North Woods University

by Beck, J. L.

  “You do sound like a pussy, but I get what you’re saying.”

  “Since you’re already revoking my man card for growing a heart, I should tell you that I asked her to be my girlfriend. For real this time.”

  “Did you send a note asking her to mark the box next to yes, no, or maybe, too?” Vance snorts, of course he couldn’t leave his asshole ways at home.

  “I’m about to throw some scissors at you. I’m fucking serious.”

  “What did she say?” Vance tries to sound interested, but we both know he’d rather eat glass than talk relationships with me. Too fucking bad, I don’t care what he wants. Our friendship knows no bounds. I’ve seen that fucker broken, angry, drunk, you name it.

  “She said that she would think about it.”

  “Ouch,” Vance responds dramatically.

  I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You’re a douchebag you know that, right? She’s just scared. She told me once that she’s scared of needing me and then losing me. I don’t know how to prove to her that I’m not going anywhere.”

  “If you are asking me for advice, I’m afraid I don’t have any to give you. I mean, you know I don’t have the greatest track record with relationships and to be honest, I’m still not sure how I got so lucky with Ava. I’m still a major asshole to everyone and I’ll probably fuck up a million times, but I guess just be there.” He shrugs. “If she thinks you’re going to run and hide, then always make sure you’re there.”

  My face deadpans. “I thought you said you weren’t going to give me advice.”

  “Wasn’t advice, it’s just common sense.”

  “You are right, you are a major asshole.”

  “That’s all you took away from that.” He shakes his head. “You’re dumber than I thought.”

  Lifting my hand, I give him the middle finger.

  He smirks, looking every bit as angry, and brooding as he wants everyone to see him. But as his best friend, I see more than that. I see him, all of him.

  “Thanks for being a good friend, fuckface.”

  “Anytime, asshole, now are you done with the fancy bullshit. I’m hungry and I promised Ava I would pick her up some frappe, latte, coffee bullshit on the way back.” He starts to type on his phone, most likely texting Ava, since that’s the only person besides myself that will deal with his ass.

  “Yeah, should be finished soon,” I tell him, letting my thoughts shift back to Emerson. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I tell myself that I’ll win her heart, and prove to her we’re worth a shot. She’s scared, but I’m determined to shatter that fear. I’ll save her, protect her, support her the way everyone else in her life should’ve.

  * * *

  I feel like an idiot from some sappy romantic movie standing in the living room all alone holding onto the flowers I bought Emerson. I should throw them away before she comes out of her room and sees them. What if she doesn’t even like flowers? Running a hand through my hair, I exhale a nervous breath.

  This is stupid. I have no reason to be nervous. It’s probably just this stupid tux I have to wear, the jacket feels like a straitjacket hindering my every move. I can barely fucking breathe. The better option would’ve been to tell my father to shove this charity dinner up his ass, but since it’s in honor of my mother, and to raise awareness for depression and anxiety, I decided to bite my tongue. That doesn’t mean I can’t wait to be out of this monkey suit, and for the night to be over, where it’s just Emerson and me in the bed together.

  Tightening my grip on the flowers, I will away the nervous butterflies filling my abdomen, but when the soft click of the door opening echoes down the hall and into the room, the butterflies multiply instead of leaving me. Fuck me.

  I’m pretty sure I’m going to puke. Sweat beads against my forehead and I can’t imagine what I look like right now. Emerson steps into the hallway and starts walking toward me and every thought in my head disappears into thin air. The air stills in my lungs and I swear my heart actually skips a beat, forgetting how to beat in a normal rhythm.

  What is up or down? What’s my name? I couldn’t even tell you. All I see is her.

  I’m mesmerized like a moth drawn to a trickle of light I can’t look away. She’s wearing a floor-length pale purple gown, the fabric falling off her shoulders, showing off the delicate skin around her collarbone and neck. There’s a soft dusting of freckles across her skin that I want to press kisses to. She looks like an angel, so completely out of place in this mundane condo. Her red hair is soft and curled at the ends.

  She’s, if perfection was a person, she would be it.

  “Clark? Are you okay?” She breaks the silence, her voice bringing me back down to earth.

  “Yeah, I… you… you look beautiful,” I say, because it’s the only words I can think of right now, even though I know that one singular word doesn’t do her justice. Gorgeous? Breathtaking? Devine? Not even all of those words combined would be enough.

  “Thank you, you look nice too. Very handsome… and proper.” She giggles softly, the sound zinging straight to my cock.

  Not now, asshole. There’s barely any room in this godforsaken thing for me to breathe let alone for the stupid organ to get hard. I notice Emerson’s eyes falling to something in my hands. I look down, my mind having gone blank and realize then that I’m still holding onto the flowers.

  “Oh, shit, the flowers, right, these are for you,” I state the obvious, holding out the small bouquet to her. She takes it and brings the flowers to her nose, smelling the colorful arrangement.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, peeking up at me through her lashes. “They’re beautiful.” I watch her put the flowers into the vase I had already set out on the table. With her back turned to me, I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my slacks.

  “Ready to go?” I ask her when she twists back around to face me again. She nods and gives me a warm smile as I usher her outside and into the car. Once I’m in the car and shut the door behind me, a wave of her flowery scent slams into me and for a moment I feel drugged, fighting the urge to lean over and kiss her. My mouth waters like I’ve been offered a juicy steak but haven’t eaten in thirty days. I’m starving, but I’ll gladly starve another thirty days if I have to. Later. I’ll have all the time in the world to kiss later. I can’t think about peeling that dress off of her body right now. Later. Starting the truck up, I grip the steering wheel tightly and pull out of the driveway. I’m trying not to be too tense, but it’s easier said than done.

  Tonight I’ll have to pretend, to care about my father, about his colleges, about the stupid country club.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? If you don’t want me to go—”

  “No,” I interrupt her before she can finish, the word coming out more like a yell. She jumps a little in her seat, her big blue eyes going wide. Forcing myself to soften my voice and let go of some of the tension in my muscles, I reach across the seat and take her hand into mine.

  “No, I want you here. It’s not you. You being here tonight is literally the only thing I’m looking forward to. Matter of fact, you are what I look forward to every day. I want to be with you all the time, Em.”

  “You say that now, but you don’t know… you don’t know everything yet.”

  “Nothing you tell me will scare me away. You can tell me everything when you are ready to talk about it. Right now, I know all I need to. I want to be with you, for real, not pretend. I know you are scared, but you don’t have to be. You won’t lose me. Ever.”

  “Clark…”

  “I’m begging you to give me a chance. Never in my life have I had to work so hard for a date.” Slightly frustrated, I park the truck in the parking lot of the country club, the drive taking far less time then I wanted it to.

  Turning in the seat, Emerson stares at me, one second, then two, then another. I’m pretty sure I’ve scared her away. Fucking Christ. I clench my hand into a fist. I really want to punch the steering wheel right now, but I know that won’t
make her want me anymore.

  “I’m not like the other girls you’ve been with. There are things you don’t know, things that, when you...when you find them out, I doubt you’ll look at me the same.”

  I can’t help my reaction to what she’s just said. “I don’t know for sure what happened, but I’ve drawn my own conclusions and nothing anyone else did to you without your consent would ever change my opinion of you. If you don’t want me then…”

  The air in the cab of the truck is too thick, combined with the tux, it feels like I’m burning up. I’ve got to get out of here. Reaching for the door handle, I open it, the cool evening air kissing my clammy skin.

  “I want you, Clark, but I don’t think you’ll want me when you find out the truth.”

  “You want me? That’s all I need to know. Just say yes. Give this a real shot, give us a chance.” I sound like I’m begging and maybe I am, but I don’t care at this point. If all it takes is for me to get down on my knees than I’ll do that too. Whatever it takes.

  “Okay,” she whispers so quietly I almost don't catch it.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, we’ll give this a real shot,” she confirms and all I can do is lean over and kiss her. I go from being frustrated and angry to sitting on cloud nine in all of five seconds. Getting out of the truck, I jog around to the passenger side to help her out.

  Clasping onto her hand, I close the truck door and lock it. Every businessperson and partner of my father’s will be here tonight, including Emerson’s dad. If I get the chance, I should talk to him. From the sound of things, Emerson doesn’t have all that good of a relationship with her father.

  “I’m a little nervous,” she admits as we walk across the already packed parking lot, the ballet flats she’s wearing barely making a sound. Stopping mid-step, I pull her into my arms and stare down at her. Fuck, I could stare at her all day.

  “Don’t be. If anyone says something stupid or treats you poorly, we’ll leave. You don’t need to subject yourself to that anymore.” I don’t mean to sound like I’m lecturing her, but I want her to understand that she doesn’t have to stand there and take what people say about her.

  Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one, but not everyone shows theirs off for the world to see.

  She worries her pink plump bottom lip with her teeth. “What if I have an anxiety attack? Or Sarah is here? Or one of your other exes?” I can see the thoughts compounding in her head, stacking up like bricks and I can’t let her go there, to that dark place where she hides to protect herself from fears that aren’t real or don’t matter.

  Releasing her hand, I take her face into my hands and swipe my thumbs gently across her cheeks. Then I lean into her face bringing my lips close to hers. Her eyes dilate, and her breath hitches. She’s still with me, good.

  “I’m here. Right here. In the flesh. I’ll protect you, and kick anyone’s ass that fucks with you and remember you have a voice of your own. You can say whatever you want, to whoever you want. No one is going to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me before they get that chance.”

  Emerson blinks and it’s like the fog of fear surrounding her lifts. Every day I see her getting stronger, her skin growing a little thicker, her fears becoming a distant memory and no fucking way am I going to let her go back in time, let her lose sight of how far she’s come.

  She releases an anxious breath and then sucks in another. She does this a few more times, like she’s building up the courage to move forward.

  “Okay, let’s do this. I’m ready.”

  Nodding, I press a kiss to her nose, and release her, taking her hand into mine again. We cross the rest of the parking lot and walk up the steps of the country club, and into the event area. There are people dressed to the nines, in elegant dresses and tuxes. Security is posted at the door, but they don’t even spare me a look as I enter without a word, and why would they? My father all but finances this place. I’ll never understand why this is so important to him. Does he really need to make sure everybody knows he has money?

  Emerson hooks her arm into mine, her grip tight as if she is scared I’ll walk off. The place is decorated to look intimate with low lighting, and candles on each of the linen-covered tables. It honestly looks more like a five-star wedding is taking place here then a charity event to benefit those with mental illness.

  Inconspicuously I scan the room, finding my father almost immediately. If it wasn’t the tux that screams ‘I have money,’ or identical hair and eye color that gave him away, it would be the obnoxious sound of his voice. He’s talking loudly, basically yelling, while holding up a glass of champagne. A circle of people surrounding him, listening to him like he is the most interesting person in the room. I can attest to that being false. Then he says something, and everybody breaks out into hearty laughter, and I all but roll my eyes.

  No way is their laughter real. The man is the least funny guy on the planet. I’m surprised he even knows what a joke is.

  “Let’s show our faces to my father really quick. I’d rather get it over with now, so we have the rest of the evening to do whatever we want,” I tell her.

  “Okay, I don’t see my father yet.” I don’t miss the relieved tone in her voice, and I wonder if she actually dislikes her father more than I dislike mine. I find it hard to believe, but then again not really. My father’s a mega asshole, but hers has to be just as bad if he just sent her away in the state she was in when we first met.

  We walk over to where my father and his entourage are standing, people are moving out of our way, some stare a bit longer than necessary, but no one says anything. They all nod and wave, like an army that’s been trained to be seen but never heard. My father’s been making me come to events like this for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never brought a plus one before, never felt the need to, so maybe that’s the reasoning for long glances?

  Either way, they better avert their eyes soon otherwise we’ll have problems. Gritting my teeth, I swallow down the anger like acid, forcing it away. My father would kill me, strike me dead if I made a scene by punching one of his guests, so I reel it in, and instead plaster a fake as hell smile on my lips. It doesn’t help.

  As soon as my father sees us coming, he stops talking and greets us in only a way my father could, with a flare of dramatics to gather even more attention. “Clark, son, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His hard gaze swings to Emerson who is holding onto my arm like it’s the bar holding in her seat on this crazy-ass rollercoaster ride. “Emerson, you look lovely, beautiful, come have a drink with us.” I don’t know what annoys me more, how fake he is acting, like we’re just this little happy family or the way he is looking at Emerson.

  Refusing to choose, I go with both.

  “Father,” I grit through my smile. “The event looks great. You did a great job.” Forcing the words out is harder than I expected, and I hope he nor anyone else notices.

  “Thank you, your mother would’ve been so happy to see an event like this taking place. I imagine she is up there in Heaven smiling down on us.”

  The mention of my mother makes my blood boil and I curl my hand into a tight fist, wanting to swing the thing into his asshole face. He never cared about my mother, about her anxiety, her crippling depression that kept her in their bedroom all hours of the day and night while he was gone working which really meant sleeping his way through North Woods finest whores. He didn’t care about me, and he cared even less about her.

  A small hand lands on my clenched fist, covering it and I look down to see a tiny smile tugging at her lips. She sees me, feels me.

  Mine. My Emerson. Her touch cools my heated blood enough for me to rein in my emotions.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Jefferson would’ve loved it,” Emerson adds softly, and my father’s eyes light up at the sound of her voice. I guess he should be surprised that she speaks since the last time he saw her she did everything she could to hide from him.

  “Yes, yes, she
would’ve,” my father says, his eyes lingering on Emerson’s body far longer than acceptable. Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him. “Well, I’m going to mingle, but have a drink and enjoy yourselves.” He directs his attention back to me and I can see the heated warning in his gaze. He told me not to fuck Emerson, not to get anywhere near her with my cock and though I haven’t... yet, I’m sure he thinks I have. He’s always been horribly judgmental of me, and who I fuck, though he did the same thing himself many years ago.

  Either way, I don’t care what he has to say.

  He can warn me away, cut me off, and treat me like shit. None of it matters. I’m still going to do what I want to do. Turning his back to us, he dismisses us like we’re two of his hired workers. I force myself to turn and walk away, my feet moving across the floor as if they have weights tied to them. As soon as we’re out of earshot, the words spew from my mouth like word vomit.

  “I hate him, truly. How can he put something like this together when he doesn’t even give a fuck about people, let alone their mental health. Saying shit like my mother would’ve loved this and she’s watching from Heaven.” An exasperated laugh slips past my lips. “She killed herself so she wouldn’t have to deal with him, deal with his shit. She is sure as hell not watching from the afterlife. She killed herself and left me here.”

  Moving so she can wrap her arms around me, Emerson hugs me, or at least tries to.

  “I’m sorry, Clark,” she mumbles into the fabric of my tux. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, and that your father doesn’t care. I know what that’s like and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  Get it together, Clark. I feel like such an ass, complaining to Em about my father being an ass when she has gone through way worse than me and while my father’s a piece of shit at least I’m not plagued with fear, anxiety, and nightmares. At least I wasn’t abused like I know Emerson was.

  The waitress walks by with a large tray and I grab a glass of champagne, bringing the flute to my lips I take a large sip, calming the rage inside of me.