Rachel stepped close to Emery and tried to hug her.
Emery shook her head. “You should’ve told me, Rach. You should’ve known that Ashley was raped. I needed you to know.” Her voice caught with emotion she needed to wring out of herself like water out of a wash rag. Emery was so fucking tired of emotions.
Rachel’s eyes went wide and she stepped back. “Emery…” she warned.
“I can’t handle all of this. I don’t know how.” Emery slumped on the bed. “I’m so mad. I…”
“You can’t be mad at me. After all the …”
“Yes, the fuck, I’m mad at you. I’m mad at you the most, because you said you’d watch after her.”
Derrick’s boots made his presence known before he entered Emery’s room. He pointed his finger before he even said anything. “Emery, you need to be careful. Think before you say any more. All Rachel has ever done is save your fucking ass.”
Rachel sagged into him.
Emery’s rage consumed her. “Just get the fuck out of here, both of you. I can take care of myself.”
“What—” Rachel’s face crumbled at Emery’s tone.
“Come on, Rachel, let’s give her some space.” Derrick took her hand and began pulling her out of Emery’s room.
“Emery, I need you to calm down and then we’ll be back,” Rachel said through clenched teeth. “I’m giving you an hour before I expect your apology.”
“Fuck you.” Emery turned around and walked toward her closet.
She heard the door slam as Derrick and Rachel left. Now she had no one. Now she would leave. Emma Simpson would be left on the floor of this apartment where she’d never be seen or heard from again. Her job would be filled by some other nameless, faceless bleeding heart that wouldn’t be able to help anyone either. All the kids on her caseload would be shifted to someone else. Emma’s absence in Savannah would be swallowed up and no one would give a shit.
She began throwing clothes in a suitcase. She left her notebooks, the ones that reminded her she was okay. She left her computer; she’d get another one. Noah’s jersey lay in a heap on the floor in her closet for someone to find. Emery didn’t want anything that tied her to any of the people she was before. They didn’t exist anymore.
Emery stopped at the door and looked around the apartment, appreciating the memories that she’d try to forget. She pulled the cuff that Rachel had given her out of her pocket, the one that reminded her to be brave. She let it fall from her fingertips and the harsh sound as it hit the floor prompted her last round of tears.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Make Me Wanna Die
Twenty minutes later, she was sailing down 95 and hurrying to get lost on the road. She stopped at a fast food restaurant and ate breakfast. After wiping everything that was Emma Simpson off her phone, she set it on the table and walked out of the restaurant. Her life was over, now she just had to go somewhere she wouldn’t hurt anyone she loved anymore.
Her windows were down and The Pretty Reckless blared from the speakers. Her hair blew around in a mess of tangles and despair. Tears no longer flowed like a leaky faucet; she’d cried herself dry. She’d lost herself again for a while in Savannah and in falling in love with someone she didn’t expect. Now Tim knew that she didn’t really exist and that everything about her was a lie. Lucas was dead. Ashley was dead. Her mother was dead. Phil was dead. Emery was truly alone.
The pain was too much to rationalize and the thought occurred to her to turn around and kill Trina, that wench of a mother. That wretched human being that was allowed a child. This world destroyed people, herself included, but she had hoped that Lucas would survive his abuse, like she had. She’d hoped that he’d survive and become someone happy and healthy, due, in part, to her. She wanted to help him and she’d failed. Hope. It had tempted her with its beauty and suffocated her with its reality.
It was only after she saw signs for Miami that she felt like she could breathe. Pulling off the exit, she stopped for gas then bought a pre-pay phone at Wal-Mart in South Beach. As she was walking through the doors to leave she saw two girls—young, maybe sixteen—giggling and holding hands. It reminded her of Rachel. I will miss that. She missed Rachel already. Emery had always known that she needed Rachel and now she felt that loss in her bones. Tim was someone she wouldn’t even allow herself to think about.
Before she got back on the highway, she stopped at a library and logged into Facebook as Romona Hicks. She typed out a message to Rachel.
From: Romona Hicks
To: Rachel Helms
R,
This is the last time I’ll check this page. I know you won’t understand this, me leaving after everything you and Derrick have done for me. I just can’t. I don’t know how to live my life, or Emma’s life, anymore. Please don’t read this saying I’m going to do something stupid. I’m going to live through this, if you call what I’ll be doing living. I thought what I had been through before was hard. I want to laugh at using that word to describe my life. Maybe tragic or disastrous is more appropriate. I just want to take the shambles of my life and hide away from anyone that I could hurt, especially you and Tim.
You saved my life too many times to count and you need to stop saving me, because I’m pretty sure it’s a full time job. You’ve been saving me for years and this is me saving you. You deserve to live your life without worrying about the friend who poisons everything she touches. It’s better this way. I’ll be someone else, someone who wallows in their brokenness, because I won’t have you to fix me, to lift me up, and make me feel like I can do this.
I don’t deserve to have a life when I helped end my sister’s. I love you, Rachel, and I’m letting you go. I’m okay. I’ll be fine. The last favor I’ll ask of you is to tell Tim that I love him and this is me loving him. I don’t want to infect his world any more than I already have. He’ll know that the person he fell in love with doesn’t exist, that I’m a liar and a fraud. He’ll move on and get through it.
I can already hear you cussing. You are the other pieces of me that made me whole. You’re the good pieces, Rachel, and all that’s left of me is a shipwreck.
Don’t look for me. I don’t want to be found. I don’t want to be saved. I’m not worthy of it.
E
Emery hit send and sat there, numb, trying to process the decisions she’d made in the last twenty-four hours. Her sister was gone. Lucas was gone. She walked out of the library and left Emery behind. She didn’t exist anymore. Emery was dead just like everyone else in her family.
She only stopped twice on her ten hour drive before she pulled into the Sheraton overlooking Smathers Beach in Key West. She’d come here with her mother and sister years ago and it was a fun trip because Phil wasn’t there. She paid cash for her room, which totally freaks people out these days, went to her room, and slept for days.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Biding my Time
For the past six months Emery had been Ericka Smith. She couldn’t be Emery or Emily or Emma, they all were people who had memories she couldn’t drink away. So now, in Key West, she was Ericka. Ericka was fun, worked her ass off, and didn’t give anyone any trouble, but she drank…A LOT. However, it seemed this was not uncommon in Key West, so she fit in with the other misfits who had given up their lives on the mainland and were hiding on the island.
Currently she was bartending at a bar in the middle of Duval Street, the greatest street in America. It was ten o’clock in the morning so not many people were out yet, but there was one man who looked like he’d never been to bed. She made herself a Bloody Mary and sat on one of the barstools looking out at the empty street. Inhaling deeply, she smelled the stale beer and disinfectant, just like every morning. Then she opened a piece of paper that had so many creases the words were illegible, but she didn’t really need to read it. The piece of paper had found its way to Ericka in Key West even though she told Rachel to forget about her. She knew every single word by heart. Ericka forced herself to read this pap
er every fucking day to make damn sure she didn’t pack her bags and run back to where Emma remained in a pool of misery.
Emery,
Please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t take it if you were mad at me. I don’t know what to do because Phil made me do things that hurt and made me feel dirty. I can’t talk to Mom and you’re not here. I think I understand why you left now. I don’t blame you. I wish you would’ve taken me with you. I can’t let him touch me like that again. I won’t. I know that suicide is a sin, but so is what he did and I can’t live with it. It hurts to open my eyes.
I miss you so much.
Love,
Ashley
The sorrow that sat on her chest every day was so heavy, the word grief didn’t even come close to describing what she felt.
Worthless. Emery had killed Ashley by leaving. By saving herself she’d killed her innocent little sister.
Murderer. She deserved to be by herself so that her poison didn’t kill anyone else.
Liar. Rachel and Tim were so much better without her around.
Toxic. She’d tried to help Lucas and failed miserably.
Contaminated. Her pain filled every pore in her body. Every single step she took was full of loss, regret, and utter desperation.
The mask of Ericka saved her. Ericka smiled her empty smile and flirted with all the drunk men that came in. She saw their masks and wondered if they could see hers. She’d shed her long sleeves—it was too fucking hot here—and the only thing that could possibly give away her total undoing was the tattoo she’d gotten as soon as she was settled in Key West. It was script on her right forearm that read, “My heart is broken and my head is just barely inhabitable.” On her left wrist, she had her sister’s name inked as well, so every few minutes, she thought of her, every way she turned. She didn’t hide her scars anymore. She wore them. Ericka was scarred and ruined and she wanted everyone to see that. She needed to see it. The tattoo was just another reminder.
Lucas was never far from her mind. He’d filled her life with hope and it had been snuffed out with such fury she couldn’t comprehend it. Tim inhabited her thoughts at night, when she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. She hadn’t slept more than four hours since she’d started working at the bar. His lips, his hands, everywhere they’d touched her—his essence was emblazoned on her body. She hadn’t known it was possible to miss someone so much. Every second was full of her trying to push him out of her memory.
He’d patiently weaseled his way into her life and her heart. Then he saw who she really was. She could only imagine what he thought of her.
So many lies. Emery couldn’t keep up with all the perfectly executed lies she’d told over the past five years. The problem with being a good liar is you forget who you are under all those layers of deceit.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Back From the Dead
Emery was bent over, pulling out pilsner glasses out of the dishwasher and about to put them on the shelf behind the bar when she heard someone clear his throat. Popping up from behind the bar, she took in the man that stood in front of her. He had on a white linen shirt and gray shorts. His deep mahogany hair was intentionally messy and sticking up everywhere. He’d put on a little weight since she’d seen him last.
A smile unconsciously curled her lips upward. “What are you doing here?” Emery self-consciously pulled at her small tube top as she moved quickly to embrace him.
“To be honest, I’m not really sure. What are you doing here?” Noah’s voice rumbled as his lips moved in her hair.
She waved off his question. “I-I’m a bartender.” Emery stumbled over her words. She couldn’t believe he was here, in her bar, after so long.
“You look…” Noah paused, obviously taking in her appearance. His eyes ran over her white blond hair and too tan skin. She was wearing a white tube top and short gold shorts with her cowboy boots. “Different.”
“How are you here?” She ran her hand over her hair, wondering what he was thinking. The last time she’d seen Noah was the night they’d had sex, when he’d told her he loved her and then she left. She bet he’d been pissed when he came home that Sunday.
He sighed and ran his hand through his brown hair. “Rachel.” Her former best friend’s name hung in the air while she digested the fact that she was seeing Noah again.
“Damn it,” Emery said and motioned for him to sit at the bar. “Fucking Derrick. I knew he found me, but I was hoping they would just forget about me.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, sitting down.
“I...” She wondered how much he knew.
He nodded. “Rachel told me everything. She had to.”
Emery nodded. She figured Rachel had to work some sort of magic to get him to come down here and talk to her.
He looked down at his hands. “I’m so sorry, Emery.” His using her real name made her recoil; it sounded wrong coming from his lips. “You didn’t deserve any of the things that happened to you. You were innocent and that was stripped from you. You could’ve turned into an evil person, but you didn’t. You wanted to help other kids that were going through the same thing.” He peered at her through his impossibly long eyelashes. “You’re so incredibly strong.”
“I can’t even think of any of that, Noah. It’s been six months and I can’t fucking allow myself to think about any of it. I’m just trying to survive.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “You want something to drink? I make a mean Bloody Mary.”
“Sure,” he said and watched her pull out glasses and horseradish. “So Rachel wanted me to come because she thought you might listen to me for a few minutes.”
Emery didn’t look up from her task. “’Bout what?”
“Well, she and Derrick have been very busy the last six months.”
“Doing what? Other than the obvious, of course.” She finally looked at him again and blushed.
“Well, it seems a cop in Savannah donated a piece of land for a foster home and they built it with the money you inherited.”
Emery’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “What?”
“Yep, they started the Ashley Shaw Foundation. They want you to come back and run it. You need to come home.”
She set his drink in front of him at the bar. “I don’t have a home.”
“Yeah, Em, I think you do. You just have to head back.” He took a sip and sighed, looking out the windows at Duval Street. A few tourists peppered the legendary street, but they were bright-eyed and obviously hadn’t stayed out until five in the morning, which was closing time for most of the bars.
She shook her head and finished the rest of her drink in two gulps, hoping the vodka would do its job and numb everything.
He looked back at her. “So, I’m leaving in two days to head back to Atlanta. I have a ticket for you. Rachel said you’re going by Ericka now.”
She closed her eyes. Emery couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face it. “Yeah, that’s me. Ericka. I look like an Ericka, don’t I?”
“You’ll always be Emily to me,” he answered softly.
“Noah, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Em, he wants you back,” he interrupted. “That cop. He poured his heart and soul into that foundation. I think he’d build the house with his bare hands if he could.”
“He shouldn’t have,” she said bitterly.
“But he did,” Noah confirmed.
“Noah, I don’t think I can.”
“Don’t you think Ashley would be happy that you did this? You can save kids. You’ll have the funds to do whatever you want.”
“You don’t know…” Her voice broke. It’d been six months and three days and she still couldn’t fathom that her sister was dead, and her mother, and then what happened to Lucas…she couldn’t forgive herself that his last minutes on earth were full of hurt, pain, and betrayal.
“No, Em. I won’t ever know how bad you hurt because you don’t let anyone see that. That’s not my fault, that’s yours.” With tha
t, Noah set his glass down and walked out the door.
The next morning, Emery was sitting on the steps of the bar when Noah strolled up the sidewalk with a smirk.
“Do you always work?” he asked when he stopped in front of her, smiling ear to ear.
“Yes,” she answered simply and realized it was the truth. That’s all she had now. It was a sad existence, to be alone every morning and every night.
“And that’s enough?” Noah was still standing over her, his eyes full of concern.
“It’s all I have. All I can have.”
Noah put his hand out. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”
Emery took his hand and walked with him toward Key West Bight, where the yachts docked and benches overlooked the water. She tried to ignore how it felt to be touched again. It made her miss Tim even more. She could feel his hands, still smell him. She missed everything about him.
The walk was quiet, neither one of them saying the thoughts swimming between them. They passed The Bull and Whistle, one of the oldest bars on the island. Taking Caroline Street toward the Bight, she turned to say something to Noah, to thank him for coming. She opened her mouth and looked at his dark shaggy hair and day old stubble, and then she shut it without a word.
Noah pulled her toward a bench that overlooked many of the boats tourists take for deep sea fishing. They sat and both gazed in the direction of the ships.
“Here,” he said and handed her an old folded piece of paper.
Emery took it and unfolded the paper, the realization of what it was causing a warm sensation to fill every pore of her body, like someone had poured hot wax all over her. “Noah, I…” Her voice dropped out of her mouth and fell into the ocean when she read her words.
Noah,
He found me.
I love you.
Em
A tear fell out of her eye as she saw the words she left him. She’d disappeared from his life with six words. That was it. And she never looked back.
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