Page 19 of Emmett

“Do you have something you’d like to say to me?” I ask.

“Nash,” Colt warns, and it makes the corner of my mouth twitch.

“Well?”

I watch the kid’s chest rise and fall with heavier breaths and his index finger starts to pick at the skin at the side of his thumb, which is already red and irritated, as if this is a frequent habit of his.

He sets his sharp jaw, turning toward me, and he levels his gaze to mine.

Honey-colored eyes; just like his father’s.

“Sorry,” he barks.

I can’t help myself. “Sorry for…?”

“That’s enough.” Colt places his hands down onto the top of his desk and stands, pushing his chair out behind him. “I can handle this. You’ve brought it to my attention, now leave.”

Satisfied with successfully getting under his skin, I lift myself from the seat and bend down until my face is mere inches from his son’s ear.

“Nothing?” I push.

“Nash,” Colt hisses. “Leave.”

Come on, kid, give mesomethingto work with. Where’s your fucking fire?

When he doesn’t respond or so much as glare at me, I straighten with a disappointed sigh and pull my wrist up to check the time on my Rolex before slipping out of the door and down the hall toward the building’s exit.

I think I’ll be making another visit soon.

EIGHT

Emmett

I shouldn’t be here right now. Anyone could come home.

A loud bark sounds off at the opposite side of the house when I push the front door open, and Zipper flies down the main hall ready to attack until he realizes that it’s just me standing in his space. He greets me with whines and a wagging tail, and I crouch down to scratch him behind the ears, kissing him on his furry cheek before I stand again.

“Hello?” I call out to no one in particular.

I know no one’s here. I came here from the office, where I physically saw Dad and Rowan working with my own two eyes. I’m being paranoid.

Making my way through the main floor of the house, I move for the stairs that lead up to the second story with Zipper following closely behind me while I head for the farthest hall closet. My dad’s house is pristine ninety-nine percent of the time, everywhere except for this closet. This closet is the island of misfit junk, where mess goes to die.

“Alright, where are you?”

I sit on the ground and dig out box after box of things that probably could have gone in the trash four years ago, but for some reason, they’re still hanging on. It takes me ten minutes to finally pull out the box that I’m looking for; wornaround the edges and looking as if it might fall apart if I tug on it too hard. The label on it reads EMMETT 0-16.

Pulling the cardboard flaps open, I dig inside, pulling out photos and other little trinkets that my dad kept over the years. There are so many pictures in here you would think that we lived above a photo development kiosk. He must have dropped off a new roll of film twice a week. I skim through a few of the photos, many of which have Anna in them, probably because so many of the ones with just Dad and I in them are set out throughout his house.

Beneath layers and layers of memories sits an old camcorder, still in great condition for its age. I’ve seen it about a million times before and asked about it a million times more than that, but I was never allowed to touch it. This entire box was always strictly off-limits to me until I hit twenty-one; then I guess Dad figured I was old enough to decide for myself if I wanted to know what was inside.

I stopped asking about the box somewhere around eighteen, finally deciding that whatever was inside was ultimately none of my business. If he’d been keeping it from me, he probably had good reason to, and I didn’t need to dig out whatever secrets lurked inside of it.

But now…I need answers.

Zipper sniffs at me, pressing his nose against my bicep as if to tell me that I know better; or that I should turn back now. I set the camcorder on the floor next to me and carefully shove the box back into its place, burying it once again beneath the rest of its buddies.

I give Zipper a scratch behind the ear before grabbing the small device and heading back out of the house, hoping that I left no trace behind of my visit.