by Noelle Marie
Prom?
“Well?” Heath asked, and Emma realized she had yet to answer.
She didn’t reply with words, choosing instead to launch herself at Heath, throwing her arms around his neck and reconnecting her lips with his. She sighed into his mouth and allowed his tongue to gently trace her bottom lip.
She didn’t care one iota about her friends’ pretend gagging either.
Nor could she find it in herself to give Gunther’s vague threat another thought.
Perhaps, however, she should have.
* * *
With March just around the corner, the snow on the ground was finally beginning to melt. As the white slush thawed, patches of green and yellow grass began sprouting up where the unseasonably warm sun had eradicated it completely.
Of course, most high school seniors were too hyper-focused on the upcoming prom in April to give the resurrection of spring much thought.
Emma was distracted too. Not by a silly dance like many others, but by something else entirely. Something much more important: college. Specifically, how she was going to afford it.
Which was precisely why instead of cuddling on the couch with Heath, watching a movie and nursing a cup of hot chocolate like she desperately wanted to do, Emma was sitting at her kitchen table, bent over a half dozen scholarship applications and furiously writing away. At her insistence, Heath was with her, sitting across the table and frowning down at his own stack of forms.
The applications weren’t hard to fill out. Emma’s grades were excellent across the board and she was apt enough at writing that the essays most of the forms required didn’t give her much pause.
Heath, unfortunately, was struggling.
“This is pointless,” he grouched for the umpteenth time, angrily flipping through the stapled bunch of papers he’d been working on for close to an hour.
As much as Emma adored him, Heath’s attitude was starting to get under her skin. She reluctantly looked up from her pile of forms.
“It’s not pointless,” she disagreed as calmly as possible. It was hard when she felt like she’d explained this about twelve times already. “Even the smallest of these scholarships award a thousand dollars to the winner. You’ll never know if you’ll be awarded one if you don’t even try.”
Heath scoffed. “Right.”
Emma frowned, setting down her pencil. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Heath said, slamming the pen he’d been fiddling with down on the table as well, “that even if I fill out every line of these stupid applications, I don’t have a chance in hell of winning any of these scholarships. Not with my shoddy background.” He shrugged, and added with an air of nonchalance, “I’m not smart enough for college anyway.”
He said it like he actually believed it. And it was so incredibly ridiculous that for the first time in a long time, Emma felt real anger at Heath. It burned brightly in her chest and urged her to take action. “Why would you say that?” she demanded hotly.
Heath reacted to her burst of temper with a show of his own. “Because it’s goddamn true, Emma, that’s why!” He stood up, the force of the abrupt movement causing the chair’s legs to scrape noisily across the kitchen’s tiled floor.
He stomped into the adjoining living room, but Emma wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. She abandoned her work and immediately followed him, secretly relieved when he flopped down on the couch instead of making a beeline for the front door.
“What’s this really about?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Nothing,” Heath shot back, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he busied himself with finding the remote and turning on the television.
Undeterred, Emma stood in front of the screen. “Are you still mad about Gunther?” she asked, knowing that she was grasping at straws. It had been three weeks since what Emma mentally referred to as “the incident” had occurred – namely, that Gunther had cornered her at school and all but demanded she go to prom with him. Despite the time that had passed, however, Emma had no idea what else could be causing Heath to act this way. Besides, every once in a while, Emma would still catch Heath glaring daggers at the other boy, his usual blue eyes strikingly dark as obviously violent thoughts swirled in his head.
“No,” Heath denied. Then he frowned. “Well, yes, actually. Of course I’m still mad about that! I want to kill that bastard, but that’s not why…” he paused, swallowing. “That’s not why…”
But he couldn't bring himself to finish the second attempt either.
Emma sighed, uncrossing her arms. Something was clearly bothering him. She took a seat next to Heath, taking one of his hands into hers and interlacing their fingers. “What’s wrong?” she asked kindly.
“Quit it,” he snapped, tugging his hand away, and the kind of hurt that Emma hadn’t felt since winter break welled within her.
“Quit what?” she asked, unsure which feeling was more prevalent: the sting from his rejection or her utter confusion.
“Just quit!” He sprung up from the couch, running his hands through his already wild hair. He left them buried in the mass of waves, tugging hard at the strands. “Quit being so goddamn helpful and nice. Quit … being you! I don’t deserve it!”
Heavy tension befell the room and for a long minute, no noise but the sound of Heath’s heavy breathing could be heard. Emma didn’t even realize that she herself was holding her breath until just as suddenly as he’d stood up, Heath fell back down onto the couch. Emma released the built up carbon dioxide with a whoosh. And then…
“The Potters want to adopt me.”
The words were uttered so quietly that Emma’s ears just barely managed to decipher them.
Instead of shedding light onto Heath’s sour mood, however, they confused Emma further. “That’s wonderful,” she said, pausing and waiting for a reaction that didn’t come. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s stupid,” Heath snapped before apparently thinking better of it and tiredly rubbing his eyes before adding, “Sorry.”
“Why is it stupid?” Emma asked softly after giving Heath a minute to compose himself.
“I’m already eighteen. They don’t have any obligation to me. Why bother?”
If it was physically possible for hearts to break, Emma was fairly certain hers had fractured upon hearing Heath describe himself as an “obligation”. She quickly buried her own heartache, however, so she could better concentrate on what was causing Heath’s. “I think it’s great,” she said firmly, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and of course, Charlie… they love you, Heath. They’re adopting you so that you know as well as they do that you’re a part of their family. So that you know that their home is your home. So that you know that you’ve never been a mere obligation,” she practically spit out the word, “to them.”
Emma hoped that Heath would take in her words and know somewhere in him that they were true, but he just shook his head in denial. “I don’t deserve it,” he repeated his earlier sentiment. “They shouldn’t have to put up with me.” He paused, shifting slightly so that his blue eyes were drilling into her brown ones. “You shouldn’t either. I know you’re just going to the local community college because of me, but you shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”
Emma frowned, amazed that Heath could twist the topic of conversation so that it was suddenly focused on her and not him. She scooted closer to him – close enough that their thighs were less than an inch from touching – but she didn’t dare grab his hand again.
“Of course you’re worth it,” she scolded lightly. “But if you must know, you are not the sole or even main reason I’m attending Springfield this fall.”
Springfield Community College was the only undergraduate school in the area that was less than an hour away from Maple Valley.
“Why then?” Heath demanded. “You’re so smart that you could get into any school you applied to. Even Harvard or frickin’ Yale if
you really wanted.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “First of all, that would be insanely expensive. And secondly, mainly,” she stressed, “I want to stay in the area because I don’t want to leave my dad. His heath isn’t what it used to be, especially not after his stroke last year, and I’m the only family he has.”
Heath blinked owlishly and it was clear to her that he hadn’t even contemplated Miles as a possible reason for her reluctance to leave the area. But then again, why would he have? Besides the Potters, Heath hadn’t had to worry about family in a long time. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Heath sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I’m an asshole.”
Emma pursed her lips. “It’s okay, and you’re not,” she said after a moment. “Can we talk about why you don’t feel worthy of love or sacrifice?” she dared to add.
As she’d predicted, Heath tensed when she turned the subject back to him and what he probably conceived as his short-comings. “What, you think you’re my therapist now?” he snarked.
Emma completely ignored the half-hearted baiting. “I want to try something,” she insisted.
Heath frowned, eying her suspiciously. “What?” he asked.
“Just trust me,” Emma said. “I need you to sit here,” she directed, gesturing towards the bit of floor directly in front of her.
Heath continued to stare skeptically at her, like he could somehow uncover her intentions if he looked into her eyes long enough. He must have decided that whatever her intentions were, they weren’t bad, because after a tense moment, he released a resigned sigh. “Fine.”
He stood up and then sat on the floor in front of Emma as instructed, his back to her front.
She reached down and tentatively fingered the bottom of his long-sleeved shirt. “Can I?” she asked, half expecting him to bolt. They’d tiptoed around the subject of his scars for months. Heath’s hands often roamed up her tops, but Emma hadn’t seen him shirtless since the morning of his birthday.
Heath tensed and Emma honestly expected him to say “no”, or worst, just get up and leave. But he didn’t. Instead, Heath grabbed the fabric of his shirt and tugged it off over his head himself, throwing it carelessly to the floor.
Emma wasn’t fooled by his bravado, though. His muscles were as stiff as a board.
And the scars. They were even worse than Emma had remembered. Crisscrossed patterns of white and red welts covered his skin from the tops of his shoulders to his waist, where they disappeared under his jeans.
Emma’s eyes filled with tears at the sight, but she hastily blinked them away before Heath could turn around and see them.
Biting her lip, she hesitantly reached forward and with the tips of her fingers and gently traced what appeared to be the largest scar – it ran from his upper right shoulder all the way down to the back of his left ribcage.
“Do they hurt?” she asked quietly.
Heath had somehow managed to tense further at Emma’s touch, his muscles straining against the foreign feel of her fingers, but they relaxed minutely at the sound of her voice.
“Not anymore.”
Emma wanted to ask if the scars were the reason why he felt unworthy, but she knew intuitively that the answer was much more complicated than a simple “yes” or “no”. To Heath, the scars weren’t just marks on his skin. They represented who he was – how he felt – on the inside.
So instead, Emma did what she’d intended when she’d asked for Heath to sit in front of her and dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders. Starting there, Emma was hoping to somehow rub the tension out of Heath’s body – specifically, his back.
Heath groaned at the feel of her thumbs working into his trapezius, and Emma had to fight off a blush that threatened to expand all the way to the tips of her ears. Hoping to distract the both of them from the heaviness of their prior conversation, Emma attempted to move onto a lighter subject than family or self-worth. Returning to their previous discussion about college seemed safe enough.
“I guess I always just assumed and never actually asked, but do you even want to go to college?” she asked.
Heath pulled his knees up to his chest and allowed his head to rest against them, giving Emma even better access to his back. “I do,” he admitted quietly.
Emma nodded to herself. “What for?”
Heath didn’t immediately respond, but did lean into her touch as she slowly worked her way down his spine. “You’ll think it’s dumb,” he said after a while.
Emma frowned. “You know I won’t,” she chastised him, but she didn’t push for an answer.
It turned out she didn’t have to.
“Social work,” he offered hesitantly after a minute. “I want to work in the foster system and help kids like me.”
Emma experienced a rush of affection so strong that she couldn't stop herself from leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to one of Heath’s shoulders, right over the top of a wicked-looking scar.
Heath stiffened, sucking in a sharp intake of air at the action, but she couldn't bring herself to apologize. She stared at the marks that covered his back. How could anyone have done something like this to someone who was so inherently good?
“That’s amazing, Heath,” she murmured softly before continuing her massage.
“What about you?” he asked after a minute. “What sort of degree are you going to get? Something to do with reading, I suppose?” he added, a bit of his usual teasing lit showing through his tone, and a small smiled pulled at Emma’s lips.
“No,” she informed him, her thumbs digging hard into the base of his back. “I’m going to go into business.”
Emma knew she’d truly surprised him when he lifted and turned his head in order to grace her with a dubious look.
“So I can learn how to open and manage my own bookshop,” she added ruefully.
Heath snorted, turning and re-resting his head against his knees. “That sounds more like you.”
A peaceful sort of quiet descended after that and Emma was content to continue to work on the muscles of Heath’s back in silence. She took her time, hardly shy anymore about exploring his skin, scars and all. By the time she was finished, Heath looked the most at peace that she’d ever seen him, his shoulders lax like a heavy weight had been lifted from them.
Emma wrapped her arms around them, burying her face into the juncture of Heath’s neck and jaw. They continued to sit in silence for some time.
“Thank you,” Heath muttered after a few more minutes had passed, the words hoarse as they escaped his mouth, and if Emma didn't know any better, she might have said his throat was thick with tears.
She had no idea what he was thanking her for, the massage or something else entirely, but she did know that it was completely unnecessary. Nonetheless, she turned her head the slightest bit and ignoring the roughness of his scruff, pressed her lips to the sharp outline of his jaw. It was an innocent peck, but contained as much feeling as the most intimate of kisses.
“You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“How about this one?”
Emma stared at the hideous olive monstrosity her dad had picked off the rack. Not only did the color of the dress remind her distinctly of vomit, but the conservative, square neckline and capped sleeves made it resemble something someone’s granny would wear to a wedding more than what any teenage girl anywhere would wear to prom – fashion conscious or not.
Emma desperately tried to think of a nice way to say it looked like puke. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any.
“I want my date to be impressed,” she finally said, “not be reminded of all the times he’s barfed every time he looks at me, Dad.”
Miles’ taste in fashion certainly left something to be desired.
Emma knew that she and her dad made an odd pair – a middle-aged man and young girl shopping for prom dresses together. The store’s clerk had given them the side eye when they’d entered the dress shop together, and Em
ma could only hope that the woman didn’t assume anything nefarious was going on. Namely, that Miles was her sugar daddy instead of, you know, her real one.
Most girls her age went shopping for prom dresses with their friends or their moms, but Emma was fresh out of both. While she’d originally planned the trip to Springfield’s well-known boutique, The Glam Shack, with Collette, the redhead had fallen ill and ended up canceling at the last moment. With no mom to speak of, Miles had stepped in on his rare Saturday off of work.
When he’d offered to come with her in place of Collette, an oddly hopeful glint in his eye, Emma couldn't find it in herself to say “no.” She hadn’t even wanted to, really, despite the strange sight they made.
Between Miles’ busy work schedule and the extra time she’d been spending with Heath on evenings and weekends, Emma hadn’t been able to spend much time with her dad in the past few months.
Squinting, Miles re-examined the gown. “I don’t see it,” he admitted after a moment. “I think it’s elegant. Besides, I’m pretty sure that Heath kid will be blown away by whatever you choose to wear.”
Ignoring the heated blush she could feel crawling up her neck, Emma stubbornly shook her head. Miles sighed, but he put the dress back on the rack where Emma was sure it was doomed to spend the rest of eternity.
The father and daughter pair continued perusing rows upon rows of dresses that were close to Emma’s size.
“How about this one?” Miles asked a few minutes later, forcing Emma to tear her eyes away from a pretty lilac gown she was considering.
Emma blinked at the dress her father proudly held up this time. It looked like a peacock had exploded all over the fabric. Bright greens, purples, and blues meshed together to form a flashy, floor-length, sequined number.
However, the thing didn’t remind her of bodily excretions so in an effort not to hurt her dad’s feelings, Emma nodded thoughtfully. “Put it in the changing room with the others.”