Page 28 of For Emery

Soft jazz music and the scent of vanilla and hazelnut welcomed us into the coffee house. We stepped up to the counter, and the barista I knew from parties at my house greeted us, her eyes curiously jumping between Emery and me. “Hey, Grady, what can I get ya?”

“I’ll have an iced coffee.” I looked to Emery. “Do you still like frozen hot chocolate?”

She shook her head. “I got sick after drinking one.” She looked to the barista. “I’ll just have an iced coffee with extra cream and sugar.”

I hated that I didn’t know that. Hated that there was so much I didn’t know about her anymore.

“Eight dollars and sixty-eight cents,” the barista said.

I handed over a ten. “Keep the change.”

“Still a big spender, I see,” Emery teased.

“Only the best for you.”

“Well, thanks.”

I waited for our order while Emery found a table in the corner. I picked up our drinks and joined her. “So, Emery Larson…” I said, placing her drink down before sitting across from her.

She nodded. “It was important for me to keep my first name. I’ve always loved that it was different, but not so different that there weren’t others with it.”

“Only two on this campus,” I assured her.

She smirked, well aware I’d been stalking her.

“And your last name?” I asked.

She pulled her drink closer and sipped out of the straw. “No one can know about my past, Jordan. We still worry he’ll find us.”

I nodded, understanding her circumstances. “He moved away not long after you did.”

“We heard. We were so scared he’d found us but instead he went off the grid.”

“I’m happy you got away from him.”

She nodded. “It was so hard to leave.” Something I couldn’t quite read shone in her eyes before they lowered to the table. “I lost so much more than just my identity when we left.”

There was no reason for her to say it. We both knew the truth. She’d lost me when she left. She’d lost the protection I provided. She lost the friend I’d always been to her.

“My mother wouldn’t let me contact you.” Her eyes lifted, gauging my reaction to her words.

“You were never someone to listen to your mother,” I countered.

“She left him for me. I had to do it for her.” The pain in her eyes, four years later, conveyed the depth of her situation. “She worried he was monitoring your social media and texts. You know, to find us.”

I’d never considered that. I let that knowledge set in. Her stepdad had been tech savvy. Had she contacted me via phone or Internet, chances were he would’ve traced the contact point. He would’ve found them because of me. “I worried something happened to you.”

Regret blanketed her features. “I knew you would. I tried to think of ways to contact you. But in the end, I knew I’d be the reason he found us. And all my mother gave up for me would’ve been for nothing because of me.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Arizona.”

“So, why are you here now?”

Her eyes recaptured that spark I once knew so well. “We used to talk about me coming here to watch you play. Remember?”

I nodded.

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