A California Christmas (Silver Springs #7) - Brenda Novak Page 0,88
hour and forty-five minutes away from LA. But she’d have to go back to the city after Christmas and stay until she could figure out what else to do. She was only a few months into an annual lease and, after helping her mother and grandmother, she didn’t have the money to buy it out. Even if she could scrape the necessary funds together, she wouldn’t also have enough to put down a first and last month’s rent and security deposit somewhere else.
She needed to be careful or, with Ethan behaving as volatile as he was, she wouldn’t feel safe in her own home. I already do, she wrote. Then she refused to engage again, even though he kept texting her, and what he said grew steadily worse until he was screaming obscenities at her in all caps.
“What’s the matter?”
At the sound of Dallas’s voice, Emery shoved her phone in her back pocket.
“What is it?” he said when she didn’t answer.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I—I have a headache—that’s all. I’ll have to get in bed early tonight.”
He walked over and lifted his hand to feel her forehead. But while she was distracted by that, he used his other hand to reach around and grab her phone.
“Dallas, don’t,” she said, but he wouldn’t listen. His eyebrows came together as he read her exchange with Ethan. She’d changed the name attached to Ethan’s contact record to Voldemort, but the context of the conversation made it easy enough to identify him.
“This bastard doesn’t know when to quit,” he muttered, sounding incredulous, and the next thing she knew, he hit Call.
“Dallas, no. I don’t want to drag you into anything. You’ve got enough going on,” she said, and tried to take her phone away, but he easily fended her off.
“Hello? Is this Ethan Grimes? My name is Dallas Turner. I’m a friend of Emery’s, and I need you to understand something... If you ever lift a finger to hurt her again, you’ll have to answer to me, not her. Do you understand? So stop with the nasty insults and the threats—stop contacting her at all—or you’ll be the one who’s sorry.”
He hit the red button to disconnect the call and handed her back her phone. “Don’t let that asshole upset you.”
She gaped at him, wondering how Ethan was going to respond to that.
Her phone buzzed. Ethan.
Who just called me? Are you seeing someone else already? Tell that bastard I’m not afraid of him.
You should be, she wrote back.
“What’s he saying now?” Dallas reached for her phone again, but she was afraid the two would wind up having a serious conflict if she allowed this to escalate.
“Nothing,” she said and was relieved when Aiyana walked in.
“You’re finally back?” she said to Dallas, distracting him.
“Just pulled in.”
“Did everything go okay in Santa Barbara?”
“It did.”
“Thanks for going.” She put down her purse and crossed to the fridge. “What should we do for dinner?”
“It’s my turn to cook,” Emery announced. “I was going to make stuffed bell peppers—a recipe of my mother’s—if you think the boys will eat it.”
“The boys will eat anything,” Aiyana said.
“Then you go rest—or do whatever you need to do to keep the wedding on track. I’ll call everyone when the food’s ready.”
“Really?” she said gratefully.
Emery smiled in spite of her recent exchange with Ethan. “Really.”
“Thank you,” Aiyana said. “That’s very nice.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Aiyana looked at her son. “I still don’t have all of my Christmas decorations up. Maybe I’ll take this opportunity to finish. Dallas, would you mind lifting a few things down for me in the garage?”
“Of course not.” He walked out with his mother as Emery got the groceries she’d brought home out of the fridge. She made some good progress on the meal, but after about fifteen minutes, she couldn’t help taking another peek at her phone.
Ethan hadn’t typed another word.
* * *
Her mother needed more money. Already. The request came via text after dinner, when the boys were helping Aiyana finish decorating for Christmas in the living room and Emery was doing the dishes. Connie was probably humiliated that she had to ask yet again, and it was easier to type such an unwelcome entreaty than to ask over the phone. She did add that a better offer would be coming from Emery’s father soon—that she’d been promised as much by her attorney—but after talking to Marvin, Emery wasn’t convinced it would be significantly improved.
Sure, I’ll Venmo you another couple hundred. It’s no problem.