I shoved our leftovers into the fridge and sat down again. She glanced at me every minute, fixated on my lips like she wanted to kiss me. At this point, neither of us pretended to watch the movie.
I opened up Candy Crush, because I needed to do something with my hands or I’d cover her body with mine and kiss her until her lips bruised. She pulled out her sketchpad and shaded in a design.
The night continued like that. I moved up ten levels. She watched John Wick while sketching fashion designs on her pad. Really, I had no reason to be here other than the penthouse was empty and I enjoyed Emery’s company.
There.
I said it.
So fucking what?
When the movie ended, she set aside her designs, pulled her knees to her chest, and asked, “What is up with you and Candy Crush?”
I swiped up, obliterating the level. She waited for me to respond, burning the side of my face with her attention.
I considered my answer, but Dad thought of her as family, which meant she deserved the truth. “Dad used to play it during his treatments. We’d sit side-by-side, trying to beat levels before the other. It distracted him from the needles pumping shit into his arms.”
“Like chemo?”
“No.” I set the phone down and studied her, content to watch her watch me. “It doesn’t eat away at your health like chemo. In fact, it made him better. Healthier. Sturdy when he worked. Kept the heart running great. But the drugs were delivered intravenously and, judging from the noises in the clinic, painfully.”
Her front teeth pierced her lower lip. A coat of liquid brimmed her eyes. So fierce, yet so gentle. Typical Emery, longest claws and the biggest heart. “I wish Hank had told me and Reed.”
“So you two could suffer, too? Never.” I shook my head, remembering how Ma, Dad, and I barely made it work at times. “Ma held it together by a thread most times. She didn't want Reed to suffer that, and Dad didn't want you two to think of him as weak.”
“I love Hank and Betty, but it was selfish. We deserved to know each moment with him could have been our last. I could have treated him better.”
“You treated him the best, Tiger. He knew that.”
I swallowed down the idea of her taking Reed’s side on this, of possibly being involved in the embezzlement, though I now had my doubts. She had loyalty to Gideon, but she also had loyalty to us.
“Look,” I added, taking in the watery blue and grey eyes, “his illness wasn’t contagious, but it spread from him to Ma to me. His heartbeats could be fucking useless. I felt the drag of my heartbeat each time I took a punch for him. Ma felt it each time she worked double shifts. For all my life, I fucking felt it. We stopped it from infecting you and Reed. You think it wasn't my choice to make, and you’re right. It was Dad’s, because if his heart hadn't killed him, watching two of his favorite people suffer for him would have.”
That’s the thing about getting sick. You don’t suffer alone. You suffer with the people you love, which is too much fucking suffering.
Emery accepted my answer. The silence didn’t bother me, mostly because I knew she liked it.
Always had.
“What’s with the charities?” she asked ten minutes into the second John Wick. “Why do you volunteer at soup kitchens?”
I do it to ease the guilt. I burned that fucking ledger, thought I could use the info to build my company and save my dad, and I ended up too late. Life and regret are my punishments. Giving away every piece of me is my penance.
“Penance,” I offered without elaborating.
Her eyes flicked to my tattoo, visible under my tee. The tip of her tongue peeked past her lips. It darted back inside. “What sins are you atoning for, Nash?”
“Stay in your lane, Tiger.”
“Let’s play a game.” She tucked her legs beneath her ass, leaning closer to me.
“Let’s not.”
“Truth or Dare?”
I shot her a look, knowing which she wanted me to pick and choosing the opposite. “Dare.”
“I dare you to pick Truth.”
“Jesus, do you ever follow the rules?”
“There are no rules. It’s Truth or Dare. Now say, Truth.”
“Truth,” I said for the sole reason of shutting her up, and not because she still had a tear trail on her cheek.
“How are you really feeling about your dad?” At my silence, she added, “You don’t have to answer if you don't want to.”
I toyed with a few words. “I don’t think there's a word for it.”
“Try me.”
“I can’t,” I ground out, “if the words don’t exist.”
“You want to know why I like words?”
I did, but I didn’t tell her that.
She continued, anyway, “I love words, because they're mine. Utterly, completely mine. I can share them with others. I can keep them to myself. I can use them over and over again. No matter what I do, they’ll always be mine. No one can take them from me. Want to know what the best part is?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“The existence of a word proves that someone in the history of humanity felt the same way I did and gave it a name. It means we’re not alone. If there’s a word for what we're feeling, we’re never alone.”
“Tell me how you feel about my dad.”
“Lacuna.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Lacuna is a blank space. A missing part.”
Bullseye.
I eyed the screen, where Keanu Reeves was running through New York City, bleeding out of every orifice.
When I didn’t answer, she asked, “Truth or dare?”
“Neither. You had your turn.”
“You didn’t answer the question.” She inched closer, wanting to know so much about me when no one ever did. “Truth or dare?”
“Just fucking ask the question.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I know you want to.”
“Why don’t you kiss?”
Everyone has had a piece of me. This is one I don't have to give away.
I could taste her breath. I turned my face, not because I didn’t want to be kissed, but because I did. That itself was a foreign feeling. Most people didn’t have shit I liked to hear, and the mouth was the biggest perpetrator of disappointment.
Kissing disgusted me.
But kissing Emery?
It didn’t.
Batshit, considering I’d stopped long ago. When I started the illegal underground fights, I came home with cuts and bruises I tried to hide under clothes. I’d cover for them by fighting at school, letting everyone assume they came from football tackles and field tussles.
The kiss thing started because my body would get too bruised to be touched. It transformed into a general disdain for people touching me. Why the fuck would I let someone I couldn’t stand touch me?
“I kissed you, didn’t I?” I shot back, keeping it light.
“Yeah, you did.” Her eyes dipped to my lips, holding the heavy gaze. She smiled suddenly and stretched, standing up. “I have to go. The bus leaves soon.”
“This again. It's late and dark. I’m taking you home.”
“I’m going to Eastridge.” She popped a brow. “You’ll take me to Eastridge?”