The Righteous and The Wicked (23 page)

Eric drives away from his trailer at sunrise, looking for something he can’t quite find, a place he can’t quite remember. He slows once he emerges into the village, and discovers what he was searching for.

The bell rings as he enters the coffee shop. The sound reminds him of Emma’s wind chime and he smiles at the automatic thought. He steps to the counter and feels like a fool. He’s face-to-face with Christie, a victim he found in this very place.

The memory of her lips on his cock flashes across his mind. Because of his addiction, his body finds this vision arousing, but he hates himself for reacting this way. She sees him, and his former self is reflected in her eyes. It is sickening. He doesn’t want to be that man anymore.

“Hey, stranger,” she says.

Eric is polite, but cold. He orders breakfast and she flirts. She touches him and he can’t help but flirt back. It’s as if he’s floating above himself, watching the train wreck happen, but is powerless to stop it. The road to his recovery stretches before him, and he realizes that without Emma near, he falls back into his loathsome habits. He wants to get away, to return to her safe haven as soon as he can. Christie bags up his order and he wishes he could fly; he can’t get back to Emma fast enough.

He pulls onto their street and a white car passes him that he doesn’t recognize. The sunshine glares off the windshield and he can’t see the driver. The white car disappears in his rearview mirror, and he wonders who it could be, but as he pulls into his driveway, the thought drifts away from him.

He gets out of the Jeep and walks toward the trailer with a brown paper bag in his hand. It’s filled with bagels and pastries, and he smiles as he opens the front door, expecting to see sleeping Emma curled up in his bed. Instead, he finds it empty, and his heart sinks. He wonders why she would leave, and then a realization comes over him. He turns to run up the tree-lined path as fast as he can.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Emma answers the knock at the door. It’s Eric, and she says a silent prayer of gratitude.

She jumps up and hugs his neck. She thought the worst of his unexplained absence, and is thrilled she was wrong. Her physical craving for him is intense, but he has a firm hold on her heart now as well, and the feeling that this could all melt away at any moment scares her to death.

What she doesn’t know is that Eric feels the same way.

“Where did you go?”

“I just went to get us breakfast.” He sighs into her hair. “Don’t leave like that again.”

In this moment, Eric would like to assure her he’ll always be there and he’s not going to leave her like Aaron did, but that’s a promise he cannot make. They are walking a precarious line because of his addiction, and even though he’s progressing toward some semblance of recovery, he knows one day she will not be this happy to see him.

She looks up at him with watery eyes and he understands what she’s feeling because he feels it, too. The fear that this just can’t last. The looming unhappy ending that neither of them will acknowledge. After being with her, and being
there
with her, feeling her against his body and in his heart, finding his bed empty was crushing. He has kept his life free from bonds to others for a reason. The fewer people he has in his life, the less chance there is for hurt. Hurt done to him . . . or done
by
him. He’s well versed in keeping his selfish heart cold and unaffected by others, but Emma has changed him.

Eric makes coffee and slices bagels while Emma goes upstairs to change. He waits, but becomes impatient and looks for her. Her bedroom door is open a crack, and her back is to him. He watches her dress in the bright morning light. He sees her smooth back and the crease at the bottom of her plump, round cheeks . . .

The floorboard creaks and she startles.

“Sorry.” He looks like a bad little boy and enters the room uninvited. Emma watches him stare at her bed and he looks at her things while she dresses. He fondles a small snow globe that rests on her nightstand.

“What’s this?”

“Um, that was a gift . . . from Aaron.”

Eric sets it down. Even though he shouldn’t, he feels envious and almost angry. It’s a small thing, but it seems enormous to Eric. He walks out the door.

“Breakfast is ready,” he says over his shoulder.

The table is set, and Emma smiles at the small feast Eric has prepared. She sits with him and they begin to eat. Eric takes large bites of food, chewing and shaking his leg under the table.

“How did you know you were in love with Aaron?” He keeps his eyes on his food.

She’s thrown by the random question. “I’m not sure. I guess it was something that fell over me. It wasn’t like time stopped or anything, but once it was there it was like it hurt when he wasn’t beside me, and I guess that’s how I knew.”

Eric nods like he understands, and maybe he does.

“It hurt to be away from him, and it was like I was whole when he was there. So I guess that’s what love is—when someone completes you that way. Like that old myth of men and women being two halves of one being, but when that piece of you is gone forever it’s like your life ends. I never want to feel that way again.”

She sips her coffee and steals a glance at him. He picks at his food, but he does not look at her.

“Have you ever been in love?” There’s fear and hope in her voice.

Having no frame of reference, it’s hard for him to label what he feels for Emma. It hurts him to be away from her, and she occupies his mind at all times. Last night, he felt closer to her than he has ever felt to anyone.

“No. I haven’t.”

He sees her flinch and regrets what he has said, but he can’t take it back. He’s not ready to tell her what’s growing in his heart . . . not yet.

“There’s somewhere I’d like to take you today.” He changes the subject.

“Where?” She clears their empty plates.

“It’s a surprise.” He stands and follows her to the sink, wrapping his arms around her waist, and pressing himself against her as she washes the dishes. Although he was just with her last night and his thirst should be at bay, it rises up when they touch. He begins to dream of the next time he’ll be able to be with her that way.

With her back to him, he feels safer revealing the thoughts inside his mind. “Emma, I want you to know that last night was different for me.”

“It was different for me, too.”

He speaks of the flame of new love in his heart and the way she is saving him. She speaks of being bound to his bed and toyed with, but the newness and change for both of them is equally profound.

“I’m going to tend to your yard. It needs to be mowed.”

He kisses her neck and, for a moment, she thinks that must be some sort of euphemism, until he lets her go and walks out the back door to the garage. She watches him pull out the old mower and is touched that he’s doing this small thing for her. She smiles to herself as she puts the dishes away.

Emma and Eric are playing house.

The sun is bright and the vibrant green of spring blankets every visible thing. It will be an unseasonably warm day. Emma sits on her porch and watches Eric pushing the mower. It hums, and his arms flex. He looks like he’s concentrating on something very important. Emma bites her lip as she watches this fantasy come true. Stormy Eyes, working and sweating in the sun—for her audience of one. She hugs her knees and enjoys the view.

He works hard, and Emma begins to pass the time by sweeping the front steps, avoiding the gaping crater that remains from when she fell through the wood slats. She hears the mower cut off and Eric rounds the corner of the porch. Upon seeing him, the spark flares inside her. It feels as if time stops and Eric freezes where he stands
.
Something unspoken passes between them as they stand silent with eyes locked. The breeze picks up and a single crow caws in the distance, but neither Eric nor Emma can feel or hear anything but the sound of their own beating hearts. He approaches her, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You’re filthy,” she says, when she gets a look at him up close. He’s covered in dirt and grass from the yard.

“I don’t think you need to call me names,” he teases her with a smirk.

She laughs, and he runs his dirty fingers down her arm, leaving a gritty black trail. “You’re dirty, Emma. You need to take a shower.”

Her world becomes inverted as Eric throws her over his shoulder and marches upstairs to the bathroom.

Danielle turns down the volume on the radio of her gunmetal gray convertible as she and Abby pull into Emma’s driveway.

“I don’t know about this, Danni. Showing up unannounced? Confronting her? What if she freaks?”

Abby’s on the fence, but Danielle is not. “I’d rather she was angry with us than left broken-hearted. I can’t watch her suffer again. Not when I know we can stop it.”

The front door of the house is ajar and they let themselves in. The house is eerie and quiet, but Abby can hear the faint rush of water from the shower.

“Emma?”

She gets no answer. They creep up the stairs. What they hear when they reach the top makes them stop dead in their tracks.

“Shit . . . yes, just like that. Oh, God . . . yes . . . yes . . .”

It’s Emma’s voice, and the girls are shocked by the words coming out of her mouth.

“You like that? What about this?” It’s a man’s voice. Eric’s voice.

Abby covers her mouth to stifle a gasp. They hear the sounds of wet skin meeting and slapping together.

“Oh, yes. Don’t stop, Eric . . . shit. Never stop. Oh . . .”

Abby grips Danni’s arm to keep from squealing.

“You are so fucking good, Emma. You feel so good . . .”

Danielle is flushed and frozen. It’s clear she knows nothing about Emma. Sweet, Catholic, lonely Emma is getting her brains fucked out in the shower, and she’s begging for more. She stares at Abby, and they share a moment of unspoken understanding. Then they run from the house.

Steam encircles their naked wet bodies and Eric is once again walking the fine line between falling into the black, and being in the moment with Emma. He struggles against his old rituals. Avoiding the darkness gets easier every time he’s with her. He doesn’t
want
to fade away. He wants to be her partner. To watch her skin glisten in the warm water of the shower. He wants to taste her sweet lips, and hear her voice. He wants to feel her heartbeat; he wants to make her come.

Emma lets herself sink into sensation. When Eric’s inside her, she wants nothing else. It may be a sin, but she experiences unspeakable peace. She feels like herself for the first time in her life. The bond between her heart, her body, and his, is growing stronger. Eric holds her close, her back against his chest, his hands cupping and rubbing her breasts, his cock buried inside her. He turns her mouth toward him and brushes his lips against hers in a soft, wet kiss. She is his and his alone. The hot water streams down his back and Emma gasps for air as Eric looks down to watch his cock moving in and out of her, a sight that has become vital to him.

“Shit . . . yes, just like that. Oh, God . . . yes . . . yes . . .”

“You like that? What about this?” He stops playing with her breasts and slides his hand lower, rubbing her clit with his thumb.