Risky Business

by Bethany Jadin

  Mom purses her lips, and she grows quiet for a while. I can tell by her expression that she’s remembering some unhappy times. When she speaks, she talks slowly, picking her words carefully, her gaze fixed on mine. “Love is a complicated thing, honey. Most of the time, I think it’s a miracle that we get to experience it at all. It’s awe-inspiring to have that kind of deep, meaningful connection with someone else. But…”

  She trails off and looks down for a moment. Then she raises her eyes back to mine, and her expression is earnest. “Your father and I tried to shelter you from our difficult times, but I hope we haven’t done you a disservice. Because love and marriage… it’s not always pretty. I don’t want you to think it’s always sunshine and rainbows, because if that’s what you’re expecting, you might pass up something wonderful. Don’t turn away a good thing just because it’s difficult sometimes. Real relationships take work. And there are moments when people aren’t their best selves, and that can cause pain, even in healthy, loving relationships. Over the years, your father’s hurt me, and I’ve hurt him, too. But it was rarely on purpose. And we’ve had to learn to trust one another, despite that.”

  Dammit. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want my mom to worry about me any more than she already is, but her words are pushing tears into my eyes. “How do you do that?” I manage to ask. “How do you learn to keep trusting someone after they’ve hurt you?”

  She takes a deep breath and holds my hand tighter. “Oh, it’s not easy, sweetheart. Being so close to someone makes you vulnerable, which is amazing when things are good — and really hard when things aren’t. It’s a risk you take when you open yourself up to someone, but sometimes — with the right person — it’s worth it.”

  I take a deep breath and stare down at the desk for a long moment. Her words make so much sense, in my head. It seems like sound advice. But my heart is still breaking. Reason and emotion have been battling it out inside my body for days, and it’s been utterly exhausting. I can’t seem to reconcile the two.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, leaning over to give her a hug. “You always have sage advice for me, no matter what the topic is.”

  She folds me into a soft hug and pats the back of my head. “I don’t know if I’d say it’s sage — it’s just a little bit of what I’ve learned over the years, often times the hard way. But thank you for thinking of me as wise,” she says with a gentle laugh.

  There’s something so cathartic and comforting about getting a hug from my mom. I lay my head on her shoulder and close my eyes, the sleepiness that eluded me all night finally kicking in. A whiff of something delicious reaches my nose, and I straighten up. “Is that bacon?”

  She pats my shoulder as she stands up. “It is. Your father’s making breakfast. Let me go make you a plate.”

  “That would be wonderful, Mom. I think my stomach just realized I haven’t eaten for hours.”

  I watch her go, admonishing myself for ever letting this get to a point where my parent’s home would be invaded. I had put my childhood room back together after its ransacking, and it seems just as small as ever. Mom helped me push my little daybed to the corner, and I’ve effectively transformed the space into my office, wires and monitors all over. One monitor per OS. Lines of code scroll by as I test the newest tweak to the Gamma segment on each operating system. I’ve been able to pick out a few flaws and make a couple changes to the code during my time here, but it’s been a struggle.

  As has the wait. I haven’t received a single word from BHC since our meeting at the park. I’m pretty sure they’re doing this on purpose. Letting me sweat.

  I sit back in my chair, fixing on the pink and lavender wallpaper that I’d begged for as a sweet sixteen birthday present. After all these years, this place doesn’t feel like home anymore. The kitchen, maybe, but not this room. My teenage self is everywhere, but I’m no longer sixteen-year-old Emma Collins. That girl was naïve and innocent to the trials the world had waiting. It’s been nearly ten years, but I wonder if I’m really any less naïve. I’m still caught up in a form of boy-crazy.

  Every night, I’ve dreamt of them. I’m trying to occupy myself with working on the program, trying to use it to push them out of my head. But it’s not working. I’m daydreaming of them when I should be working, and at night they consume my every thought. Even when I do manage to sleep, it’s like I’m lucid dreaming. Jude. Jax. Trigg. Gunner. Daniel.

  I don’t know how to escape them.

  They’ve even followed me here. Not literally, at least not that I know of — Zoey, Callie, and Cora have sworn not to tell the guys where I am. Even the security team assured me they wouldn’t divulge my location. But in every other way, they’re here. Like ghosts, surrounding me at every turn.

  The twin bed along the wall of my childhood bedroom has never seemed so small. I didn’t realize how quickly I’d grown accustomed to my new king size bed. The big, wide mattress and the soft sheets — Daniel had insisted on the highest thread count he could find. Absolute luxury compared to the situation here. Of course, the size of the bed isn’t what makes it special. It’s that proud, adoring look on Daniel’s face that I remember every time I crawled into bed. And I’ve still pictured his gorgeous smile every night I’ve been here, even though I’m tucking myself into a bed made just for one.

  Yesterday, I heard the whine of the neighbor’s motorcycle, and instantly I was itching to get back out on the dirt tracks with Gunner, to go flying over jumps, completely safe as I cling onto a mountain of a man. I turned on the TV to drown out the sound, but that was short lived. I was looking for a distraction, but instead, I found myself bawling harder than usual at those damn sad advertisements featuring abused and neglected animals. All I could think about was how gently and lovingly Jude held Mabel all the way back to his place after working so patiently to earn her trust.

  And then today, when I got up from my chair to stretch my back, I slid right into a yoga pose without even thinking, until I remembered Trigg’s firm hands guiding me into the position. I just sat back down, choosing to deal with the tightness in my back rather than relive all the memories of Trigg coaching me through the poses. And then… of all the things Mom could take up in her retirement, she chose oil paintings. She was so proud to show me the studio Dad put together for her in the sunroom. I nearly broke down right there.

  A soft thud sounds at my elbow, and I startle in my seat.

  “You’re awfully jumpy this morning,” Mom says, pushing the plate toward me before she nods at the coffee cup she left earlier. “Sure you should be having caffeine?”

  I smile for her, but it slides from my lips when I see the plate she’s brought.

  “I picked up a couple pints yesterday. They were on sale.”

  Three plump, deep red strawberries garnish the edge of the scrambled eggs and bacon. Provocative images of my first night with Daniel flood my memory, and I shut my eyes, but it only helps the images come faster. When I open, Mom is looking at me with concern.

  “I really do think you should take a break and get some sleep, honey. At least a nap?”

  I shake my head, trying to rid myself of visions of chocolate and lace. “It’s not that.”

  Mom looks at me for a long minute until I grow embarrassed, as though she can read my thoughts. I pull the plate closer and pick up a piece of bacon.

  “You have someone special in your life, don’t you?”

  I sit ramrod straight and give my mom a sideways glance. “I never said that.”

  “Oh, please, sweetheart, you’ve been an open book about boys ever since Charlie Brewer.”

  The memory makes me smile. “Mom, I was twelve.”

  Mom gets that expression she does when she’s amused but trying not to show it. “And too old to keep playing in our basement unsupervised,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “But you grew up, and so did Charlie, and so did all the other boys. And you, young lady, have become more like your father with every year.”

  I’d always
been a daddy’s girl, but I thought I’d eventually become more like my mother over time, as distressing as the thought could be at times. I suppress a grin. “Are you saying Dad likes guys, too?”

  My mom gives me a dry look. “You’re funny. No, I mean you react the same way he does when things are troubling him.”

  “What do you mean?

  Mom sweeps a hand through the air, gesturing at my monitors. “He buries himself in something. Doesn’t want to talk about it; doesn’t even want to think about it. At times, I’m convinced he’s trying to block stuff out as though it never happened.”

  An empty pang goes off in my chest, and I sigh. Guilty as charged. I never realized my dad and I share the same urge to avoid difficult emotional things until just now. “I guess you’re saying that doesn’t work?”

  “Not really.” She leans on the corner of my desk. “It takes some doing, but I eventually draw him out and get him to talk.”

  “Dad? Talk about his emotions? Now you’re the one being funny.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “You’d be surprised. He knows how to express himself when he has to. It’s not always in words.”

  That smile of hers deepens, and I grimace. “Mom! Really! I don’t want to know these things!”

  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know how we brought you into this world, Emma Collins. You weren’t found under a rock.”

  At least she’s getting me to laugh — which reminds me of Gunner — and then I’m melancholy again. I fiddle with the bacon on my plate, trying to work up the nerve to say what’s really on my mind.

  “There’s… a guy.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “Actually, more than one.” I can’t bring myself to tell her there are five.

  “Sounds complicated.”

  I’m laughing again. “You have no idea.”

  “Well,” she says. “That keeps things interesting, right? It’s okay if you don’t have it all figured out yet.”

  I look at her, my expression serious. “But you guys had it all figured out. You were married when you were barely twenty, right?”

  “No,” she says with a laugh, her eyes moving up to the ceiling as she thinks back. “Your father and I faced many challenges in those first few years. Neither of us were quite mature enough to have a handle on what marriage actually requires of a person. But you’re so much smarter and more mature than we were.”

  “I don’t know about that. I might be repeating the Jeremy situation all over again.”

  Mom pats my shoulder. “I doubt that, honey. Do you think maybe you’re just feeling scared because of what happened? You’re afraid to get to close?”

  “Or, I’m an idiot, and I like torturing myself by falling for the same kind of guys over and over.”

  She gives me a reproving look. “You are not an idiot, honey.”

  I shrug and let out a little laugh. “You have to love me even if I am an idiot. It’s like, written in your parenting contract or something. So, your opinion on this doesn’t count.”

  “Don’t you start with me, young lady.” She picks up my breakfast plate before grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the seat. “Come on, let’s go. If you’re not going to take a nap, you’re at least going to take a break from staring at all these screens. Your father is out in the garage working on that old ‘57 Chevy of his. You can eat your strawberries and tell us about these gentleman friends of yours.”

  18

  Gunner

  Daniel’s ordered up about a dozen pizzas, and I’m picking through them. I suppose he thought maybe a big order from Two Tony’s would tempt me into eating, but I don’t have an appetite.

  Jax is still missing in action, Jude has barely spoken a word to anyone since we had the showdown in Emma’s apartment, Trigg is wearing a permanent scowl, and Daniel won’t sit the fuck down and stop hovering over everyone. None of us know what the hell to do with ourselves.

  The meat lovers is okay, but the ham is too crispy and there isn’t enough sauce. I like gobs of red sauce on my pizza. I put down the half-finished piece and poke at the Hawaiian.

  “She’s going to sell to someone else, isn’t she?” Daniel says, pacing around the room.

  “Who gives a shit?” Jude growls.

  The rest of us look at Jude in surprise.

  “What?” He looks back at each of us, his face expressionless.

  “I do,” Trigg insists, jabbing a pointed index finger on the table. “I care who she sells to.”

  “No, you fucking don’t.” Jude says, shaking his head.

  Trigg stands up from the table. “Do you really want to start a goddamn pissing contest again?”

  Daniel walks between them, holding his hands up. “Guys, come on. Haven’t we had enough fighting?”

  Jude shrugs. “It’s true, though. None of us actually gives a shit who she sells to. That’s not what we’re upset about, is it?”

  We all stare at him again, but for an entirely different reason this time. I hold the piece of Hawaiian halfway to my mouth and blink at him. Days of barely grunting in our direction, and now he’s gonna lay down the wisdom?

  I snort. “Well, look at who decided to pull a Silent Bob on us.”

  He crosses his arms and glares at each of us. “You’re all busy crying about what Emma’s going to do with her program. Just talking in fucking circles. I can’t listen to it anymore. Fuck the code. This isn’t about a goddamn piece of software.”

  The table goes silent. None of us have any smartass retorts, because he’s right. Not that it matters much. Whether we talk about the code or just come right out and admit we’re heartbroken over Emma, at the end of the day, we’re still going to be sitting in our empty penthouses, staring at the walls, wishing we could have done a million things differently.

  I take a bite of the Hawaiian. Too much mozzarella, not enough pineapple. I huff and let the piece fall back into the box. Trigg’s eyeing me cautiously, and I give him the finger. He’s been a fucking pain in my ass lately. Says I’m not eating enough. Acting like my goddamn mother, is what he’s doing. I grunt again, the deep bruises on my ribs stretching as I reach for the cheese and pepperoni. Maybe the classic will be good. Who can ruin pepperoni pizza?

  “So what?” Trigg says, turning to Jude. “What difference does it make whether we’re talking about the program or her? They’re both gone.”

  I nod quietly in agreement. We’re all just barely making it through each day, quietly waiting for Emma to forgive us. But I don’t see that just miraculously happening on its own. Not tomorrow, or the next day, or even weeks from now. Not with the way we left things.

  “She’s made it clear she doesn’t want us to even communicate with her,” Daniel says.

  “And that’s it?” Jude asks, sitting forward. “We should just let her go quietly into the night and fucking forget it? Is that what you all really want to do? Sit around here, moping for days on end?”

  “No. I’m fucking sick of it,” I say. “Of all of it. Of how quiet everything has been around here. Of the non-stop bickering that’s been going on. Of the goddamn weight in my chest that I can’t get rid of.”

  “Same here,” Trigg nods. “But this is the outcome of the hand we dealt her, isn’t it? We did this to ourselves.”

  “Exactly. We’ve already messed this up enough,” Daniel says. “If she wants to talk to us, she’ll let us know.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work out the way you hope,” Jude says. “There has to be a better option than us just passively staring at our phones all day, hoping they’ll ring.”

  “I think we should respect her wishes,” Daniel says, the muscles in his face tightening.

  Jude glowers. “I disagree. I think because we messed it up, it’s on us to fix it. But we haven’t even tried.”

  Daniel opens his mouth to respond, but I interrupt, pointing at Jude. Finally, something that makes sense. “What he said. Fuck all this standing around and waiting gentlemanly bullshit,” I say, chewing back
a bite of greasy as shit pepperoni pizza.

  Daniel draws in a deep breath and rubs his face, trying to keep his cool. But I’m not finished.

  “I know where she is,” I continue. “I finally convinced Jude to let me do some reconnaissance, and I found out where she is. She wasn’t hiding that hard.” If Jude hadn’t caught me on the way out with my ruck sack, I’d be camped out on her parent’s front yard right now. Jude put a halt to that plan. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do something.

  Trigg snaps to attention. “Where? Where is she?”

  “Her parents’ house,” I say. “And I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired of just waiting around with my dick in my hand like a useless asshole. I say, we go get our girl.”

  Jude nods at me. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying, too.” He looks over to Daniel. “I appreciate that you want to respect Emma’s wishes, Daniel. And sometimes, your way of handling things is exactly what a situation needs. But not this time.”

  Daniel creases his brow and gives Jude a sharp look. “Goddammit, you can’t just go all raging bull on her. You’re just going to piss her off even more, and then we won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of ever working this out.”

  “What chance do we have right now?” Trigg asks. “The last time we talked to her, we delivered one piece of terrible news after another. What makes you think she’s just going to decide to be okay with all that and call us up again?” He shakes his head sadly. “I’m telling you, we’re finished.”

  Jude slaps his palm on the table angrily. “Well, you all might be ready to fucking give up, but I’m not.”

  A dark cloud comes over Daniel, and his usually soft eyes turn hard. “I’m not giving up. I’m saying, this is her decision.”

  “I’m not giving up, either,” Trigg snarls. “But Daniel’s right — we can’t make her talk to us if she doesn’t want to.”

  I shove my plate away. None of this shit tastes good. And we’re going in circles again. I’m with Jude. I’ve had enough of sitting around and waiting, just holding onto a hope and a prayer. “Then we pull our heads out of our asses and figure out how to make her want to talk to us.”