Any Other Girl (9 page)

Harper.

I tore my eyes away from Emmett's back and glanced over at her. She stood right next to me with her arms crossed, glaring at Sawyer like he was dog crap under her shoe.

“You should probably leave now, Sawyer,” she said, “before I decide to practice my soccer skills on your balls.”

Sawyer moved his lower jaw back and forth, testing its mobility, then shot me a glare as he passed. “Nice catching up with you, Kat,” he said before disappearing around the trailer.

“Likewise,” I muttered, suddenly wishing I'd knocked out a few of his teeth. He was yet another familiar summer thing that had changed without my knowledge.

Harper lifted my right hand to inspect it for damage. “Are you okay?” she asked when I flinched.

“Yeah, I just need to ice it.”

“We saw you punch him,” she said with a small smile. “It was awesome.”

Emmett nodded in agreement. “It didn't look like you needed any help defending yourself, but I had to step in, Kat. I thought he was about to hit you.”

I noticed then how pale he was, his eyes wide and glittering with anger. “I'm okay,” I told him, and his shoulders dropped a little, like some of the tension had been lifted.

Back at the lake, Harper dropped Emmett off first and then came inside my cottage with me.

Pop was sprawled out on the couch, watching the local news on our clunky old TV that only got three channels. At least he wasn't writing. “How was the carnival?” he asked, sitting up.

“Very exciting,” Harper said.

Pop raised his eyebrows, waiting for more, so I said, “Remember Sawyer Bray?”

“The skinny kid you ran around with last summer?”

I proceeded to tell him an abbreviated, PG version of the altercation. Still, in spite of my careful editing, his face turned a furious red.

“That little shit,” he said when I finished. “I should have him arrested right now.”

“Pop, he didn't hurt me,” I said, sitting beside him on the couch.

“
She
hurt
him
,” Harper added proudly.

I showed him my right hand, which had started swelling, and his eyes lit up with approval. “Good girl,” he said, hugging me. “But if he ever bothers you again, I
will
have him arrested.”

I hugged him back, remembering the expression of shock mixed with pain on Sawyer's face when I'd hit him and the quiet-but-deadly tone in Emmett's voice when he threatened to finish him off. Pop had nothing to worry about.

chapter 12

D
ad had much the same reaction as Pop when he saw my swollen knuckles, but he wasn't the type to sit back and wait for a better excuse to act, like Pop. He didn't have Sawyer arrested, but he did disappear for about forty-five minutes on Friday night, shortly after he arrived at the cottage and heard about what had happened. He claimed he was going to the store for milk, but he returned home empty-handed and slightly flushed. I wondered briefly if there was a bruise in the shape of Dad's fist hidden somewhere on Sawyer Bray's body.

Our first night at the carnival may have ended on a low note, but the rest had been a total success. While I was off with Sawyer, Harper had managed to make some decent progress with Emmett.

“He spent twenty dollars trying to win me a teddy bear in the target shooting game,” she told me Thursday night during an impromptu sleepover in my room. “He didn't, but it was fun watching him try. And when I hurt my neck on the bumper cars, he kind of rubbed it for me for a minute. God, he's adorable.”

Hearing my cousin gush about a guy was such a rare occurrence, I couldn't help but giggle at her exuberance. She and Emmett were both so shy, summer would probably be half over before they even got around to holding hands. But even if it never went beyond that, I was happy to see Harper so happy. My last thought before I drifted off to sleep was that I still needed to thank Emmett for being so nice to my cousin and for standing up for me. Maybe he wasn't as grouchy and antisocial as I'd originally thought.

I didn't run into him at all on Friday, so early on Saturday morning, while Harper was off at soccer practice, I headed to his cottage to thank him and invite him to go to the carnival with us again later. This time, I'd stick with them instead of going off with some guy I thought I knew but clearly didn't.

As I knocked on Emmett's door, I mentally prepared myself for another wet-and-shirtless sighting. Instead, a very petite blonde in a bathrobe answered my knock and I was saved from acting like a blushing moron.

“Hi,” I said to the woman who was obviously Emmett's mother. They had the exact same eyes—big and cobalt blue, the irises rimmed with black. “I'm Kat Henley. I live in the little beige cottage up that way.” I pointed to my left, but her eyes didn't stray from my face. “I was wondering if I could talk to Emmett.”

She smiled at me, and her grin was just like Emmett's, too—sudden and transforming. “So you're Kat,” she said, opening the screen door to get a better look at me. “My, my. You
are
pretty.”

The way she said it, with the emphasis on the
are
, made me think she was confirming something she'd heard someone else say.
Emmett?
I wondered, feeling my cheeks go warm. So I was going to act like a blushing moron after all.

“Emmett's not here,” she went on. “He was gone when I got up this morning. Sometimes he runs at the crack of dawn.” She reached up to cover her mouth as she yawned. “You're welcome to come in and wait for him. He shouldn't be long. Do you like coffee?”

She seemed too nice and friendly to be the same woman I'd heard participating in a screaming match with her husband just two weeks before. “I do,” I said, “but my dad doesn't like me to drink it. He thinks it'll stunt my growth or something.”

She laughed and peered down at her small frame. “Maybe he's right.”

We made small talk for another minute or so and then I turned to leave. “I'll come back later,” I told her. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Reese.”

“Holly,” she said, smiling again.

I nodded, even though it would be a while before I ever called her that. I'd been raised to address adults as Mr. or Mrs. Or Dr., in the case of Nate's father.

Speaking of Nate, I hadn't seen him all week except at a distance while sitting on my dock. I didn't
want
to see him, so I cut through the woods instead of taking the road so I wouldn't have to pass by his cottage. Besides, maybe I'd run into Emmett (figuratively this time) on my way through.

He was gone when I got up this morning
, his mom had said. I wondered why he left the cottage so early when his parents were quiet and asleep, when running was what he did to escape their fighting, to clear his mind. Unless he'd left when they'd
started
fighting and stayed away all night, it didn't make much sense.

An idea hit me then. A memory. I stopped in my tracks and spun around, trying to get my bearings. When I did, I doubled back and headed in the opposite direction.

It took me a few minutes to remember exactly where I'd seen that small blue tent last weekend during my morning ATV ride. I knew it was near the brook, but I wasn't sure how far down. Maybe, I thought, it wasn't even there anymore.

But it was. Following my own tire tracks, I spotted a flash of blue through the trees after about twenty minutes of searching. I approached the tent cautiously and loudly, making sure its occupant heard me coming. Even if it was just Emmett in there as I suspected and not some machete-wielding weirdo, sneaking up on him seemed like a really bad idea.

I stepped out of the trees into the clearing, then moved toward the brook until there was a good ten feet between me and the tent. If it turned out to be a serial killer in there after all, I needed space to run. “Emmett?” I called softly.

There was a rustling sound inside the tent, and a few seconds later the entrance flapped open and Emmett's head appeared. “Kat?” he said, seeing me. “Jesus, I thought you were a bear.”

I walked toward him, relieved that my hunch had proved correct. “Roar?” I said, grinning.

“What are you doing here?” He unzipped the opening all the way and climbed out. Luckily, he was fully dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. “And how did you know I was here?”

“Wild guess?” I said. Telling him I'd seen the tent on my ride last week and then put two-and-two together would mean admitting that I rode an ATV. And admitting that would surely lead to his figuring out exactly who the psycho was who'd almost run him down in the woods a couple weeks ago.

“Did you follow me here or what?” he asked warily.

“No, Emmett, I'm not a stalker. I went to your cottage first and your mom—she's really nice, by the way—told me you were gone when she woke up. Then I remembered seeing this tent here a few days ago and thought it might be yours.” I peeked into the open tent and saw a sleeping bag, pillows, a blanket, a small cooler, a flashlight, and a large stack of books. From the looks of things, he spent quite a bit of time there. “Do you sleep here every night?” I asked.

“No, not every night. Only when it's . . . noisy.”

I nodded in understanding, then looked around his little oasis. Halfway between the tent and the brook, at a safe distance from the overhanging trees, stood the charred remnants of a campfire. I pictured him sitting out here at night, the soft gurgling of the brook and the mesmerizing flames of the fire lulling him into a state of utter peace. No yelling, no bickering, no demands. No wonder he preferred this tiny space in the wilderness over being stuck in a cottage with his parents.

“Emmett, I wanted to—”

“Wait a sec.” He ducked back into the tent and brought out the blanket, which he doubled up and spread out on the ground. “You can sit down, if you want. Sorry, I've never had company here before. Unless you count the squirrel who keeps trying to steal my snacks.”

I smiled as I lowered myself to kneel on the blanket. It was soft and smelled like wood smoke. Emmett sat a couple feet away from me, facing the brook with his arms dangling off his raised knees.

“As I was saying,” I said. “I wanted to thank you for the other night. At the carnival.”

He glanced at me. “I didn't really do anything.”

“Yes, you did. You hung out with Harper and then you defended me from Sawyer.”

“You don't need to thank me for hanging out with Harper,” he said, pitching a stone into the brook. “We had a lot of fun.”

“She really likes you,” I said without thinking.

“I know. Well, I suspected, anyway.”

“Do you like her too? I mean, Harper's great, and I'm not just saying that because she's my cousin.”

“She is great, and I do like her.” Agitated, he shoved his fingers through his tousled morning hair. “Just not . . . that way.”

My heart plummeted. How could I tell Harper this? And why couldn't I just come right out and ask him if he preferred boys?

“And as for defending you or whatever,” he continued, turning toward me. “I just did what any guy would've done.”

I dropped down on my butt and folded my legs crisscross style. “Not any guy,” I said. A lot of guys wouldn't have gotten in the way of someone who was bigger and possibly stronger than they were. He'd done it without even thinking about it, like it was second nature. Like it was his job.

I bit my lip, gathering the courage to ask what I'd been wondering ever since I saw the unyielding resolve in his stance that night, like he gladly would've taken the brunt of whatever Sawyer had in store for me. And how strongly he'd felt about trying to intervene. “I got the feeling you've done that before,” I said carefully. “Shielded someone from possibly getting hit.”

He picked up a small stick and started scraping it across the ground like he'd done at the last bonfire, the same night he told me about his parents. “Once,” he replied. “But I wasn't big enough.”

“How old were you?”

He threw the stick down and looked at me. The vulnerability in his face confirmed what I'd suspected: his parents' fights hadn't always been just verbal. “I was ten.”

My mind flashed on an image of his tiny, delicate-looking mother. She was like a porcelain doll, easily breakable. “What happened?”

He faced forward again, his jaw twitching. “We had this neighbor, a single guy. Really friendly. My dad was paranoid and didn't like it when my mom talked to him. One day he came home and this guy was in our back yard, helping my mom move a heavy stone planter. That's all it was,” he added, turning to me again, his gaze steady. “I was there.”

I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

“Anyway . . . my dad waited until she came inside, and then he flipped. My brother was thirteen then and sometimes he was able to distract him. Snap him out of it. Dad never hit us. Only her.” Emmett picked up the stick again, stabbing it into the earth. “But Wes wasn't around that day, so it was just me. I stepped between them like he always did, but it wasn't enough. My dad got to her anyway.”

Picturing this scene made me shudder. “Why does she stay with him?”

“I don't know. She loves him, she says. Believes he can change.” He tossed the stick in the water. “And he
has
changed, I guess. He hasn't hit her in years . . . not since my brother outgrew him and became an effective deterrent. Now that he's gone, it's up to me. My dad knows that if he ever hit her again, I'd kill him.”

I studied Emmett for a moment, my gaze tracing the long line of his shoulders, the firm, taut muscles in his arms and legs. He may not have been as burly and intimidating as Sawyer, or Dad, or even his own father, but he could definitely hold his own. “You're big enough now,” I said softly.

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, tightlipped smile and he shook his head. “What is it about you that makes me want to spill my guts? I mean, I practically just met you, and you already know more about me than some of my closest friends.”

“I've been told I'm that kind of person. The one you want to tell your secrets to.” I shrugged and smiled back at him, grateful to move on to lighter conversation. “And besides, summer friends are different from regular friends. Have you ever gone to sleep-away camp? It's like that. You're around each other all day, eat together, see each other in swimsuits . . . Familiarity bonds you faster. No secrets.”

“No secrets, huh?” he said slowly. “Okay, then. You tell one to me. For instance, where did you learn to punch like that?”

I clenched my still-sore hand. “My dads made me take boxing lessons when I was twelve so I could learn how to defend myself. Turned out I really liked it, so I stuck it out for three years.”

“So you can play soccer, box, and make pompoms out of a magazine. What other talents are you hiding?”

No secrets, was it? All right then, he asked for it. I hunched my shoulders and said, “I can ride an ATV.”

He stared right into my eyes, and I could almost see the pieces clicking into place in his head.

“No,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You. On an ATV. Nope, I don't believe you.”

“Believe it,” I told him. “It's true. I usually ride early in the morning . . . in the woods . . .”

He shook his head again, quickly, like he was trying to dislodge the shocking revelation from his brain. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just tell me that.”

“Okay,” I said. “But it's still true. No secrets, remember?”

“Some secrets are never meant to be revealed.”

The sun began poking through the trees then, and I took it as my cue to stand up. Emmett stood up too, and I helped him shake out the blanket and then fold it, each of us taking two corners.

“So, tonight,” I said when our corners met up. “We're going to the carnival again. Do you want to come with us?”

He looked down at me. Our bodies were only inches apart, and I could smell the wood smoke on his shirt. “It depends,” he said, raising his eyebrows.