set the tray down onto the table with a flourish. “I’ve got it. Let me take care of you, Emmalyn. Something tells me very few people have ever bothered to do that.”
“To do what?”
I slide out a chair for her and help her into it. “Take care of you.” She blushes as she sits, and I help scoot her into the table.
“What makes you say that?”
“Just a feeling I get.” I grab two waters from my outdoor fridge and join her. “Am I wrong?”
She drops her eyes to her plate and pokes at the fruit with her fork. “I guess you’re right.”
“You deserve to be taken care of.” I almost gag at the saccharine words leaving my mouth. But I also kind of mean them.
She pops a grape into her mouth and chews it thoughtfully. “I think I do okay taking care of myself.” She scrunches her nose. “Most days at least.”
“Your mom isn’t there for you?” I ask, already knowing the answer. I’m fairly certain if you looked up gold digger in the dictionary, Sarah Pearson’s picture would be printed beside the definition.
“Um. Well.” She sets her fork down and wraps her arms around herself. “She... her marriage... when everything came to a head, she decided her status meant more than my suffering.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Suffer?”
Emmalyn laughs uncomfortably. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“It’s a fairly simple question.” I’m not sure what I’m hoping to gain here, but I keep pushing, hoping for a crack, a fissure, some kind of chink in her armor.
“Yes.” She whispers the word with her eyes still downcast. “Every day.”
My heart clenches at the pure sorrow in her tone. It constricts at the hurt, the agony—and then, because I’m a sick bastard, it beats a little faster.
“As you probably know, talking to someone can help. Have you... do you talk to someone about your... trauma?”
“I do.” She frowns. “Well, I did. I haven’t found a therapist here. I do a video call with my old one sometimes, though.”
“You should find someone here. I can make a few suggestions, if you want.”
“Um. Sure. That... that’d be great.”
I want to smile, but I know it’ll be all teeth and far from charming, so I bite down on my lower lip and suppress the urge. “And in the meantime, you’re welcome to talk to me. You know, if you want.”
Emmalyn pushes her plate away, still mostly full, and I worry I’ve pushed her too far.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to.”
“No, it’s...” She trails off. “I think I’d like that, but maybe you could talk to me, too. Open up to me a little? I’ve known you since I was eight, but you’re still virtually a stranger to me.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal, little mouse.”
“Why do you call me that?”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “At first, because you were always so scared. Now though, it’s because I think you’re brave.”
“That literally makes no sense,” she says, laughing. The melodious sound brushes against my skin like a warm caress.
“Makes sense to me.”
“So, what now?”
“Coffee with a view? You know, since I inadvertently owe you one.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I am always down for coffee.”
“Be right back.”
Back inside, I can’t help but smile as I make our coffee. The thought of her opening up to me is exhilarating. The very idea of Emmalyn sharing her secrets with me, of her freely giving me the very ammunition I’ve been searching for... it’s almost too much to bear.
On the flip side, our little heart-to-hearts could also be the thing that proves her innocence.
I guess only time will tell.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emmy
While Sterling makes coffee, I wander from the table over to the set of chaise lounges on the far end of the deck. Seriously, who knew townhomes had decks this size?
I hesitate for a moment before lowering myself down onto one, reclining myself against the back to enjoy the view.
Fog is slowly descending, both in the air and my mind. Being here, seeing this side of him, has me second-guessing everything.
Is this all a game? I was positive of it a few days ago, but now... I’m not so sure. I know the smart thing to do is to guard my heart, but I find myself wanting to carve it from my chest and offer it up—whole, bloody, and still beating—on a platter for him.
Stupid girl.
But that’s what men like Sterling do. They make level-headed girls do idiotic things. They don’t just break hearts, they fracture souls, all