by Nikki Chase
I tap the envelope icon on my phone to find an email from my father. No subject, no text, just attachments. What could this be?
“It wouldn’t be too weird if you’ve been here before. This place went through a big renovation last year. And it was all the rage one, two years ago. It’s still great now, but it’s not as hot as it used to be,” Rick says.
I tap the email open. As I scan the little previews of the attached pictures, tendrils of fear wrap around me. It suddenly feels cold and suffocating in here.
“What do you think, Cole?” Emily touches my arm, making me jump in surprise. She looks at me with concern. “Rick and I were just talking about whether I’ve been here before.”
“Oh, right. I’ve seen you here before,” I say distractedly, my eyes transfixed on the pictures on my phone. They’re obviously pictures of Emily and me, taken stealthily with long-focus lenses. I can’t believe this. He sent one of his fucking spies to check on me.
“Are you okay, Cole?” Emily knits her eyebrows together with worry.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to go outside for a while. Get some fresh air. Make a phone call.” My words stumble all over one another. I take a deep breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Fuck. This is the worst thing that can happen now. I didn’t expect him to move this quickly. I thought I had enough time.
When I’m outside, I lean against the wall and look up at the stars in the night sky. I gulp in as much air as I can into my compressed lungs. But as hard as I try, I can’t get any relief. I still feel like there are walls all around me, closing in on me.
I press the button on my phone again to turn on the screen. There they are. Fucking high-resolution pictures of Emily and me: us driving into the Westfield Center parking lot, us stepping out of Banana Republic with Emily’s new dress, us walking hand in hand into my apartment building.
There are even pictures of us getting into The Amber Room barely half an hour ago. Is this guy still here? Is he taking pictures of me now? Is my father looking at pictures of me hyperventilating right now?
I look around, trying to spot some guy with dark clothing and expensive camera equipment skulking around in the bushes, or sitting idly inside a dark car. I’m going to beat him to a pulp if I find him. Cowardly fucker, hiding in the shadows.
I clench my hands into hard fists and realize they’re shaking. I’m all wound up and I’m probably not thinking straight. It’s not a good idea to call my father right now. That’s only going to show him how much he’s gotten to me — although if the spy’s still hanging around he probably already knows anyway.
Emily.
Emily should be my priority. I have to keep her safe. I have to get back inside and take her somewhere safe. Explaining everything to her would be tricky, but the airport should probably be our next stop.
Emily
I wonder if Cole’s okay. He looks a little pale. I guess the fresh air outside will do him good.
I’ll just stay here and chat with Rick while he’s gone. That’s the whole reason I’m here anyway, to get to know his life outside the office.
I’m still a little disappointed that we can’t have dinner with Mr. Foster tonight, but there will be other nights. It’s not like I haven’t met the guy, although back then I was just another employee who wasn’t dating his son.
I look around me. This place really does look familiar, and not just because I’ve seen it in some magazine either. I’m definitely getting some strange déjà vu vibes. I wonder if Cole has really seen me here before.
Rick’s looking at me with a mysterious little smile on his face. "You know, he really likes you," he says. "I can tell."
"Yeah? Well, tell me more." I drop my elbow on the bar counter and prop my head up, leaning closer to Rick. "What exactly has he told you? Give me exact quotes."
"Oh, you know Cole. He doesn't tell anybody anything.” He chuckles. "But I can tell he likes you. He looks a lot happier today than I’ve seen him for a long time."
"He makes me happy too.” I beam. Something — something about Rick, or something about this being Cole’s space, or maybe something about falling in love — makes me want to tell Rick things, things I don't usually tell people I've just met. Or maybe it’s just because I can’t tell this stuff to Alice. "I haven't been this happy in a long time either."
"Aw, you two are just too adorable."
I take another sip of my Diet Coke and playfully shrug. "I know, right?"
"Cole has been a grumpy son of a bitch since, oh, about two years ago."
"Oh, what happened?" I put my glass down on the bar.
Rick sighs. “There was this accident.”
"Oh. Like, a car accident?" My chest tightens. Any talk of an accident reminds me of my most painful memories, but I don't want to miss a word of this.
"Yeah. It wasn't his fault, but Cole has always been his own worst critic. He was pretty depressed for a while. But at least he stopped working so much and burying his face in his phone all the time after the accident," he says.
“He was too depressed to work?” I ask, my heart hammering so hard in my chest my legs are shaking.
I had no idea Cole and I had this in common. But I guess I don’t know Cole that much at all. Before the conference, we just said hello as we passed each other in the office hallways. Oh, and of course we spoke during the interview. But that’s all.
"Uh, yeah, sort of. I think he was trying to stop his phone from ringing when it happened. Probably another call from his father about work stuff," he says with some hesitation.
"So he was reaching for his phone and caused an accident?" I feel like someone has reached an icy hand into my chest, grabbed my pounding heart, and squeezed so violently it's about to burst. My legs are shaking pretty violently. If there wasn’t any music Rick would be able to hear the sound of my heels banging against the leg of the bar stool.
"You know, maybe you should talk to him about this.” Rick takes a deep breath and sighs. “It's really not my story to tell."
Rick is a good friend, but he’s told me everything I need to know. He doesn't have to say anything more. From the expression on Rick's face, I know I must've guessed correctly.
Here are the facts. Cole was reaching for his phone. He caused a car accident. He felt so guilty he scaled back on his workaholic ways. It happened two years ago.
It sounds familiar. Too familiar.
The whole room starts to spin. The veins on the sides of my forehead throb painfully. Blood roars in my ears, blocking me from my surroundings.
I remember these feelings from when I was here. Cole was right! I have been here before. I was drinking too much, which is why I don’t like to drink outside anymore. And I wanted to go home quickly. And Scott was rushing to get me home so I could lie down in our bed…
Oh my God.
I jump when Rick's hand lands on my shoulder.
"Emily?" He's looking at me with concern in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
"I, um, yeah," I stammer.
Not really, but it’s not like I can tell you I think my new boyfriend killed my old boyfriend in a horrible accident and has been lying to me about it the whole time. Just when I’m starting to let someone into my heart again.
I realize I must've completely zoned out and ignored Rick.
"Actually, I have a really bad headache right now. Please tell Cole I have to leave."
I hop off the bar stool. Grabbing my bag, I focus my blurry eyes on the club entrance. All I know is I have to get outside. It feels heavy inside the bar and I'm suffocating. No matter how deeply I breathe, my lungs just wouldn't expand to take in enough air.
"Emily!" I hear Rick shout behind me. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Cole to come back? He can drive you home.”
A part of me wants to turn my head and at least apologize for being rude, for just walking away like this. But I can barely maintain my balance as it is.
I can only do one thing
at a time. And right now what I want to do is get out of this place and curl up under my blanket.
Just like two years ago on the night of the accident, when Cole’s and Scott’s cars probably collided, killing Scott on the spot, sending Cole into a spiral of depression, and changing my life forever.
Cole
I dash into The Amber Room with the kind of urgency I’ve never felt before in my life. Blood is rushing through my veins as worry and anxiety swirl in my gut.
Fuck. How did I let it get this bad?
I need to get Emily out of here before they get to her. My father isn’t as violent as he used to be, but we haven’t faced a problem of this scale for a while. Who knows what he’s going to do to her?
Inside, Rick is sitting at the bar by himself. Maybe Emily’s in the restroom?
“Rick! Where’s Emily?” I grab him by the shoulder and pull him back until he’s looking right back at me.
“She, uh, she said she wasn’t feeling well so she went home.”
“What? Why didn’t she wait for me?”
“She didn’t say. She looked like she was in a big rush,” he says nervously.
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
Rick is silent. I run my fingers through my hair, hoping it’ll help stimulate my creative juices. It’s not fair to blame Rick for this. But it’s strange that Emily just decided to up and leave.
Where is she even going? Definitely not to my apartment because she doesn’t have a key. She just decided to go home to Alice’s place, when just hours ago she wouldn’t even talk to her sister?
None of this makes any sense.
“What happened, Rick?” I ask in the same menacing tone I often hear my father use when he’s interrogating someone. I guess my upbringing has taught me some important life skills after all.
“I don’t know. One minute we were having a nice chat, and then she suddenly bolted.”
Rick deflates when I continue glowering at him in silence.
He hesitates before saying, “I may have told her about the accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was—”
“Fuck!”
I storm out of The Amber Room without waiting for Rick to finish his explanation. He couldn’t have chosen a worse time to act like a blabbering moron.
Emily must’ve gone out the front door because I didn’t see her while I was panicking like an idiot in the parking lot behind the building.
I scan the busy sidewalk outside. Talk about the worst timing ever. This being downtown on a Saturday night, the sidewalk is packed with people.
I check the area near the main entrance to The Amber Room. It takes me a while to realize that Emily is definitely not around here anymore. She must’ve taken a cab to God knows where.
I rush back through The Amber Room and go straight to the parking lot. I vaguely notice Rick standing up and calling my name from the bar, but I ignore him. I don’t have any time for his idiocy right now. I have to find the only person that matters right now.
Emily. Where the fuck are you, baby?
I jump into my car and take the familiar route I’ve used so many times before to reach Alice’s apartment.
As I speed through the streets, I remember how I used to drive by, hoping to catch a glimpse of Emily, even for just a fraction of a second. I’d even park right outside sometimes and wait for her to show up.
She never did show up for the longest time. I guess she was too sad and depressed. But after a month or so, I started seeing her a lot more. Every single time, it was like a hit of cocaine straight in my veins. Seeing her made me feel like I was alive again. She still has that same effect on me now.
Fuck. I’ve gone and ruined everything now.
All of a sudden, I hear the wail of a police siren behind me, along with the blindingly bright flashing blue lights.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I just can’t get a break tonight.
I have a decent car, a BMW X5 M, which I’m sure is capable of going a whole lot faster than I usually do. But I’ve never seen cops lose a car chase in real life before. There’s no other choice. I have to pull over.
I roll down the car window and wait for the cop to approach. I grab my license and registration. I know the drill, and I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible.
“Good evening, Mr. Foster,” the cop says as soon as he stops by my car door.
I groan. Which cop doesn’t need to see my license to know my name? A cop that my father keeps in his pocket, of course.
“Your father has been looking for you,” he says.
“Oh, is that what the police do now? Is that how we’re spending tax dollars? On finding the ‘missing’ adult children of rich men?”
“I’m going to need you to follow my car, Mr. Foster. Or, if you prefer, me and my partner can take you in our patrol car,” the cop says.
“‘My partner and I.’” I correct his grammar.
“Excuse me?” He obviously doesn’t get it. His face is an infuriating mixture of indifference and sanctimony.
“I’m not getting in the back of your car like some fucking low-life criminal. Where are we going?”
“We’re going to your father’s house, Sir.” His calm and polite tone only makes me angrier. Fucking hypocrite.
“I can go there by myself.” I know he’s not going to let me go, but I have to at least try.
“I’m sorry, Sir. But your father requested that we escort you and your lady friend.”
“Escort, huh?” I burst out in laughter. This is just too absurd. “As you can see, Officer, I’m all by myself.”
“That’s unfortunate, Sir. But we still have to insist that you follow us.” His voice may sound cordial, but this is definitely a threat. I know a threat when I hear one.
The cop turns around and gets back into his patrol car. I roll the window back up and follow them. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down.
This isn’t so bad. At least they definitely don’t have Emily if these corrupt cops think she’s still with me. She’s safe — for now.
As incompetent as these cops are, the car siren does a good job of clearing the roads and letting us speed through traffic lights. A million things rush through my overworked brain just as quickly. The drive to father’s mansion seems to end in just a blink.
I’m flanked by the two cops as I walk into the house.
By the time they leave me in my father’s home office, I still have no idea what to do. Everything tonight has happened so quickly I’ve had absolutely no time to process it.
Alone in the home office, I sit in the guest chair by my father’s desk. I’ve been here so many times before, having grown up in this big, empty house. I remember coming here looking for him as a boy and never being allowed to come inside because I’d bother him.
The office has the same dark wood flooring, the same big Persian rug, the same chunky desk, and the same hefty leather chair. It feels different, though. Just like everything does when you haven’t seen it in a long time.
“I was expecting to meet her, too,” my father says as he enters the room and approaches me from behind, startling me. It’s surprising how little noise he makes when he’s walking. He can sneak up on you like a cat. “Too bad she’s not here.”
“Funny, she said the exact same thing today,” I say without turning around to face him. “We should have dinner together, you, me, and Emily. We’d make a cute little family.”
“I didn’t think you’d be this stupid, boy.” He lets out a big, disappointed sigh, which does absolutely nothing for me. I’ve disappointed him far too many times to care about his approval. He sidles around the desk and sits in his big chair, which I’m sure has been carefully selected for its intimidating size.
“Stupid is relative, Pop. I personally don’t think I’ve done anything stupid at all.”
“That’s because you’re stupid. If I didn’t take care of things after the accident, you would’ve destroyed your reputation and dragged the rest of th
e family down with you,” he says.
“For the millionth time, Pop, it was an accident. People probably wouldn’t have reacted as strongly as you think they would.”
“They’d see it as an accident if you were someone else, someone like them. But you’re not. You’re my son, and they were going to judge you differently. Even if the cops had released you — which wasn’t guaranteed without my involvement — they still would’ve thought you’d gotten away with murder.”
“So, really, the problem stems from me being your son, right? You can see how that means you’re the root of the problem, right?”
“I’m not going to argue with you anymore. You’ve failed to consider how your actions were going to affect the family, so I obviously can’t trust you anymore. I’m going to put you under surveillance.”
“You’re going to have your thugs babysit me?”
“Think of it as your last chance. If I ever see her around you again, I’m going to seize control over Foster Hotels.”
And there it is. I knew, when my father insisted on using his lawyers to draft the legal documents for the company, that he wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart. For fuck’s sake, even the name of the company is Foster Hotels.
All he wants is to maintain some sort of control over my life. And now he’s using that leverage to blackmail me into doing as he says. Again.
Emily
Ugh. What’s the deal with all the happy, smiling couples making out all over the place? I’m getting a strong urge to walk up to every single couple on the sidewalk and scream the truth in their faces: “It’s all going to end in tears!”
But I’ve got enough on my platter. I’m miserable enough already as a free woman. I don’t want to add getting arrested or institutionalized to the list of my problems.
I know I’m being petty, but after the shit show that is my love life, I think I’ve earned my right to be petty. Hell, if I ever feel like it, I’ve even gone through enough shit to earn the right to print out anti-love tracts and leave them instead of tips at restaurants. And this is coming from a former server.