Emily (Daughters, Book #4) (Daughters Series)

by Leanne Davis

  My mom sighs. I’ve approached this subject several times with her. Always she says no. “So you can put it into a book?”

  “I want to write it. I need your permission and your help.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “It’s my only ambition in life. To find a way to write about women’s issues, specifically rape, in this chauvinistic culture.”

  “I understand your intention, I’m just not willing for it to be my story. I can’t, Emily. Please stop asking me.”

  “Can I write it then? I’ll do it without your help and you can read it when I’m done and then judge it. Then you can decide after it’s finished.”

  “I can’t stop you. But I don’t want you to.”

  “Can I have the letters?” Christina told me about a stack of letters written in Mom’s own hand to Dad when she was in her early twenties. They chronicle everything my mom went through and mark the beginning of her healing. They were necessary for her to find her way before she could begin the process of recovery.

  “No.”

  “Mom. Please? This matters so much to me.”

  “I know how much it does. But it matters more to me not to publicize or broadcast it any more than it already was.”

  “I know you think it’s none of my business, but from the time I found out, it’s changed my perception of everything. I feel a passion to fight it and change it.”

  “I’m not negating or downplaying the effect it has on you girls, all four of my daughters. It involves your image of me and that of your dad. But I can’t do what you ask of me.”

  “Mom—”

  “I won’t. Please don’t ask again.” Then she whips around and leaves. Feeling somewhat miffed, I stare after her. Why all the secrecy? Why can’t we discuss it? It’s already been reported and written about to some degree, but not from Mom’s voice and viewpoint. I know it’s an important story. I just know it.

  Frustrated, I make another video, this time about what happened last night at the bar. I post it on my channel. I have twenty views. It makes me laugh out loud. Twenty views! And twelve followers. No one knows I do this, so that’s not unexpected. Like the first time, it helps alleviate my sense of helplessness. My sense of what happened to me and there’s nothing I can do, yet it feels like something more should come of it.

  Disappointed, I decide to call Natalie and tell her what’s going on. Then I ask if I can come and stay for a week or so. She’s glad to have me, as I knew she would be. There. I’m going. Decision made. Now, I want to focus on the guy who is coming with me. I hope to start, at the very least, a sexual relationship with him. Because I have a feeling that even my dad didn’t fail to notice the sparks between Ramiro and me. I almost laugh. I’m sure it isn’t exactly what he wants for me. But he knows that Melissa, Christina, and I deserve love, sex, a home, and a job. In other words, a good life.

  I pack up my luggage and talk to my sisters and aunt, receiving lots of love as they say their goodbyes. My parents wish me the best, too, before I show up at Ramiro’s trailer. I forgot to mention that I’m coming or why. Even if my parents assume he’s ready to chaperone me down there.

  Max could do it. Dad could do it. Seth could do it.

  But they are letting me decide who takes me.

  I knock on his door and my stomach jumps around. I hope he’s home. And still willing. I hope he hasn’t done a one-eighty since last night. Mostly, I hope he still likes me.

  He opens the door and my smile is hesitant. “Hi. Remember you said you’d take me?”

  His gaze narrows and he glances towards my vehicle. “Do you mean take you to your sister’s?”

  “Yes. Will you?”

  “Are you crazy? You didn’t think to call first? And arrange it? Or consider that I might also have a life to figure out?”

  “Yes to all your questions. I just decided to do it anyway.”

  His arms cross over his chest. “You know what will happen if we leave here together?”

  “Yes.” I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch or tell him that I spent an extra hour getting ready from my makeup to my hair. It’s all done to look natural, but nothing is natural about how much work I put into it. For one reason.

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  “You’re here. With me. I told you, we’ll figure it out.”

  “You have no idea what my life is like.”

  “I don’t. No. But I’m willing to listen. And I care. And I want to be with you,” I concede, shrugging. I can’t deny my hesitation, but I’m willing to change and grow and learn. I’m willing to commit to whatever ramifications might ensue.

  “Emily…” he shakes his head. I step towards him and his gaze jerks up, but his eyes are weary. I think I’m making him nervous, which emboldens me. And that surprises me. “Why would you even entertain such an idea? Or want this?”

  “Come with me.” I ignore his questions. “It’s just a short trip. A few days. It’s not like we’re spending the rest of our lives in happy matrimony.”

  “I hope you realize that is not something I’m seeking. I don’t plan to get married in the next decade.”

  “Me neither.” I give him a big, toothy grin. “Just a few days…”

  “You realize what will happen, of course,” he states again, and this time, his gaze holds mine. In a matter of seconds, his eyeballs dart away first. He’s more nervous about the coming developments than I am. That’s because I want them to happen. Whatever connection exists between us, it makes my entire body heat up, not just physically, but also emotionally and mentally. He engages all the parts of me. My brain adores his daily sarcasm and easygoing wit. My emotions happily follow his moods as they flip from lighthearted to mysterious silence or seriousness. My body craves his, as was undeniable last night.

  “I’d rather be with you than anyone else.”

  “You realize there is no future for us. None. It’s now. It’s all in the present and has to stay that way.”

  “I realize that.”

  He holds my gaze. “I’m not kidding around. I’m not being coy. There is nothing to come of this.”

  “I like you, Ramiro.”

  His entire body slouches and he shakes his head. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” I’m sure my eyes are huge. I have no idea what I did.

  “Turn something that is complicated and fraught with arguments into something so easy and simple?”

  “Do you like me too?” I press.

  His mouth twitches. “You could say that.”

  I shrug. “Maybe there are a lot worse reasons for two people to be together than because they like each other.”

  “Maybe,” he mutters. “You really want to go to your sister’s?”

  “I don’t think I need to, but if it makes everyone else feel better and gives me permission to go with you, I figure, why not?”

  “Why not?” he shakes his head, running his hand through his black hair. “You are making a profound case for this. I almost feel like if I decline, I’m making more out of it… us, than it is.”

  “Exactly.” I grin and something warm releases in my blood. He’s coming.

  For the first time, I am not thinking about the future. I don’t try to look ahead, wondering about tomorrow. Where will we be in a month, or two, or six, or a year? I don’t stress over what might happen in the next week either. It’s so new for me. I’m used to planning and doing things with a constant obsession of how it fits into the rest of my future. Everything I’ve ever done, from friendships to sports to my boyfriend to school, was for a specific reason, all neat and tidy. It affected every aspect of my life. I judged everything by that standard. Never, not once, did I simply decide to like someone, right here, right now. Today. So what if it’s just a harmless flirtation? Maybe we’ll end up friends for the rest of our lives. I don’t know. And that is the biggest draw for me right now. One I’ve never pursued.

  “Let me grab some clothes.”

  I go inside and w
ait, glancing around before I walk forward, feeling bolder than I usually do. I’m not generally shy with other people, but neither am I so sure of myself or so outgoing. I stand in the doorway of his bedroom. Light falls in from a partially opened blind. His bed is unmade, and I see the black sheets and cover. A lamp on the nightstand is the only adornment. He’s pulling stuff out from a small chest and stuffing it into a gray duffel bag. He pauses when he notices me. The carpet is brown and worn and the mild smell of mildew lingers. The place is old. It’s not pleasant, but not totally unpleasant either. Kind of worn and sad and musty.

  He pauses before rising up and stares at me. I stare at him. His dark eyes spark. I step forward, magnetically drawn towards him. “Not here,” he says softly, but it’s a demand, not a request. “It shouldn’t be here.”

  I assume by it, he is referring to the insane attraction that popped up between us, only it’s unbearably strong now. I can’t even stand ten feet away from him without repressing the urge to reach out and touch him, grab him, straddle him, kiss him, and take him. I have to squeeze my thighs together to stop the pulsating spark of seduction, which can be so intense it almost hurts. Simply from being near him. It’s so strong. I’ve never had so much sexual attraction to anyone else. No one. Ever. I’m not a prude about sex, but never before have I felt such a strong impulse to have it either.

  Does he feel it too? Or am I overreacting? Does he see an innocent, amusing girl that he’s secretly shaking his head over at seeing my undying fascination with him?

  He turns and finishes, hiking the bag on his shoulder. “Go first, Emily. I can’t… it’s too small in here.”

  I retreat. He’s not mocking me, is he? He’s afraid to pass me so closely? Is he also unable to resist me? Should I believe that? I want to because that’s how strongly I feel the urge.

  He stops at the bathroom and grabs his toothbrush. “Okay, then. I guess…”

  I head for the door before I change my mind and decide we should hide out here for a week. For some reason, he insists it can’t be here. I’m not sure what the big issue is but the buzz I feel is so real that I’m almost giddy from anticipation. This chemistry is here, between us. And something has to come of it. Something will happen. I’m sure of it. Tonight? Yes. I hope so. No, I’m sure it will. I think I can make it happen.

  We get into my car and I drive first. I pull out and smile, knowing we’re locked in the car together. It’s too quiet so I say, “My mom was freaked out. She really wants me to go away for a few days. I’m not so anxious. Just so we’re clear. I still doubt that Harrison will escalate his threats. That is the extent of it. Hurt and humiliation makes him a first grade dick to me, but that’s how far he’ll go. I believe I’m right about that. But considering my mom’s history, I decided to do this for her.”

  “Can’t hurt anything.”

  “And I also wanted to be with you.”

  He glances at me, but I stare straight ahead, my face heating up. He taps his finger on his thigh and then shifts his body so he’s staring out the window. I clear my throat. “I asked her to let me write her story and she unequivocally said no. She’s never been that definitive about it before.”

  “Maybe you should listen to her.”

  “I should.” I sigh. “I have no idea why, but my curiosity and desire to not let it go is so much stronger. Can you understand that? Why something that affected your parents, something so brutal and life-changing also affects you, even though it happened decades before you were born?”

  He seems to totally tense up. I’m afraid he’s ready to slam me, telling me to let it go and respect my mom’s wishes. His gaze finds mine. “I can understand. Completely. Maybe… maybe you should look into it. Just to satisfy yourself, and then you can decide what to do or not do about it.”

  “I think Natalie has a lot more information.”

  “Then maybe you should start with her.”

  His confidence boosts my resolve. I have nothing going on in my life, which is unprecedented for me. I don’t know what to do with myself without sports to occupy me or long range plans to work towards and keep my mind engaged. I feel lost. Floating. And I hate it. And yet, I have this urgent desire to write.

  “Do you want to be a journalist?”

  “Oh, you mean like reporting for the local paper or something? No. I don’t want to pen little, mundane columns. I want… well, I don’t know anymore.” It sounds so juvenile to totally describe what I want. To write investigative books? Yeah, because that’s something any college graduate can do. I have no name or brand that I can rely on to profit from my own popularity if I wanted to come out with my own book. It doesn’t even make sense. I see that now. “I think I’d like to write nonfiction, but I’ll have to get a day job, too.”

  Wow, that’s new for me. Mundane. Ordinary.

  “I know of a company where you could most likely work.”

  I jerk my gaze to his. He meets mine, and his face is deadly serious. “What? You mean my dad’s?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Why not? You’re good at it. Learning the business from the ground up. You hold your own with all the maintenance workers and installers, as well as the subcontractors on the sites. I don’t see why you aren’t perfectly poised to learn it inside out and take over.”

  “I was kidding my dad. Just trying to point out his blatant sexism when it comes to glossing over us as his daughters.”

  “I realize that. And it’s never been a goal on your horizon. But you’re doing it now. You have no other plan for what to do with yourself. You graduated college and the entire time, you were focused on your upcoming wedding. Now that all of your planning is done and college is over, you moved home to prepare for what you expected next. Marriage.”

  “You think I used the marriage to procrastinate? So I didn’t have to figure out what I really want to do with myself?”

  “I do. I think you didn’t question the marriage because it gave you something to focus on. From what I know of you, you thrive when your mind is focused on a goal. What better goal than a wedding to plan? Your degree is pretty general, so it remains unclear exactly what your career could actually look like. But you knew what a wedding would look like. You don’t like ambiguity. With Harrison there was little, and you seemed to need that especially at a time in your life when the unknown was heavily knocking on your door.”

  “So you think my dad’s company is the answer to that knock?”

  He shrugs. “I have no idea, but I could see that working well for you. It’s focused and clear what the rules are and what your potential could be in that field. Might be something to consider.”

  I stare at him but soon face forward so I don’t cause a traffic accident. I see his point. I have the unique chance to take over a thriving company simply because my dad owns it. Yet, the concept never even occurred to me, or my dad, or anyone else in my family. Ramiro would kill for that chance and none of us even notice it. I can understand it better now, and maybe that makes me appreciate it even more.

  We loosen up and get into our groove and relax. We listen to music and play it too loud as we talk away the miles with trivia, news and nothing, really. We stop a few times for food and gas. Then it’s evening and quickly getting dark, so we look for somewhere to spend the night. We bicker for several miles on our choices and finally agree on one. We check in, turning all awkward with each other. When asked how many rooms we need, I mumble one and take my credit card out. Ramiro stays off to the side, watching me, his arms crossed, and his face solemn. We’re both ridiculously nervous about what this motel room means.

  In silence, we return to the car to grab our stuff and locate our room number. I have the key and I unlock it and we enter, setting our stuff down on opposite sides of the room. It’s pleasant enough, in gray and green accents. Generic, but clean. I use the bathroom, washing my hands and face. I grimace in the mirror, seeing my makeup has long faded. I try to finger-brush my hair, but it’s flat in the back and won’t perk up.

/>   Ramiro sits on the bed when I come out, staring at the TV on the single dresser, and flipping through the channels. His gaze barely acknowledges me. There’s one bed. One giant, king-sized bed. It takes up most of the front and center of the room. He finds the evening news and lets it play.

  I sit down next to him after standing there, anxiously twisting my hands together. What do I do? I lick my lips and peek at him from the corners of my eyes. The news reports a murder and fatal car accident, promising the weather forecast next. Great. I couldn’t repeat a word of it. Ramiro’s gaze seemed oddly riveted by the local news in an area we have no connection to. I’m stumped. Last night, things were smoking hot, but tonight? Not so much. It’s glacially cold and very awkward now. I don’t know what to do. Why isn’t he talking? Or fidgeting? Or acting at all normal?

  I get up, feeling miffed after the intense anticipation of all day. I thought we were headed somewhere. Here. Alone. In a motel room. I grab my bag and take it into the bathroom, slipping on my casual pajamas. Wishing I had the wherewithal to walk out wearing nothing, I stare into the mirror, contemplating it, but I can’t muster the courage. I throw the bag down, disgusted with my prissy self. Why can’t I find my inner goddess and just go for it? But instead, I channel a young teen at a sleepover wearing my flannel pants and matching tank top. I brush my teeth and take care of business. Fine. I’m angry now. Why isn’t he interested in me? I’m not unattractive. I know he likes my body and face. Last time I checked, he seemed to like my personality too, and now? What? What?

  His gaze lands on me as I step out. Every ounce of attitude and confidence in my sex appeal is gone. I don’t look at him as I set my bag down and cross over to the bed, ignoring his gaze, which follows me. He turns the TV off, plunging the room into semi-darkness. The drapes are shut, but lights from the parking lot glow through the drapes. What the hell is this?