I waited for something else, but after a full chorus of silence passed between us, I knew that was all she was going to say.
“I know cream of wheat, but I don’t want to wake up to it every morning,” I said, not sure if I was more flabbergasted by my reply or her lack of reply earlier.
Her eyes stayed fixed in some far away place that only she could see and, from the looks of it, it wasn’t a place where visitors would want to frequent. “Sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don’t.”
“Okay,” I said, flabbergasted, “do you realize you just compared your boyfriend to the devil?”
She looked back at me, her eyes refocusing. “You know what I mean,” she said in that attempt-at-patronizing tone I was growing familiar with.
“Are you going to marry him?” Nothing like cutting right to the heart of the matter. If she said yes, what hope did I have in pursuing her? What kind of man would I be if I did? Something deep inside answered my rhetorical questions. For her, I didn’t need hope, and I didn’t care what kind of man I became.
“If he asks,” filling in the lines with a shrug, she said, “probably.”
The only thing that overshadowed my shock was my relief. “Six years together and he hasn’t asked you?” I said. “A little risky, isn’t it?”
“Risky?” she repeated.
“If I had a girl like you who, by the grace of all things holy, loved me in return, I’d slap a ring on your finger faster than you could say DeBeers.” It was the kind of profession that would have left most chumps fidgeting, but I’d left my chump-hood behind decades of humility bolstering lessons ago.
“DeBeers?” she asked like that was the only thing she’d picked up on, although the great thing about a fair-skinned woman was a blush. Even the slightest tinge of color could be detected by the non-Immortal eye.
“Oh my goodness, woman. The ways I could spoil you,” I said over the music. “Just lose the baggage,” I hinted, and from the line her mouth drew, I knew Emma hadn’t missed it.
“And you call this not spoiling?” she replied, glancing around the boat. “Why do I need to drop the baggage when I’m not even your girlfriend and you’re rolling out the red carpet?”
“This is just an appetizer, not even the main course,” I said, wondering if I’d be out of line if I ran my fingers down her arm. If I was questioning it, it probably was. “And let’s not forget dessert.”
“I’m guessing you never do,” she played along.
Compromising with myself, instead of giving her a first-base skin skimming, I suddenly dipped her low to the ground. She held my eyes the whole way down. “You’re a good guesser.”
Settling her back into an upright position, she grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said, “but Ty isn’t exactly what you’d call a fan of dancing—”
“Or flowers,” I said under my breath.
She continued, only narrowing her eyes at me, “And even if I did manage to persuade him onto the dance floor, I’m sure his clumsy hands would have dropped me on the floor if he tried that.”
“That man of yours never fails to amaze me.” I grinned innocently at her, as the band transitioned into something slow and sultry.
“You’ve got some moves, I’ll give you that, Patrick,” she said. “You must have been with more women than any girl would care to know about to have perfected them.”
Honesty, honesty, honesty, I reminded myself. My past was my past, my present my present, and Emma my future. While admitting to her I’d developed something of a “ladies man” reputation didn’t thrill me, I also knew if she ever did grow to love me one day, I wanted her to love me for me.
Swallowing, I replied, “I suppose you could say that, up until recently, I was more of a quantity versus quality kind of guy.” Probably the gentlest way I could put it.
Her expression didn’t change as I’d expected it would. Her eyes held no judgment in them. “Sounds like you’re living the dream.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I used to think I was, but it’s my brothers that are living the dream,” I said, wondering why it’d taken me so long to see. Maybe it was because it had taken this long to find the woman I could feel I’d been created to find. “They get to crawl into bed every stinkin’ night with the women they flippin’ worship. Women they’d swallow a grenade for.”
“Flipping worship?” Emma repeated, mulling that over. “As demented as that sounds, I think that’s exactly the way I’d want someone to feel about me. I wouldn’t mind being flipping worshipped.”
“That’s what you deserve,” I said, insinuating something in my tone because I didn’t need her to confirm that the only thing Ty flipping worshiped was himself.
“You’re close with your family.” It wasn’t a question—something in my voice or in my words made it obvious.
“Closer.”
“A family man,” she said, studying me. “I like that. It’s a dying breed.”
“It’s not if you’re a member of my family. There’s this link of genetic code known as heart of gold that runs in all Haywards, born or married into the family. It’s impossible not to love their guts. However, that string of DNA missed me.”
“I wouldn’t say it missed you,” she said, looking at me like she saw past all my secrets. “So you have three brothers, and your dad who lives in . . .”
“Montana,” I answered. “With my brothers and their families.”
“How many nieces and nephews do you have?”
This was why it was going to be dead end followed by dead end if I let myself talk about my family or past with Emma. Clandestine was lurking around every corner in my past. “None,” I said, looking out at the water.
“With three married brothers I’m sure you’ll have plenty before you know it,” she said. “You’d be the kind of uncle that’s everyone’s favorite.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, spinning her in hopes of distracting her from the conversation at hand.
“So four boys . . .” Emma said, shaking her head. “Your poor mother.”
“And one girl,” I replied before I could insert my size eleven into my vortex of a mouth.
“You have a sister too?”
I shook my head.
“Does she live in Montana with the rest of your family?”
“No,” I said quietly, not allowing myself to travel back in time to the day I’d watched her die in front of my eyes.
“Where’s she at?” she asked, giving my arm a few squeezes. “As far away as she can get away from her brothers who I’m sure never gave her a hard time like mine do?”
There wasn’t a gentle way to put it.
“She’s dead.”
Emma’s body went stiff in my arms, her feet cementing to the ground mid dance. “Patrick,” she whispered, a hand covering her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I said, unable to look anywhere but at the dark water. “It was a long time ago.”
“What happened?” she whispered, her frozen form cracking as she weaved her arms tighter around me. It was the most comforting embrace I’d been graced with in lifetimes of existence.
“That’s a story for another time,” I said, knowing sometime down the road I’d have to tell it if Emma became a part of my life in the way I hoped she would. I wouldn’t let secrets separate us.
Just then, the boat shuddered to a stop. Still trapped in Emma’s arms, knowing I’d fallen into a place there was no escape from and no hope of rescue, I couldn’t think of a time I wanted to delay the inevitable more. Incapable of words, I kept one arm curved around her and led her off the boat, not able to reconcile why I felt this would be the last time she’d step foot on it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Despite adhering to the speed limit on our return trip for no reason other than having more time with her, our return trip to Stanford seemed as instant as if I’d used my teleportation to transport us. I’d never considered time my enemy before, but after t
wo hundred and a handful of years, it had made a spiteful enemy out of me as Emma’s hand reached for the handle when we pulled up to the curb outside her dorm hall.
As I considered teleporting right outside her door to vanquish her damn twenty-first century feminism, she stiffened.
“Not good,” she said, biting her lip as she looked out the window.
I zoned in on what she was referring to. “Super,” I said under my breath. “I think you’ve got yourself something of a possessive boyfriend, Em.”
Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, jaw set, Ty loomed in the center of the walkway like he was a bull ready to charge. I wanted to kick his controlling, girlfriend-stalking ass, but more than that, I wanted to spend more time with Emma.
“Let’s just get out of here,” I said, cranking into gear, but for once in my life, I wasn’t quick enough.
Emma threw open the door and was out of the car before I could mutter a profanity I never thought I’d utter in front of a woman.
“Let me handle this,” I said. “Stay in the car.”
Emma glanced at me, shouldered up next to her, and gave me a look I’d been expecting when I decided to use my gift to get to her as quickly as I knew how. But it didn’t last long. The disbelief slanted in her eyebrows was erased as soon as she glanced back at the waiting bull.
“He’s drunk,” she stated, swallowing. Her face was blank, but I could feel the fear pulsing through her.
“Aren’t you just the regular college slut?” Ty said, making his welcome as he staggered our way. His words were as impaired as his walk, but not rip-roaring drunk impaired. Impaired just enough to have lost inhibitions and, in my experience with guys like Ty, that made them their most dangerous.
“Get in the car,” I said, trying to guide her back into the car.
He was fast, I had to give him that, and threw a punch like he wasn’t landing anything short of a TKO on his opponent. I barely had time to get Emma out of the way before I dodged Ty’s fist pounding into my temple.
“Keep your hands off my woman,” he yelled right as the realization his punch hit nothing but cool night air registered on his face.
However, mine did not.
I drove my fist into his stomach harder than I’d intended, but not nearly as hard as I was capable. It was powerful enough to knock him a couple body lengths away from us.
“Patrick!” Emma shouted, throwing me a look that screamed I’d done wrong in defending her, as she rushed over to where Ty adorned the Stanford lawn.
“Ty,” she said, kneeling down beside him with shaking hands. “Are you okay?”
“Get off of me.” Ty shoved her hands away as he sat up. “You cheap slut.”
“Watch your mouth,” I seethed, one word more from him away from grinding his head into hamburger. “Or I’m going to have to teach you a little respect.”
Emma had reassumed her crouched position beside Ty, running her hands over him like she was hoping to calm him. I had to fight every instinct not to grab her and run away.
Ty regarded me like my threats, hits, and nearing explosive demeanor were amusing. Keeping my stare, he grabbed Emma’s shoulders and shoved her so hard to the side she let out a burst of air as she crashed to the ground.
“Teach me some then,” he challenged, arching a brow in expectation.
I charged, fists, knees, and elbows ready to teach him respect all the way into his next life when a streak of red threw herself in front of me. My right fist was about to makes its debut on Ty’s cheekbone when a set of delicate hands wrapped around my other arm, trying with all her Emma might to keep me from landing my much-deserved punch.
“Enough,” she yelled, her breaths coming in short bursts. “Just leave.”
It took me a few moments of awkward realization to grasp she was talking to me.
Looking at her, I knew the hurt on my face was as easy to read as the fear on hers she was trying to hide. Fear of what, I couldn’t pinpoint, it could have been of the fight escalating, one of us getting hurt, her getting suspended for her involvement, I didn’t know, but one thing I did know was that I wasn’t going to leave her alone with Ty in his present state of rage.
Pulling the thoughts from my mind, her eyes begged me in time with her words, “Please, Patrick. Please go.”
It was a combination I was incapable of overcoming, I knew it, but I had to try, despite knowing I was doomed to failure. “He just threw you on your butt and took a cheap shot at me,” I said, pointing at the scum in question. “Why are you defending him like he’s the innocent one here?”
Lifting one sagging shoulder, she stated, “He’s my boyfriend.”
Not nearly a sufficient explanation. In fact, it only heightened the anger I was biting back. “Oh, my bad. I forgot that gave a man an excuse to shove his woman on her ass.”
She glared at me, but her glare was undermined by the hurt moving the corners of her mouth.
“She’s mine,” Ty said, trying not to sway as he rose to a stand. “And therefore mine to do whatever I want with.” Whatever was hidden deep beneath the surface that brought the malicious flicker to his eyes would have been enough to invoke a squirm from any lesser man.
Turning his attention to Emma, his jaw set. “Get yourself out of that tramp-stamp dress,” he said, a half smile cutting into his cheek. “I’ll deal with you later.”
“Ty,” Emma called out as he turned his back to her and walked away.
I was a fool to hope it was for good.
“Great,” Emma muttered, weaving her fingers into her hair. “Thanks for a lovely night.”
Her heels start clacking down the walkway after Ty, and it became too much. I’m not sure if it was her going after him or her leaving me, but my cocktail of emotions found its outlet verbally.
“Why are you with him?” I asked, not wanting an answer. “Are you a glutton for punishment? On a mission from God? So insecure to think that’s the best you can get?” I was short of a yell—I knew because my hands were joining the verbal explosion. “Or are you just another dumb girl with daddy issues who’s not content until she’s hooked up with the lowest piece of crap she can find?”
A hand clamped over my mouth, and then the other. The pain carved into Emma’s face went so deep I wasn’t sure it could ever work its way out. I couldn’t remember wishing I could rewind ten seconds more.
“That’s right, good for you,” she said, working her tongue into the side of her cheek, but it didn’t stop a tear from falling. “I do have daddy issues. Thank you so much for the reminder.”
And then she was gone. Turning away from me like the toxic piece of sludge I was. She ran off into the night, in the same direction of the man I’d just become before I could say sorry for something that was unforgivable.
CHAPTER NINE
Sunday was a blur. I couldn’t recall what I’d done other than self-flagellation and internal—and external—Patrick bashing. By Monday afternoon, I was eager and anything-but-eager to walk into Psychology.
Getting curious looks from everyone I passed in the hallway, save for one twelve-year-old looking boy with his nose all but glued to his scientific calculator, I zipped my leather motorcycle jacket up, double-checking my fly to make sure that zipper was all the way north as well. Stupid jeans. I don’t know why I’d let Cora talk me into them when I’d begged her last night to help me come up with some way to apologize to Emma.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in public with anything of a denim nature adorning me. This was a first, but I’d become someone else when I’d said what I had to Emma. Someone who said mean things to nice girls. I didn’t deserve anything better than an eternity of jeans—cheap, department store jeans—for what I’d said, so I suppose this was my way of imposing a smidgen of punishment on myself. Instead of a thousand hail Marys, I wore jeans. I could think of few worse self-inflicted punishments.
I knew before I opened the door she wasn’t there yet, the connection I’d forged with her was that str
ong, but that didn’t stop me from putting on my best game face. Shuffling down the aisle, I ran through my play-by-play of the apology I was about to deliver. Mainly a lot of groveling for forgiveness, putting myself down, promising to never, ever say something so idiotic again, and the rest was a lot of fill-in-the-blanks as I saw fit. I’d rehearsed it all last night, it was ingrained in my head, so why did my palms feel like they were sweating?
I slid into my seat, wiping the fleshy parts of my hands on my jeans since that’s all they were good for. Why was I so nervous? I knew it didn’t have to do with the apology per se. If I had to interrupt Professor I-hate-the-world’s riveting lecture I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the class, or the entire student body caught it on youtube, and I certainly didn’t care if Ty witnessed it. Hopefully he’d take notes.
No, my nervousness had nothing to do with the environment surrounding the apology or the words weaving it together. My knees were bouncing like a methhead’s because of what I had to lose if it wasn’t accepted. I had, for melodrama’s sake, everything to lose.
This wasn’t a hey, sorry I left the toilet seat up for the millionth time apology to one of my sisters-in-law, this was one of those apologies that could upend my world if it went shunned. So, round of applause, I’d identified the source of the nerves.
It didn’t make me feel better.
“Sit down. Shut up,” our esteemed professor called out, our cue to take his daily greeting as a time to do just that. Bitter as he was, and I was quite certain he wouldn’t let me squeak by with anything better than a D just on principle alone, I kinda liked him.
I sensed the door about to swing open in the back, so my eyes were already trained on the spot before a pair met my gaze, narrowing and darkening. Ty slid into the back row, flipping me off.
Taking the moral high ground—eye for an eye style—I flipped it right back.
Emma wasn’t with him, and it wasn’t like her to be late. Women may be a mystery to men, but they weren’t to me, and Emma was one of the easier ones to translate. Except, of course, for the way she felt about me. If she felt anything at all.