Page 14 of Emmett
“You can go back to bed,” he nods, his voice low and gentle, like the tone he used to use when I was little and needed comforting. Suddenly, I feel like I’m five years old again, asking my dad if I can sleep in his room because I had a bad dream. “I’ll be right here.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, then I drag my feet across the floor, forcing them to pull me to my actual bed instead of the couch that I’ve been living on for the past eighteen days.
My head barely hits the pillow before I crash, the sound of glass and metal clinking beyond the door playing through the room.
The sound of my dad cleaning up my mess.
•
The morning sun pours into my room from the window above my bed for the first time in weeks. Dad must have opened it after I came back in here yesterday. I reach to mynightstand for my phone, which he must have plugged in for me. It’s seven in the morning; I haven’t been up before one in so long, it feels like I should go back to bed.
I pull myself from my soft blankets and move at a snail’s pace out of the room with my head feeling as if it’s been run over by a steam roller. Slowly. A couple of times.
More sunlight streams in through the rest of the now-open windows in the house, illuminating the life that I had kept in the dark and forgotten about. My living room is completely spotless with not a single piece of trash to be seen, the fresh scent of detergent hangs in the air, and a brand new microfiber couch sits in place of my old one, calling my name. I settle into one of the deep blue cushions and let out a satisfied sigh.
Not even ten minutes later, my front door opens to my dad walking into the living room with several shopping bags looped over his arm.
“Good, you’re awake,” he says. He reaches into one of the bags he’s toting with him and digs out a tupperware container. “Rowan sent breakfast. With extra bacon.”
I gratefully pluck the container from his hands and take it over to the kitchen island, where I take a seat and dig into my meal. While I eat, Dad starts to unload the bags that he brought with him, almost all of the contents being fresh produce and meat that isn’t out of a plastic package or a box.
“What’s all that?”
“Everything green in your refrigerator had gone brown, bud,” he tells me with a soft chuckle.
He continues unpacking the groceries that he brought over, working as he goes to put them away while I eat. Once everything is unloaded and where it belongs, his hand comesdown onto my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Go on and get dressed, you’re coming into the office today.”
“Dad—”
“Even if it’s just for an hour or two,” he insists, “you need to get out of this house, stay sober, anddosomething.”
I sigh, knowing I won’t win this fight. When my dad digs his heels in on something, that’s the end of it. And part of me feels like I owe him after everything he just did for me – for everything he’salwaysdone for me.
After dropping my dishes into the sink, I head back toward my bedroom and dig some clothes out of my dresser. I might concede to going into the office, but I’ll be damned if I’m wearing a full suit. Instead, I throw a blazer over a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and I call that a win. They’re clean, they look alright paired together, and they’re not wrinkled. That’s the best that I can offer today.
•
Being in the office feels weird, like I’m new here all over again, or like I’m not even supposed to be here at all, but I push through the feeling and make my way toward my office, keeping my head down and hoping that no one tries to start up a conversation with me.
Settling into my chair, I turn on my computer and open my email browser, which shows over a hundred and fifty emails missed since I was last here. Today is going to be a busy – and boring – day. I’m fine with boring, and honestly I’m a little thankful for the busy part, too. The more that I can distract myself, the better.
“Coffee delivery!” Rowan sings as the pushes through the cracked door and moves to take a seat on the edge of my desk.
She sets the hot paper cup down in front of me and fixes me with an unreadable look.
“Are you doing okay?”
“No,” I chuckle, answering honestly. “But I’m here. Did Dad…?”
She shakes her head. “Mm-mm. If you want me to know, you’ll tell me. He just said you were in a rough spot.”
Slipping off of my desk, she pulls her phone from her pocket and punches in her password before walking over toward me.
“Things you missed while you were out sick,” she announces as she shoves the phone into my face. Her younger sister smiles at me from the screen, holding up each of her hands in a peace sign. Next to her is a series of jars and a large poster board with photos glued all over it. “Mace entered the science fair with one of her little projects,” she tells me. “She absolutely killed it, too.”
As she talks, running me through the office and family events that I missed, I catch a glimpse of Nash Montgomery walking through the building. His chest is puffed up as he lumbers down the hall and his pair of half-pint goons follow closely behind him.
His eyes lock onto mine as the three of them pass by my door while he unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and rolls up the sleeve. It’s almost like a ritual; instead of pulling on a suit of armor to prepare for battle, he takes some off to display the power he holds just in his arms alone. He doesn’t need the armor, and he wants everyone to know that.