Page 21 of Fixing Emilee

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from his best friend,” I say. My body finally starts to relax.

“Want something to drink? I think we should let him rest a little bit longer. He hasn’t been sleeping very well over the last couple of weeks,” he says, pointing into the room where we can see Parker still fast asleep.

Nodding, I follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen. “What would you like?” He asks, going to the fridge and pulling open the door.

“Wonder if it’s too late for coffee?” I accidentally say out loud.

“Holy fuck, you are the female version of that caffeine fiend upstairs,” Zak says as his shoulders start to shake with the laughter coming out of him.

“What makes you say that? But seriously, do you have any coffee?” I ask.

“Parker can drink that nasty shit all day, and the caffeine never bothers him.” He turns around, rolling his eyes before turning back toward the window. “Sure I do...” He’s cut off by the ringing of his phone. Pulling it out, he sighs, silencing it. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize if you need to answer it. I can make the coffee. Just point me in the direction of everything.”

Pulling his phone back out, he starts walking back out of the kitchen. “Thanks. Coffee is in the fridge’s bottom drawer, filters are on top of the coffee pot, and the sugar is right next to the pot. The cups are in the dish drainer. Help yourself to the milk or creamer. I won’t be long,” he says over his shoulder.

Finding everything quickly, I stand here, watching the coffee slowly drip into the pot. As soon as there is enough for a cup, I hurriedly pour some into a mug, taking a seat at the small square table in the middle of the room. I try hard not to listen to the hushed voice from the hallway.

“We can’t, Sammy,” Zak says, then sighs. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it go that far. If he finds out, he will kill me, and you know that.”

Sounds like Zak has himself in a bit of a pickle. His voice makes me jump when he raises it, almost yelling. “He’s your twin, Sammy, and one of my best friends. We can’t… please don’t make this harder on us both than what it is.” He pauses. “God, no, I would never use you like that… I… Well, shit, she hung up.”

Pushing the chair back, I refill my cup, catching sight of the time on the stove. It’s almost five. We have to get on the road soon, but I don’t want to wake Parker up. Turning around, I see Zak standing there with the saddest look on his face, staring at his phone. I jump, spilling hot coffee on myself, and he starts laughing. “Shit, shit, shit,” I say, putting the half-empty cup down and pulling the shirt away from my body. Looking around, I spot a towel hanging on the stove. I grab it, trying to get the coffee off Parker’s shirt.

“Next time, clear your fucking throat or something. That’s the second time you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry. I get that reaction a lot, especially from my mom,” he pulls out the chair opposite where I was sitting moments ago. He puts his elbows on the table, dropping his head in his hands.

“Want to talk about what has you looking like someone killed your kitten or puppy?” I sit down, giving up on trying to clean the shirt; at least it’s not burning my skin anymore.

“Not really. I’d rather talk about why you and Parker are at my house. What happened?” He drops his arms, looking me in the eyes.

“How much time do you have?” I ask, sighing because today was a shit show, to say the least.

“All day, sweetheart.” Smirking at me, he makes a big deal of getting comfortable in the chair.

“How much has he told you about what happened?” I need to know how far back I need to start this story.

Looking down, his face starts to turn red. Embarrassment, I assume, but I have no idea why he would be embarrassed. “Umm… he…” he stutters. Figuring he’s worried about upsetting me, I put the poor man out of his misery.

“Zak, it’s okay that he told you what was happening. He needed someone to talk to about it, and you are like a brother to him, or so he has told me. I ask because I need to know where in my story to start,” I say, throwing in a laugh for his benefit more than mine. I’m embarrassed that other people know about my situation and uncomfortable talking about it.

“He told me everything up to the point of you getting out of the hospital.”

“By the look on his face when he walked into class this morning, he didn’t know I would be there. He looked shocked, and it looked genuine.” I lean forward, wrapping my hands around the mug in front of me. I focus all my attention on the coffee, telling him everything that has happened since I ran out of English class this morning. He never interrupts me; hell, he never even moves from his relaxed position with his elbows resting on the back of the chair.

I, of course, leave out some parts because there is no way I’m telling him I had sex in his house. I finally pull my eyes up and look into his weird blueish-green ones when I finish. If I said I wasn’t worried about the emotions I would see in them, I would be lying. His eyes hold no pity or hate but hurt instead. Like he is physically injured by my words and feels all the emotions I just described.

We sit here staring at each other, neither daring to speak at first. The question bouncing around in my brain slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. “How broken was he?”

“Have you ever seen a small, malnourished, beaten puppy sitting in the rain?”

What the fuck? “Yes,” I answer, pulling my brows together in confusion.

Leaning his head back, he laughs and shakes the table. “Nothing like that.”

“Then why the fuck ask me that, Zak? To punish me worse by putting that image in my head? Do you not think the idea of him being hurt, sad, or worse, broken isn’t eating me up inside? Because if you do, you couldn’t be further from the truth. Knowing that you had a hand in hurting the one person you care about most in the world fucking sucks,” I spit out, swiping at the tears falling fast from my eyes.

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