as the front door bursts open. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that our parents are absolutely trashed. My dad all but carries Deb over the threshold, humming some sort of ridiculous—vaguely familiar—marching tune. But taking a closer look, it’s plain to see that they’re just excited, not drunk at all. Thank god for that. A two-for-one relapse is not what we need right now.

  “Abby! Emerson!” Deb squeals, kicking her high-heeled feet in the air as Dad spins her around the foyer. “I’m so glad you’re both here!”

  “You seem...glad,” Emerson says, his brow furrowed as he takes in the sight of our giggling parents. “What’s, uh...what’s going on with you two?”

  “Did you win the lottery or something?” I wager a guess, trying not to think of what would have happened, had they come home just a few seconds earlier.

  “We did win the lottery, in a way,” my dad beams, setting Deb down at last.

  Emerson and I trade baffled looks, overwhelmed by our parents’ behavior, and the bizarre turn this evening has taken. Between our mutual confessions and whatever’s going on with Dad and Deb, I, for one, can’t seem to get my bearings.

  “You tell them the good news, Baby,” my dad urges Deb, wrapping an arm around her slender waist.

  “OK Honey Bear,” she squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Abby, Emerson. Bob and I...Well. Let’s just say we finally figured out what to get you guys for your birthdays.”

  “And what’s...that?” Emerson asks cautiously.

  In answer, Deb simply holds her left hand up for us to take a gander at. For a split second, I’m totally at a loss. That is, before I catch the sparkly glimmer shining off her ring finger. There on her hand is a rock the size of Rhode Island. An engagement ring, by the looks of it. The implications of her new accessory wallops me as I sit beside Emerson, staring in horrified silence.

  Deb’s wearing an engagement ring.

  “We’re going to get you each a brand new sibling! We’ll be one big, happy family at last!” she cries ecstatically.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Emerson says, springing to his feet. Safe to say any lingering evidence of our blissful excitement is long gone.

  “Bob and I are going to get married, sweetie!” Deb goes on, her smile wavering. “We didn’t want to upstage your eighteenth birthdays, though, so we’re going to wait until the weekend after.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” Emerson snarls, his face turning bright red. “Remind me to make sure and nominate you for Mother of the Year.”

  “Stop it,” Deb says, her eyes filling with angry tears. “You don’t get to ruin this moment for me. You’re going to be happy for me, Emerson. For once in your goddamn life.”

  “Yeah. I don’t really see that happening,” Emerson scoffs, his walls and defenses springing back into place.

  “At least tell your mother that you’re happy for her, Emerson,” my dad says harshly. My eyes go wide at his tone. He never reprimands Emerson for anything.

  “Already playing at being my old man, Bob?” Emerson says, with a cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, but that ship sailed a long time ago. Thanks for at least waiting until I’m a legal adult to pull this crap. That way I can bail on this shit show with no strings attached.”

  “Emerson, please,” Deb says plaintively, but it’s no use. He’s already turned his back and marched out the door once again. We hear his Chevy start up and peel out of driveway.

  I blink back devastated tears, looking longingly after him. He could have at least taken me with him. After everything we shared this evening, everything we did...he said I could trust him. Was that just another lie to get in my pants? No. Of course not. He’s just hurt by our parents’ carelessness. Hurt by what it means for us.

  “Are you going to say congratulations at least?” my dad asks me flatly, placing a comforting hand on Deb’s back.

  “I...I don’t...” I stammer, looking back and forth between them. “I don’t know what you want from me, Dad.”

  “That...is very disappointing,” he replies, looking as hurt as I’ve ever seen him. But how the hell am I supposed to congratulate them on what is clearly nothing more than an impulsive, terrible decision? They barely even know each other. They’re still in the early stages of recovery. What the hell are they thinking?

  “So ungrateful, both of them,” Deb mutters, marching up the stairs.

  Dad heaves a sigh as she slams their bedroom door. An eerie silence falls over the house, punctuated only by Deb’s muffled sobs from upstairs. My dad and I look at each other across the wide open space. This is as alone as we’ve been in months, ever since Deb showed up on the scene. I wish I could be honest with him right now, tell him how reckless he’s being, tell him how much it hurts me to see him pick up with the first woman he meets without actually giving a shit about her. But I’ve never been able to call my dad out on his bad behavior.

  “This is not how I saw tonight ending,” he mutters, shaking his head.

  “I just wish you would have asked us if we were OK with this,” I say, frustrated tears stinging my eyes.

  “Excuse me,” my dad replies, “Since when do parents ask their children for permission?”

  “I just...You hardly know her! She hardly knows you!” I exclaim. “What is it you even love about her, Dad? I mean, you do love her—?”

  “Of course I do,” he says gruffly. “I love how she looks. How she carries herself. Her eyes. Her hair.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, scoffing, “You like the way she looks? That’s it?”

  “You and Emerson will be adults soon,” my dad says firmly. “Before long, you’ll know what it feels like to want something—someone—so badly that you’re willing to do just about anything to be together. I hope you’ll have the courage to make that leap when the time comes.”

  I almost laugh as he spews theses words of wisdom. He practically just told me to go ahead and jump my soon-to-be-stepbrother’s bones.
But as absurd as this all is, I can’t laugh about it just yet. The pain is far too raw.

  There’s a good chance it always will be.

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  It’s three in the morning before I hear Emerson’s car swing back into the driveway beneath my window. In the four hours or so he’s been on the road blowing off steam, I haven’t slept a wink. Haven’t even come close. My nerves have been on a hair-trigger, ready to snap clean in two, as I wait for him to return. The second I hear his car door slam, I throw off my covers and roll out of bed. Throwing my blonde hair into a messy ponytail and crossing my arms over my chest, I pad over to my bedroom window and ease it open. Leaning out into the warm spring air, I see Emerson leaning heavily against the hood of his car, looking up at our house with despair.

  “Hey, Emerson,” I whisper, waving to get his attention.

  “What are you doing up?” he murmurs back.

  “What do you think?” I say, “I was waiting for you. Stay there—I’m coming down.”

  “You don’t have to,” he starts to say, but I’ve already turned away from the window. I take the stairs two at a time, not pausing long enough to be self-conscious about my tiny cotton shorts and camisole.

  I gently pull open the front door and step out into the darkness of the very early morning. Emerson watches as I cross the driveway toward him. He smiles wryly at my approach.

  “Are you trying to kill me with those shorts or what?” he says. Though I know he’s teasing, there’s a frustrated, regretful hunger beneath his words that breaks my heart.

  “Some of us have been in bed for hours now,” I remind him, leaning against the car by his side, “Instead of rending our shirts and bellowing into the wind. Or whatever it was you were doing out there.”

  “That about sums it up,” he replies. “What, are you pissed at me?”

  “It would have been nice to not be stuck alone with our parents after all that,” I point out, “Your mom cried for hours.”

  “It’s one of her favorite hobbies,” Emerson shrugs.

  “You could have at least taken me with you,” I shoot back. “After everything...”

  “I know,” he says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not used to looking out for anyone besides myself, Abby. I gave up on my mom years ago, and I guess when shit gets real, I just look out for me. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” I whisper, reaching for his hand. To my relief, he lets me take it. “You’re back now. That’s what matters.”

  He looks my way, his blue eyes gleaming even in the darkness. I can see a million thoughts swirling behind those eyes, afloat in a churning sea of turmoil and rage. I wish there was something I could do to ease that pain. And maybe, just maybe, there is.

  “Come on,” I say, tugging his hand, “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” he asks, standing stock still. “I’m exhausted, Abby.”

  “Just follow me, Sawyer,” I reply, pretending impatience. “Unless you’re too chicken shit, that is.”

  He rolls his eyes with just enough playfulness to give me hope. Without another word, I tow him away from the car. Silently, we make our way around the perimeter of the house, the expansive back yard, the black water of the in-ground pool. I lead Emerson along the edge of the woods that surround our property, peeling off down a well-worn dirt path. I expect his body to tense up as I drag him into the foliage, but he follows gamely. I suppose he doesn’t scare so easy, Emerson Sawyer.

  “Here it is,” I say, after a few minutes of trudging along through the underbrush. We’ve come to a stop before a thick, sturdy trunk, inlaid with wooden planks that serve as footholds. It’s a place I’ve come to love and depend on as a safe haven. During the worst of mom and dad’s fights, and later the worst of his drunken rages, this is where I’d come.

  “What is ‘it’?” Emerson asks, raising an eyebrow at the makeshift ladder.

  “I’ll show you,” I tell him, grasping a plank and pulling myself up a foot. “Just don’t check out my ass the whole time I’m climbing, now.”

  “That...is not a fair request,” he smiles, as I scurry up the trunk before him. I can feel his eyes raking along my body the whole while. And despite my instructions, I can’t pretend that I mind too much.

  As we hit the point where the tree’s branches begin to fan out, I pull myself onto a wide wooden platform, scooting over to make room for Emerson beside me. This weathered deck was built to last, but it helps that I’ve maintained it over the years. It’s not quite a treehouse, but it does the trick as far as secret hideaways go.

  “Well, this is rustic,” Emerson laughs, swinging himself up onto the platform to join me. “Did your dad make this?”

  “My grandpa did, actually,” I tell him, “Back when my dad was still a kid. This was his and my grandma’s house, before they passed it along to my mom and dad.”

  “Did they...pass away? Your grandparents?” Emerson asks gently.

  “Nah,” I chuckle, “They just decided that Florida was more their scene is all. Didn’t want to go through the hassle of selling this place. They’re, uh, pretty well off, my grandparents. Good people, but loaded as hell.”

  “Not a very typical combination, is it?” Emerson replies gruffly. He looks over at me as I avert my eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean you. I just—”

  “Didn’t you?” I ask softly.

  “Of course not,” Emerson says, reaching for my hand. “I told you not four hours ago how I feel about you, Abby. You’re not just some rich girl to me. Christ, I would never hold you accountable for your family. That would mean you could hold me accountable for mine.”

  “Good point. And I wouldn’t dream of it, for the record,” I laugh shortly. “Though apparently, we’re about to have our shitty families joined in holy matrimony. So...congratulations to us?”

  “Or something,” Emerson grumbles, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible fucking idea. They don’t even know each other. They’re going to make each other miserable.”

  “I know,” I reply, heaving a sigh, “This is why marriage gets such a bad rap. Because assholes like our parents fuck it up for everyone.”

  “Seriously,” Emerson says, pulling out a cigarette. I don’t even have to ask for one this time, he just passes it my way. He holds the lighter for me as I run the tip of my cigarette through the flame. We inhale deeply in unison, peering up at the stars through the canopy of leaves above. Our fingers are still entwined, natural as can be. That might be what hurts the most—the potential of a relationship that feels as easy as breathing, scattered by our parents’ carelessness.

  “It’s not fair,” I whisper, my eyes prickling with tears.

  “No. It’s not,” Emerson replies, pulling me tightly against his side.

  “I mean Jesus Christ, their timing,” I laugh, though nothing about this is funny.

  “No kidding,” He replies, “If they hadn’t shown up when they did...Abby, I don’t know what would have happened back there. I mean. I know what I wanted to happen.”

  “And...what’s that?” I ask softly, unable to look him in the eye.

  “I think you know,” he says, circling my waist with his muscled arm. “But what I don’t know, at least for sure, is what you want out of this. Out of...us.”

  My heart is lodged in my throat as I think of how to answer. I need to be bold now. To tell him the truth. Even if I’ve read him entirely wrong, and he thinks I’m insane for what I’m about to say, we’ll be out of each others’ lives in a few months’ time. So, here goes.

  “If we hadn’t been interrupted,” I say, softly but steadily, “I wouldn’t have stopped until we’d had each other. That’s all I wanted.”

  He glances down at me, and I force myself to meet his gaze. His eyes smolder with wanting me. The intensity of his lust nearly bowls me over.

  “That’s what I wanted, too,” he growls, catching my chin in his hand.

  He brings his mouth to mine, kissing me for
cefully, deeply. But there’s a hint of finality in his kiss that nearly brings me to tears.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I whisper, pulling away from him. “It’s Wednesday. No, Thursday now. By Sunday, we’ll technically be siblings.”

  “I know that,” Emerson replies, his teeth gritted in hopeless frustration. “And once that’s the case, we can’t...”

  “I know,” I whisper. “Of course we can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Nothing about this situation is right,” he scoffs.

  “God,” I mutter, “Why couldn’t we have just found each other years ago, before we were out of time?”

  “We’re not out of time. Yet,” Emerson says carefully, as if testing the waters. My heart clenches tightly as he goes on. “Tomorrow is my birthday, Abby. Saturday is yours. That means that on Saturday, and only on Saturday, we’ll both be legal adults. Legal, unrelated adults. Who can argue with that?”

  “Are you...are you suggesting...?” I reply, my eyes going wide.

  “If I don’t at least suggest it,” Emerson says, pulling me into his lap. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. So, yes. This is me telling you that I want you, Abby. I want to be with you. I want us to have each other, if only once in our lives. I’m suggesting that we give ourselves that before it’s too late. You can tell me I’m nuts, or to go fuck myself, or whatever you like. But I have to at least tell you...that, that’s what I want.”

  “Well, Emerson,” I say, struggling to take a deep breath, “That’s convenient. Because I...want that...too.”

  We stare at each other for a long moment before bursting into uproarious laughter. Gut-bursting, tension-relieving, hysterical laughter that almost sends us both toppling off the platform at once. I throw my arms around Emerson’s shoulders as we both roar at the insane, absurd hilarity of this whole situation. A wave of relief crashes through me as laugher wracks my body. God, it feels good to let some of this pressure release.

  “That might be the most awkward thing I’ve ever said in my life!” I crow, wiping tears from my eyes.