Emma winced. “Great choice!” She giggled.
They were laughing so hard now that everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. Emma knew they were being completely immature and inappropriate, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to laugh. It felt good, too, to share such a fun moment with Ethan. This was why she was with Ethan: They shared the same sense of humor. They understood each other. And they had so much fun together.
“I love seeing this side of you,” Ethan said when the giggles died down. “It reminds me that no matter how well you pull off Sutton, you’re uniquely yourself.”
Emma nodded. “We’re alike…and not alike. Kind of two sides of the same coin. Sometimes I think I’m losing myself to her.”
“You aren’t,” Ethan insisted. “You’ll always stay you.”
Emma stared at the glass bottles of alcohol behind the bar. “I can’t wait to become me again,” she said softly. “Mr. Mercer said that this situation is so much better than what I had before. But I miss being me. I want my life back. My own choices.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “I can’t wait for you to be Emma, too.” Then he took her hands. “But you have to admit that becoming Sutton has had some benefits?” He squeezed her palms. “Like meeting me.”
“Like meeting you,” Emma said, returning his gaze. They leaned forward and kissed lightly.
I turned away, feeling like I was eavesdropping on something personal. Emma’s words rang in my ears. I wanted her to go back to being herself, I really did. But it raised another point that I didn’t think of very often. When Emma put my dad behind bars, what would happen to me? Was I tethered to her because I had unfinished business? Or was it some horrible karmic screw-you for all the terrible things I did while I was alive?
Emma had everything to gain by getting justice for me. She would move on to the next stage of her life as Emma Paxton. Would I move on, too? Or would I be left with nothing at all?
25
MIDNIGHT SNACK
After practice and a long, hot shower, Emma knocked on the Vegas’ front door. She heard footsteps and a moment later, Madeline opened the door, put a finger to her lips, and ushered her inside.
Despite their light footsteps, Mr. Vega appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tumbler of amber-colored liquid, presumably Scotch. His cold, steely eyes canvassed Madeline as though looking for a flaw. Then he stared at Emma. “Isn’t it a little late for a get-together, girls? It’s a school night.”
Madeline cleared her throat nervously. “Daddy, we have a really big physics test tomorrow, and we’re going to be studying well into the night. Can Sutton please stay over? We won’t make a peep—I promise.”
Mr. Vega swirled his drink, looking like he didn’t quite believe them. Even in repose, he seemed coiled and anxious, ready to strike. Emma held her breath, forcing herself not to look at Madeline’s arms and legs. The bruises were expertly masked by sleeves and yoga pants, but Emma knew they were there. And she knew who’d put them there. She couldn’t believe this place was her alternative to the Mercers’.
He wasn’t on my suspect list, but he was a criminal. Now that I knew what Mr. Vega was doing—to Mads and Thayer—I got a chill whenever I saw him. It explained why Mads got so nervous when she was around him and why she fought to be perfect. She probably thought that if she could just get it right, he wouldn’t be able to find anything to criticize.
“Fine,” Mr. Vega finally said, holding their gazes for a disconcerting beat too long. “But keep it down. Your mother is already asleep.”
Emma wondered if Mrs. Vega had ever tried to stop her husband from hurting her kids, or if she was too scared of him to intervene.
In seconds, they’d dropped their stuff in Madeline’s room. Pictures of ballet dancers spotted Madeline’s walls. Framed magazine spreads hung next to photographs of her and Thayer. Porcelain figurines were arranged in a circle on her spotless dresser. She wondered if Madeline’s uberstrict father made her clean it every morning or if this was Madeline’s way of exerting control where she could.
Madeline shoved a bunch of pillows off her lilac-covered duvet and plopped down on her queen-sized bed. Hugging a pillow, she eyed Emma suspiciously. “You know, I’m all for the impromptu sleepover and everything, but why have you been avoiding going home all week? Did you have a fight with Laurel or something? Are your parents getting on your nerves?”
Emma eyed Madeline, glad she had given her a plausible out. “Laurel’s been really bitchy lately. I just needed a break from the constant fighting.”
“About Thayer?” Madeline asked sharply.
Emma stared at her feet. “Kind of.”
Madeline’s shoulders stiffened. “If you’re sneaking around with him behind my back, Sutton, I swear I’ll—”
“I’m not,” Emma assured her. “I mean, we’ve talked a couple of times, but it’s not like that.” She sat down on the bed next to Madeline. “I’ve got a good thing going with Ethan. He makes me really happy.”
Madeline flashed Emma a genuine smile. “Ethan does seem pretty great. Who knew the brooding poet would be such a good guy? I’m happy for you two.”
“Thanks,” Emma said shyly. “I think he’s awesome, too. And I do understand why you’re so protective of your brother. I know about rehab.”
A muscle in Madeline’s jaw quivered. She eyed the door. “Keep it down,” she whispered. “He told you?”