Page 367 of Off Limits: The Firsts

He shrugs. “Not sure.” He knows where she is. “She took off outta here like a bat out of hell.”

“Christ.” Emerson has gone, and I have no one to blame but myself.

“You’re a good guy, Malone, but cop or no cop, you hurt her, I have no problem throwing a punch in her honor.”

“I think she’d have no problem throwing one herself.”

The entire day replays in my head. Over and fucking over.

Killing the interview. I nailed every question with such precision that when I walked out of there, I had no doubt I was going to get the promotion.

The highest high.

Coming home to what I thought was perfection—Emerson’s car in my driveway and her waiting for me in my house—and then it turning to shit.

The look on Em’s face. The accusations she hurled. The goddamn fucking everything I did to her all because I kept the file. If I wasn’t going to look at it, then why did I keep it?

The lowest low.

Fuck me.

The rest of the night is a blur. The gym. The showdown with Leo. The coming home to see the file sitting on the table and knowing I’m to blame for all of this but having no clue how to fix it.

If she thought I broke her trust before—twenty years ago—and she had a hard time getting over it, then she sure as shit isn’t going to get over this.

But what kills me more than anything is what happened this afternoon when I went to move her file into the storage box. I can’t get it out of my head. The loose picture that slipped out and fell to the floor. The one of an eight-year-old Emmy Reeves—eyes haunted, skin pale, body language withdrawn, scared as hell—staring back at the camera.

The sight staggered me. My memory may have remembered a little girl with bouncy pigtails, freckles, a smile with missing teeth, and a laugh that came from her belly, but that was only the reality a naïve little boy could see. A little girl who looked so scared she might break if you push her shoulder with your finger is what she was.

And even two hours later, I can’t get the image out of my head because that haunted look she had in the photo was the same one Emerson looked back at me with today before she left.

“Earth to Grant,” Grayson says, throwing a pretzel at me. I don’t react.

Leave me the fuck alone. I repeat it in my head for the millionth time but don’t say a damn word. I want to wallow in my pity. I don’t deserve to, but I’m going to.

“It must have been really bad,” Grady says.

“You think he cheated on her?” Gray asks.

“I’m right here, assholes. I can hear everything you’re saying, so why don’t you just ask me yourselves?” I say it, but I don’t want them to ask. I just want them to shut up. So, I slump farther down into the lounge chair in my backyard and stare up at the stars above.

“You’re not responding when we came here to try to cheer you up, so . . .” He shrugs. “We’re gonna keep guessing until you start talking. You know it’ll make you feel better.”

“I didn’t cheat on her,” I mumble as the words she said ring in my ears.

“Well, that’s good because that’s one fire I wouldn’t be able to put out,” Grady says and then looks at me when I don’t respond. “C’mon, you know that was a little funny?” He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a bit?”

“Shit. He thinks he’s Chris Rock now with the jokes,” Grayson chimes in as the crack of a bottle of beer opening sounds off.

“Thanks for the visit, but you guys can go now.” Their banter is not what I want to deal with right now, but it’s obvious my statement falls on deaf ears. They don’t move. “Okay, then I’m going to ignore you guys like you aren’t here.”

Grayson swears at me when I reach over and snake his fresh beer from his hand without asking. I take a long pull on it, lay my head on the back of the chair, close my eyes, and tune them out.

And think of Emerson.

It works for a little bit until something Grady says breaks through my thoughts and catches my ear. If he’s purposely trying to get me to talk, it works.

“I bet you anything he couldn’t handle it,” Grady says.