The Scars Between Us

by Schiller, MK

  I take a hot shower, trying to wrap my head around the swirl of conflicting emotions that is Hurricane Emma, a girl I resent simply for living the life handed to her. A girl I want to protect so much that I’ll even safeguard her illusions. I don’t want to care for her. I want to be indifferent, pretend she does not affect me in any way, but she makes it impossible…because she affects me in every way.

  Emma who wears her father’s watch. Emma who talks to her mother’s ashes (like she could hide that from me). Emma who texts Mac every day for updates on Faith. Emma who’d rather make sure I’m okay then party on her twenty-first birthday. If her tentative, blushing, lip-biting smiles are any indication, I affect her, too, which makes this even harder.

  She’s not without faults. I try to concentrate on those, to bring them into focus even though she makes everything blur. She can’t sing worth a lick. Emma’s feet are big. They don’t look feminine. Emma has freckles. I don’t find freckles attractive. Emma, won’t your hair pick a damn color already?

  Okay…so that’s not working.

  Puffs of steam follow me out of the bathroom.

  She’s sitting on a freshly made bed, all the sheets folded and tucked back to perfection. Why, Emma? We’re at a fucking hotel. Yeah, my asshole abilities are really reaching here.

  She’s reading something while she waits. “Ready?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I put on my shoes and grab my wallet and all those other last minute things. She applies a fresh coat of gloss. Her shirt lifts when her arms reach, showing her piercing. I try not to look. Oh fuck, might as well. The masochist in me is delivering her straight into the arms of another man, after all.

  To shield myself from Hurricane Emma, I pick up the tourist pamphlet she was reading. She’s circled a few of the items. “Haven’t you done all this?” I ask, holding it up.

  “It’s funny—I lived here for two years, but I never did very much. I figured I’d always have time later for a studio tour or the Chinese Theatre. I thought while I was waiting for you, I’d make a checklist of the stuff I want to do most.” She shrugs, turning back to the mirror. “It’ll probably never happen, though.”

  “Why not? You’ll be back here after this, right?”

  She nods, placing the brochure back into the folder on the desk stuffed with takeout menus. “Sure,” she says, not sounding sure at all. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “You took a long time. I thought you might have drowned in there,” she says, her voice high with extra enthusiasm. She’s trying to cheer me up like a damn puppy.

  “I was masturbating.” Her jaw drops. Her skin skips right over pink and goes straight to crimson.

  “What? You said you wanted honesty.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emma

  Once on a family trip to the Florida Keys, I went on a dolphin-watching cruise. The guide explained that female dolphins scratch and fight with the males when they are attracted to them. It’s part of their mating ritual. The more banged up a male dolphin is, the more action he’s seen. I remember thinking that would mean the most damaged males must be the most beautiful. Staring at Aiden now, I see the philosophy extends to humans, too.

  We walk to the club. Our arms touch by accident a few times when the street gets narrower and people crowd us.

  His sleeves are rolled up, the veins on his forearms visible when he flexes. I catch myself gaping at the oddest times. His inky black hair is still damp from his shower. Two strands fork over his forehead. His dark jeans are snug on his hips, but they aren’t new. They have a few rips in the knees and the hem is frayed. Somehow, this makes him even hotter. He wears a fitted dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the top few buttons undone. Even the faint stubble on his jaw accentuates the chiseled planes of his face. Next to him, I feel shabby.

  I shiver, remembering his expression when he woke from the nightmare. He wasn’t the cocky, self-assured Aiden I am used to. He was scared and lost.

  “Cold?” he asks, piercing through my thoughts.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Is there something on my shirt?”

  “Huh?”

  “You keep staring at me, Cooper.”

  Well, this is awkward.

  “No. You look nice, Sheffield.” Understatement of the year.

  “Right back at you.”

  If I’m being honest, I’m dreading seeing Kenneth. There’s been something wrong with us for a long time. We’re not the same people we used to be. At least, I’m not. Out of habit, I look down at my watch. I blink a few times, wondering if I’m finally losing it. The face isn’t cracked, and the second hand is actually moving, unstuck from its limbo.

  I hold it up for him to see. “Aiden, my watch works.”

  He lets out an exaggerated gasp, cupping his hands over his mouth. “It’s a birthday miracle.”

  I shoulder bump him. “Funny, when did you do this?” And why did he do it?

  “When you went for a swim. I hope you’re not mad.”

  “Mad? This is… It’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” I’m torn because this is too much. But I don’t have the strength or the words to express all my jumbled thoughts right now.

  “It’s just…never mind,” he says

  He always puts up his defenses, blocking me. This time, my frustration skyrockets. I run in front of him and turn. “My birthday wish is that you let down your shield.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “My shield?”

  “It’s metaphorical. You have your guard up all the time. It keeps people out. I want you to let it down.”

  “That was your wish?”

  “Yes. Now, whatever you were going to say, just fucking say it already.”

  He picks up my wrist, staring at the watch. “I was going to say that it’s okay to look back as long as you keep moving forward, too. When you stand still, the pain creeps up, like little vines. It’ll suffocate your heart. And you, Emma Cooper, have a beautiful heart.”

  We stand there on the street, staring at each other. People shoot us dirty looks as they move around us. I struggle for a response. “Right back at you, Aiden.”

  I want to tell him he repaired more than my watch. I want to express how special he is to me. How much I value this time we’ve shared, and his friendship. But he starts laughing, cutting through the thick layers of tension crammed in the small space between us. “Enough already. C’mon, birthday girl, let’s get drunk.”

  He clasps my wrist, almost dragging me the last few steps. It’s early and the club is barely bumping, but it’s got an amazing sound system, an LED lightshow, and a glass floor. I don’t know why we left so early. Probably because things got so awkward back at the hotel. But it’s clear to me there’s not enough space in all of California to make things any less awkward. Aiden is still burdened by his nightmare. And me, well, I’m burdened by my intense feelings for him. But we are two opposing suits. In fact, I’d go as far as to say we come from different decks.

  He leads me to the bar just as my phone beeps with an incoming text.

  I sigh, reading Natalie’s message.

  Sorry, can’t make it. I have a late class and an audition in the morning. You have fun with Kenneth and your shredded stepbro. Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the surprise.

  I think the surprise is on me, and how much I really don’t want to be here. I’d pictured introducing Aiden to Kenneth and Nat. The four of us would hang out and have fun. Now I only feel dread, no excitement. I text her back to tell her I understand and wish her good luck on her audition.

  “What’s wrong?” Aiden asks.

  “Natalie can’t make it.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  A redhead brushes Aiden’s sleeve as she walks by. “I want to dance with you later,” she says.

  He smiles at her, but doesn’t respond.

  I cross my arms, trying to keep a lid on the pot of insecurities boiling inside of me.

  “What?”
he asks.

  “Does that happen a lot? Random girls coming on to you?”

  He shrugs like he doesn’t know the answer. “Yeah, I guess. Getting girls is the one thing I don’t have to work hard at.”

  “What about keeping them?”

  “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “Are you one of those guys who separates sex from other stuff? You’re into hookups, but not being hooked?”

  “I’m not a fish, Cooper.”

  “I think you are. An anglerfish, to be specific.”

  The bartender approaches. I need sunglasses to cut the bright smile she flashes at Aiden.

  He doesn’t take his eyes off me, but he does sense her presence. “Can you give us a minute, please? This girl is about to lay an amazing analogy on me, which is sure to be life changing. I may never be the same again.”

  She wrinkles her brow in confusion—or at least she tries to, but her skin remains smooth. “Sure, sweetheart, whatever you need, I am happy to give you.”

  I make a slight gagging sound. Aiden’s smirk widens. “I’ll bite. What’s an anglerfish?”

  “They are a rare species. They live very deep in the sea and have a long, specially adapted dorsal fin. They use that organ to attract prey.”

  “Well, I definitely have a long organ and it attracts a good deal of prey.”

  I elbow him. “I’m serious.”

  “Your knowledge of creatures is astounding.”

  “I did watch a great deal of the Discovery Channel as a child.”

  “Lucky for me, I get to benefit from your vast education.”

  “Anyway, the angler is not a happy fish.”

  “No?”

  “No, it’s mateless, doomed to live a life alone weaving back and forth in the darkness of the sea.” I zigzag my hand to mimic the motion.

  “Interesting.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He leans toward me, the scent of his spicy cologne encircling me. “What are you doing, Cooper?”

  “Just making casual observations.”

  “There’s nothing casual about it. You’re slut-shaming me, and in a really weird way.”

  I almost choke. “What? No, I’m not.” I replay what I’ve said. “Shit, I am. I’m slut-shaming you. I’m sorry.”

  He tilts his head, his expression smug. “It doesn’t have the same mind-fuck effect on guys as it does on girls.”

  “How about we pretend I didn’t say anything?”

  The corners of his lips twitch. “Only because it’s your birthday.”

  The bartender is talented. She manages to mix drinks, leer at Aiden, and shoot darts at me all in one motion. She smiles brightly when I explain Kenneth is my boyfriend. She points me toward a staircase on the other side of the club, all while batting her thick lashes at Aiden. Maybe she just has something stuck in her eye. I debate offering her my visine.

  “Are you going or what?” Aiden asks.

  “Let’s have a drink first.”

  He smiles and leans against the bar, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface. “What’s your poison?”

  You, I think.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How about a daiquiri?” he suggests, taking out his wallet. “You seem like a daiquiri kind of girl.”

  His assessment offends me on some level, even though it’s not meant as an insult. But he’s right—I am a daiquiri kind of girl. “No daiquiris. And put your money away, Sheffield. This is my first legit drink. I want to buy the round.”

  His brow arches. “I can’t let you buy on your birthday. The birthday gods will kick my ass.”

  “I want to.”

  I fidget around my back pocket for my ID. It’s an exciting moment. My hand starts shaking, but it’s more than just being legal. I’ve felt it all day. There’s something different about Aiden tonight. I thought his stare was already intense, but tonight it cuts through me like a laser beam.

  “All right, then. What did you have in mind?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure. I want something strong but sweet. Not too girly, but not manly, either.”

  His sensual mouth twists into a sexy smile, which almost destroys me. “I know exactly what you need.”

  I chew on my lower lip, a fierce heat creeping up the back of my neck. I pluck at my shirt, wondering why it’s so fucking hot in this place.

  He grins, holding up two fingers to signal the bartender. “Do you have cinnamon?”

  “We sure do, honey,” the dart-shooter…I mean, bartender says with a splash of exuberance.

  “I want a little cinnamon, two wedges of orange, two shots of chilled Patron, and one cherry.”

  “Tequila shots are with lime and salt typically,” I say as if I’m an expert on such matters.

  “Fuck tradition. We’re going for the sweet and spicy, not the bitter.”

  “Only one cherry?”

  “Yeah, it’s for you. There’s nothing like popping a cherry.”

  Joke’s on you, Aiden. My cherry’s popped.

  A shaker of cinnamon, a small plate with two slices of orange, and two shot glasses magically appear. “You know how to do this?” he asks, sliding one of the shot glasses in front of me.

  “Sure.” I pick up my drink, holding it toward him in a mock toast. “Down the hatch.”

  “Negative,” he says, taking the glass from me and setting it down. “Hold out your hand. Lick between your index finger and thumb.”

  He demonstrates on his own hand. His green eyes seem to glow in the dark club. I swallow first, because suddenly I don’t have enough saliva, then copy him. He shakes the cinnamon on his palm then takes a pinch and sprinkles if over the area I’ve moistened.

  It’s not the only thing that’s moist.

  “Cinnamon, shot, orange, and last but not least, the cherry. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Suck it, Emma.”

  He whispers it, but it’s no less a command. My toes curl at the sound of his deep, raspy voice. My eyes lock with his. We both suck the cinnamon off the patch of skin between our thumb and first knuckle. Hell, I bite it. The cinnamon is sweet and spicy, counteracting the sourness of the liquor when it hits my tongue then my belly, spreading heat at an alarming rate. I look around for the orange. I crave it. Something cool to douse the suffocating intensity of Aiden Sheffield. Something to quench it, to cure it…to kill it.

  He holds a wedge in his hand. “Open.”

  I tilt my head back, my mouth parted. He squeezes the orange and the burst of sweet juice drips over my tongue and slides down my throat. I don’t swallow. I gulp. He runs the spent fruit against my lips.

  My heart is racing. My panties are soaked. My breath is ragged.

  I exhale but the action provides no relief.

  Scooting back on my stool, I clear my throat. “That’s some shot,” I mutter.

  He smiles innocently, popping the cherry into his mouth.

  “Hey, that’s mine.”

  “Sorry, your cherry looked so delicious I couldn’t resist.” His mouth moves slowly. For some reason, I cannot stop staring at it. “I’ll get you another.”

  Fuck no.

  “I’m going to see Kenneth now. Would you like to meet him?”

  His eyes narrow, his words come out in a sharp staccato, abrupt and fast with no reprieve. “No, Emma, I don’t want to meet your fucking boyfriend. Why do you want me to? So you can do a comparison? I see through you like glass.”

  I meet his stare, not willing to back down. “What is it you see?”

  “A girl who is afraid to give in to what she wants.”

  What I want is him. He knows it. I hate him for it.

  “If I’m glass then you are a fucking mirror, Sheffield. You may not have thrown a boner over my shoulder, but you sure as hell had one in your pants the other night.”

  I almost fall off the stupid barstool as I get up. Definitely not the most gracious dismount. I don’t run up the steep metal staircase to the DJ booth, though.
Instead, I take a deep breath and ascend slowly, gripping the railing hard. The twisted, tangled thoughts weaving through my head begin to straighten themselves. By the time I reach the top, I know what I must do.

  I open the door to the DJ booth. “Emma,” Kenneth says, breaking into a huge smile. “What are you doing here?” That’s a loaded question.

  Guilt stabs me. He’s been part of my life forever. What I’ll say will end us on every level. He takes me in his arms.

  “Hey, hey…what’s wrong, babe? You okay?”

  He’s at work and this is not the ideal time. It’s a dick move on my part, but I don’t want to drag it out. I should have done this a long time ago.

  “I’m so sorry, Kenneth. I have to break up with you.”

  He tightens his hold on me. I see the shock and hurt in his eyes. I swallow hard, my determination giving me strength.

  “Where is this coming from?”

  How do I answer his question? Is it because I’ve sensed something wrong in our relationship for a while now? Or maybe because he’s never been there for me in the way I need? Or because I’ve changed and whatever connection we once had disintegrated a long time ago but we’ve both refused to acknowledge it? Or maybe…maybe because there is a man downstairs who makes me feel things I shouldn’t if I truly loved Kenneth. I may not have physically cheated on him, but I am very guilty of emotionally cheating.

  The correct answer is E.

  E: All of the above.

  I back out of his embrace. “It’s been building. I should have seen it sooner. I’m sorry, Kenneth.”

  “Natalie told you.” He hits the wall next to me. “Fuck, I can’t believe she did that. It was a one-time deal, Emma. We were drunk. I missed you, and I was lonely.”

  I hear his voice, but the words stop making sense.

  “You slept with Natalie?”

  His face freezes. “You didn’t know?”

  “I guess I do now.”

  “We can get past it,” he says. “We’ve been together too long for one mistake to rip us apart.”

  Every emotion on the spectrum hits me at once: anger, frustration, betrayal, melancholy. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a healthy dose of relief, too. All the signs had been there, but I refused to acknowledge them.