Wicked Restless

FOR ALWAYS.

Epilogue

Christmas Day

Andrew

Emma said I didn’t need to bring a gift, but it felt wrong. The last time I was at her father’s house, I noticed it was dark. That’s half the reason we all used to pretend that house was haunted. When a home is built around the turn of the last century, the lighting is a little old.

It isn’t much, but I carry the wrapped box in my arms, hoping her father will let me install the light in the foyer later today. I think it will make him happy—to have a little brightness in his house.

I know part of the reason I need a gift, though, is because of my nerves. I’m still consumed with wanting her father to like me. I’ve spent five years not giving a shit about others’ opinions of me. Part of my own shelter, I just always assumed most people thought I was an asshole, so when they didn’t, I was pleasantly surprised.

But Carl Burke—I care about his opinion. I care about his daughter, and that’s the only reason I care about anything at all.

“Relax, he cooked all day, and he wanted you here,” Emma says, dusting snowflakes from my arm. I wore the only nice jacket I have—it’s black and wool…and hot as fuck!

I hold my arm out for her to take as we walk up the main path to the house. I’m driving a twenty-year-old Volvo. It’s fast, and it sure as hell won’t ever break. But it’s not my Camaro.

When I got out of the hospital, my mom gave me a letter with a check inside. She said the man who delivered it was young, maybe mid-twenties, with blonde hair and a strong build. He told her he was from H and Sons, and they were handling the settlement from the insurance claim. But I know there was no claim, and I know it was just Harley’s way of making sure the universe was right between us.

I always told you I take care of my business. Seems there were a few people who were bad for business, and I wanted you to know, they won’t be seeking you out anymore either. I’m sorry about your car; she was a beauty. This probably won’t even come close to getting you in that kind of ride, but…I thought you deserved your money back. I never wanted a dime from you. You can’t work for me anymore; I think you understand why. But, I’d be happy to give you a reference if you want to apply for a gym—a real gym, in the city. I know a guy who knows a guy, so maybe give this number a call.

Glad to see you back on your feet.

H

My savings was just enough to buy a piece-of-shit from the auction, and Owen helped me tune it up a little before he left again for Germany. His season over there started a few weeks ago now, so I hope by the time he comes back, I can afford a Camaro again.

We spent the morning at my parents’ house. Dwayne hooked me up with new gear and skates. Maybe I can break them in this winter so I can find my way back to the ice with the rest of the team. Coach was able to work my scholarship out with the financial aid department, diverting my money to next season since I was given a medical withdrawal from most of my classes this semester. I asked to take my finals anyhow, knowing I could pass, but they were rather insistent. Emma has about seven million years of school left, so I’m in no rush to leave.

My life took one enormous hiccup—everything about it thrown in all directions—yet somehow, when the dust settled, things looked brighter. I only hope that trend continues for one more hour, or at least through the second Carl opens the door and welcomes me inside.

“He knows I’m coming, right?” I ask Emma, my free hand now deeply rooted in my pocket, my other clutching my poorly wrapped box like a teddy bear.

“My god, Andrew. For such a bad-ass, you’re pretty wussy right now,” she laughs.

I mock her laugh, then let my mouth fall to a straight line. “I fail to see the humor in this. It’s easy for you; you’re the daughter. Last time I was here, I pretty much slammed the door in your father’s face,” I gulp.

Emma nods, pursing her lips in a tight smile, then reaches up to straighten my tie. For all that’s holy, I’m wearing a tie. My jacket is a sweatshop and I have a noose around my neck.

“That was before he really knew you,” she says, her eyes wide and bright. I love the way she looks at me. I wish everyone saw me through her eyes.

Emma is so very strong. She calls me the fighter, but I don’t know—I kind of think that’s her. After she filed her police report, others came forward, and Graham was sentenced to two years of counseling. I could tell Emma was disappointed, but she never let it show. There was a plea bargain, with many—but Emma didn’t want anything. She only wanted to be sure Graham couldn’t do what he did to her again. Maybe, just this once, penance will work.