Page 98 of For Emery

Emery

I stood outside Jordan’s front door, my knuckles tentatively raised to it. He hadn’t called me the previous night. I hadn’t expected him to. But since he had no phone, and he hadn’t shown up to his morning classes, he left me no choice. He’d stalked me when I arrived on campus. I was returning the favor.

I knocked on the door and rang the doorbell in case music played inside and he couldn’t hear me. I turned around, watching students hurrying to their afternoon classes as I waited. I understood why he wouldn’t want to attend his classes. I could only imagine the looks and whispers that would surround him. But what would he do at home? I worried the time alone would only hurt him more.

The door swung open.

I twisted around, disappointed to find Jordan’s roommate Abbott standing there and not Jordan. “Is he here?”

Abbott didn’t make eye contact with me. “No.”

I peeked around him inside the house. “Do you know where he is?”

He shifted his hip, as if to block my view. “Nope.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked, peeking around his other side.

He shifted his other hip. “Nope.”

“Can I wait?”

His eyes widened. “That’s not a good idea.”

I crossed my arms and pegged him with my eyes. “Why not?”

“Because…” His eyes lifted, as if searching for the next lie he intended to pull out of thin air. “I’ve got practice.”

I cocked my head. “Do you think I’m gonna steal something?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Listen, I get that he doesn’t want to see me. But tell him I’ll be back. And when I return, he better be ready to talk to me.”

Abbott tucked his guilty lips and said nothing.

I spun away from him and headed back to my dorm knowing what I feared was true. Jordan did blame me.

Grady

My fists were numb, but I couldn’t stop. I needed this outlet. I needed to get the rage out, just as much as I needed the rock music pounding through my body. It helped the previous night. It needed to keep working or I had no idea what I’d do.

The music switched off.

The only thing I could hear was my panting and the thuds of my fists pounding against the dull leather.

“Enough!”

I stopped punching and turned to see Abbott coming down the basement steps. “What?”

“Go take a shower. You’ve been down here long enough.”

“You my mother now?”

“This isn’t helping anything.”

I grabbed a towel from a nearby stool and wiped my face. “Says who?”

“Says the guy who doesn’t wanna see you break your fingers or wrist.”

---