Guardian (The Guardian Trilogy) (3 page)

“No
problem.”

We’re
headed back to the table when Olivia passes us and swoops up Zach.  I find
Shel.  “You are in so much trouble!”

Something
grabs Shel’s attention behind me for a moment.  She refocuses on my eyes, whispers
“Not now,” and turns away.

“Hey! 
I need to…”

I’m cut
off by someone grabbing me from behind by my waist, encircling it with a strong
arm, and pulling me tight against a body.

“Will
you dance with me?” James whispers in my ear.

It
takes a moment for me to respond.  This is unexpected and in response my heart
flutters.  “S-sure.”

He lets
me go, so I can turn around, and then takes my hand.  I look up at him and he’s
staring at me intently with his brilliant blue eyes.

When we
reach the dance floor, I turn to face him and start to put my hands on his
shoulders, but he grabs me tight around my waist, pressing me to him.  I have
no choice but to reach up and wrap my arms around his neck.  Even though I’m
wearing heels, he’s still taller than me.

“Is
this okay?” he asks softly as we start to move in a slow circle.

I turn
my head to look at him, our faces only inches apart.  I can’t find any words.

“You
look confused,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

I nod.

“About
this?” he guesses, amused.

I let
out a sigh.  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

 “See
that girl over there?” he nods in the direction behind me.

I crane
my neck to the right to see who he’s talking about, but he’s holding me so
tightly I can’t move my head much.  All I see is the edge of the mirrored wall
behind the dance floor and some random people at tables.  I don’t want to look
like an idiot, so I nod yes.

“I’m
trying to make her jealous.”

I turn
to face him.  “What?”

Before
I realize what is happening, his lips are on mine.  I completely tense up.  All
kinds of thoughts race through my head – What the hell?  Who is this other
girl?  Wait.  James is kissing me?!
 
Suddenly, my mind registers the
actual kiss.  Soft, sweet, and…over.

“Did it
work?” I ask quietly.

“Did
what work?”

“Does
she look jealous?”

“Who?”

“The
girl!”

James laughs. 
“It’s hard to tell.  She looks like she might be angry.  Maybe I should kiss
her again.”

“Wait…what?” 
I’m so confused!  I take a step back from him.  “Would you just stop it?  Tell
me what’s going on!”

He
laughs and turns me around by my shoulders to face the wall behind us.  It’s
the mirrored wall behind the dance floor and I stare at our reflections.  “You,”
he says, his breath warm on my ear.  “I was talking about you.  You’re the
girl.”

Oh. 
Oh.

His
hands circle my waist, and he turns me around.  My stomach flips beneath his touch
as I rest my hands on his arms, noting for the first time how toned they feel
through the thin sleeves of his tuxedo shirt.  All that time on the ice must
pay off.

“Tell
me what you’re thinking,” he asks quietly as we start to move again.

Questions
race through my mind, and I can’t pick just one.  “I’m thinking I have a lot of
questions.”

“Fire
away.”

“Are
you going to tell me the truth?”

“Why
wouldn’t I?”

“Because
I’m not feeling a whole lot of honesty right now.  You’ve barely spoken to me
all night!”

James
releases a defeated sigh.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  My nerves got the best of me.”

“Nerves?”
I ask.

“It’s
not every day that you decide to tell your best friend that you have feelings
for her.”

I
swallow.

“I
should have done this sooner.  Much sooner,” he shakes his head.  “Like years
ago.”

“Years?”
I squeak.

He
gives me an incredulous look.  “Really?  How is it possible that you could not
know how I feel about you by now?”

I pause
to think as we continue to move in a circle.  “You’re my best friend.”

“So?  I
can’t be anything else?”

“You’ve
always been in my life.  I never considered anything else.  And you never said
anything!”

He
frowns.  “It never once crossed your mind that I might have feelings for you
other than friendship?  You’ve never thought of me in any other way?”

I bite
my lip, embarrassed.

“What?”

A blush
creeps over my cheeks.  “Tonight.  Getting ready.  It crossed my mind.”

His
expression lights up like Times Square.  “Really?”

“Really,”
I smile.

He
looks relieved.  I think I am too, but inside I feel strange.  I’m excited and
worried at the same time.  I’ve never had a serious boyfriend before.  I’ve
always known he’s a great guy, but I literally noticed how cute he was only hours
ago.  Is it possible I knew how he felt all along but wouldn’t allow myself to
process it because we were friends?

As he
pulls me close, I decide to dwell on that thought later.  I tuck my head beneath
his chin and allow myself to relax into him.  His body feels strong and warm
against mine, and I admit it feels really good to be where I am right now.

Eventually
the song ends and another fast song starts.  We separate and look at each
other.  It’s a little awkward, like we’ve been caught doing something we
shouldn’t have or like we’re seeing each other for the first time.  Thankfully
Shel is by my side in seconds, pulling me away to dance with her again.  I wave
to James as I’m towed away.  He smiles and waves back.

“Tell
me!” Shel demands as we dance out of his line of sight.

“You
knew about this all along!” I accuse her over the music.

“Knew
what?  That he was going to kiss you?  No,” she says matter-of-factly.  “Heck,
I didn’t know if you two had been together all along anyway and were just
keeping it a secret.”

I lean
into her ear, “You saw that?”

“Heck
yes!  I think everyone
saw that
.”

I am
horrified.  My first kiss with James and it was on public display?

“So
what’s going on?” she asks impatiently.

“He
said he has feelings for me.”

“Well,
duh.  I think everyone knew that but you.”

My face
twists in confusion.

“You
never listen to me!  How long have I been telling you this?”  She spins around. 
“Like I said earlier, you’re delusional!”

Suddenly
nervous, I ask, “What do I do?”

Shel
leans in toward me on one of her dance moves and laughs.  “Enjoy it!”

I try
to concentrate on dancing with Shel, but my attention keeps wandering back to
James.  I catch his eye from across the room, and he gives me an amazing smile
that makes my heart beat double time.  I can’t help myself and grin back.  I
think about all the years we’ve known each other and what this could mean.

Suddenly,
my subconscious propels me forward in time, to about two weeks ago.  It picks
up a memory of our argument, at the moment where I yelled, “What does that
mean?”

James
pins me with hard eyes.  “I’m trying to tell you nothing happened and you won’t
accept it!”  He’s pissed.

I’m so
angry with him right now.  It’s an unfamiliar emotion around James; we hardly
ever fight.  I’m a terrible fighter; instead of yelling I usually end up
crying, but on this particular day I was on a roll.  Aggressively I snap, “You
expect me to believe that?”

“Yes!” 
He looks at me exasperated.  “When have I ever lied to you?”

I give
him a wary look that questions his statement.

“So now
you think I lie to you?”

I don’t
answer.  Instead, I continue to glare at him with my arms crossed.

“Fine!” 
He heads for the door then turns around, changing his mind.  “Might I remind
you of all I gave up for you?  For us?”

Not
this again.  I let out an irritated huff.  “Listen, you know why you came
here!”

“Whatever.” 
He makes it to the door this time.  He leaves, slamming it behind him.

The
door slam sounds so real that it startles me awake.  My eyes instantly blur
with fresh tears.  I should never have let him leave.

When my
parents returned home with my things, I unpacked all the essentials – clothes,
laptop, iPod – and left one box sealed up tight.  My mother thought it would be
best to pack all my pictures and other personal memory-type stuff separately. 
I love her for that.

Days
later, I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen.  What else is there
to say about the law and how it pertains to S corporations?  This assignment is
about as dry and boring as they come.  But I continue to plug away at it.  I
only have a few remaining course assignments.  It really doesn’t bother me.  The
work keeps my hands and my mind busy when I’m awake; my memory, dreams, and tears
keep me occupied while I’m asleep.

I hear the
back door open and close, and voices start to carry up the stairs.  Thinking it
is my brother and Kate, I hit save on my laptop and start to make my way down the
stairs so I can pretend to be social.  About two steps down I overhear my mother
say “It’s so good to see you,” her tone suggesting that company has stopped by,
not family.

“You
too, Marlene,” I hear the voice of James’ father.

My
stomach instantly turns into knots.  I’m not ready for this.  My pulse starts
to pound behind my ears.

“Eric,
Carol,” my Dad greets James’ parents as their voices grow louder.  “What can we
do for you?”

“Is
Emma here?” Mrs. Davis asks, her tone a bit harsh.

My
mother responds cautiously.  “She’s upstairs.  Would you like me to get her?”

I know
that I cannot go downstairs.  My heart is racing, and I can feel my face
starting to get hot.

“Oh no,
no,” James’ dad says nervously.  “We’ve just been…” he hesitates as he searches
for the right words, “concerned about her since the service.”

“The
service was beautiful,” my mother says.  I can picture her extending her hand,
offering the Davis’ a seat.  “So many people were there.  Your son was very
loved.”

Mrs.
Davis unexpectedly snaps, “We know.”

 I can
feel the electricity in the room change even though I’m on the landing.

Mrs.
Davis’ voice is livid.  “Your daughter nearly ruined our son’s memorial!” she
hisses.

 “Carol! 
You said you wouldn’t do this,” Eric pleads with his wife.

 An
image of my parents regarding each other nervously pops into my head.  “You do
know she is devastated, right?” my mother asks, flustered.  I can visualize her
wide, incredulous eyes.

“Of
course she is.  We all are.”  Mr. Davis’ tone insinuates that he is trying to
diffuse the situation and apologize for his wife’s demeanor.

“What
my wife is trying to say is that if Emma could have prevented her outburst, she
most certainly would have,” my dad explains.

Mrs.
Davis doesn’t care.  “Your daughter’s actions disturbed a lot of people,” she
spits her words.  “Our family will forever carry that image in their minds.  We
are all grieving, and witnessing that outburst on top of what’s already
happened didn’t help.  My son’s last moments on this earth are now forever tied
to your daughter’s lack of decency!”

I am
mortified.  Half of me wants to run away and hide; the other half wants me to
run downstairs and apologize.  To make it right.  But I can’t do either.  Instead
I lean against the wall for support.

“Why
exactly are you here?” my mother demands.  “Are you looking for an apology?  Because
you’re not going to get one.  You can’t tell my daughter how to grieve!”

“Okay!”
my dad intervenes.  I’m sure he’s placed his hands protectively on my mom’s
shoulders by now.  “I think we can all agree that everyone is on edge.  Let’s
not make things worse by arguing.”

Mrs.
Davis is brusque.  “We want to know what happened.”

“Details,”
James’ father adds quietly.

“Details? 
Of the accident?” my mother asks, shocked.

I feel
my body sliding against the wall until I hit the floor.  I pull my knees to my
chest.

“Yes. 
We assume you’ve discussed this with Emma.”

“No.  She
hasn’t said a word about that night.”

“You
haven’t asked her?”

“Whatever
for?  So she can relive the pain?  She’s barely eating and speaking as it is!”

I hear
Mrs. Davis huff.  “She has to know something; some detail that would let us
know what led to this.”

“Carol,”
my dad says softly.  “Would any minute detail change reality?  Emma wasn’t even
with James that night.  She was in her room.  How could she possibly know much
more than us?”

Mrs.
Davis’ voice wavers, as if she cannot control her emotions.  “I know that my
son is gone.  I know that he spent more time with your daughter than anyone
else on this planet.  And I know that she knows something we don’t.”

“That’s
impossible,” my mother says with disbelief.

No one
says anything for a moment.  Tension hangs heavy in the air; I can feel it all
the way up on the landing.  My parents may be retired and in their mid-fifties,
but they’re active.  They could take the uppity Davis’.  Eric and Carol are
soft.  They play tennis and have a lawn service.

Mr.
Davis breaks the silence in a kinder tone.  “We came here to ask you if you would
let us know if she mentions anything.  For our peace of mind.”

“Of course,”
my dad replies.  “But I’m sure you can understand why we won’t push her.”

My
mother has had enough.  “Are you finished?” she snaps.  An image of her standing
with her hands on her hips floats up to me, just like she would do when I was
in trouble as a child.

Footsteps
head toward the door; one set marches with determination.  I can only assume
its James’ mother by the clicking of the heels.  I hear Mr. Davis quietly
apologize as he leaves.  “I’m sorry.  Things have been…difficult.”

Tears
stream down my face in silence.  “
I’m so sorry!”
my brain screams at
them, hoping they will hear it telepathically.  I want to go back to my room
and hide but it’s as if my arms and legs have forgotten how to move.  I am a
statue, sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

I don’t
know how long it takes my mother to find me frozen on the landing.

“Oh! 
Emma!  What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” she asks panicked, kneeling down to take
my face in her hands.

I look
through her.  I can barely speak.  “It’s my fault.”

“What? 
What’s your fault?”

Silence.

“Honey? 
Did you hear our conversation with the Davis’?”

Silence.

“You
did, didn’t you?  Damn them.”  She’s angry.  “Listen to me, Emma, they didn’t
mean what they said.  They are in mourning.  People say things they normally
wouldn’t when they are hurting.  They are trying to make sense of something
that doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s
my fault.”

“No,
sweetie, believe me it’s not.”

My eyes
focus on hers.  I find my voice, stronger now, determined.  “It’s my fault!”

“What
is?  What is your fault?”

I
snap.  “The accident!” I yell.  I yank my head free of her grasp.  “The
accident is my fault!”

I land
on my stomach, arms in front of me from my attempt to catch myself.  I open my
eyes and look around, letting my eyes adjust and trying to catch my breath.  It’s
dark.  Night time.  I can feel frost on the grass beneath my fingertips; the cool
spring air bites my skin.  I can hear the sounds of passing cars.  I am
outside.

I
glance around to get my bearings and see it.  The Jeep is off to my right,
upside down, the front end crushed against a tree.  The radiator hisses and one
back tire spins.  Just beyond the truck is a small embankment; beyond that a two
lane highway.  I immediately know where I am.

I start
running. 
I have to get him out! 
But no matter how fast I run, no
matter how much adrenaline pumps through my veins, the further the vehicle seems
to get.  I can feel my lungs burning as I push my body to move faster.  I start
to panic. 
Get him out! 
My legs are starting to wobble beneath me,
turning into Jello.

“NO!” I
scream as I fall to the ground, unable to run any farther.  My legs will not
cooperate anymore.  I stare at the ground as I grab handful after handful of
grass, grabbing and then pulling, grabbing and pulling, my legs dead behind
me.  Mercifully, I reach out again and see the Jeep just beyond my reach.  My
adrenaline soars as I realize that I’m close.  I manage to get up on my hands
and knees and crawl the rest of the way to the truck.

“JAMES!”
I
scream his name.

I make it
to the side of the vehicle and look through the jagged glass where the window
used to be.  I see blood.  Gallons of blood.  All over the seats, on the dash,
on the windshield, the floorboards – it’s as if the entire inside of the car is
made of blood.  I gag at the sight and the smell and cover my nose with my wrist. 
James is not inside.  Why can’t I see him?  Where is he?  I know he’s here!

Panicked,
I half-walk, half-crawl my way around the Jeep searching for him.  I step in
something wet.  Blood is starting to seep out of the truck on to the grass. 
It’s as if the truck itself is bleeding.

“JAMES!”
I scream over and over, my throat growing raw.  I circle the Jeep again and
again, searching.  I cannot find him.  Exhausted, my body threatens to give out
on me entirely.

Eventually
I collapse, sobbing, next to the bleeding truck.  I cover my face with my hands
and realize they are sticky, covered in blood.

“You!”
I hear a female voice snarl at me.

I look
up and see Mrs. Davis coming from the embankment by the road.  She’s headed
straight for me; her face is twisted into a murderous expression.  In accusation. 
I am terrified of her but my body will not move.

When she
reaches me, she growls, “This is your fault!”

I can
only cower.

Her
hands wrap around my neck, squeezing and cutting off my air supply.  I choke
and sputter and try to rip her hands away but my hands are slippery from the
blood and I can’t get a good hold.

“This
is your fault!” she continues to yell at me.

“Your
fault!”  My lungs are burning.

“Your
fault!”  My eyes close.

“Your
fault!”  I scratch at her hands as they grow tighter.

“Your…!”

“EMMA!” 
I continue to scratch and claw.

“EMMA! 
Stop!”

I think
I hear my mother’s voice, but it can’t be.  Mrs. Davis is trying to kill me and
the Jeep is bleeding!

“Stop! 
It’s me!  It’s me!”

I open
my eyes and see my mother holding my arms by my wrists trying to stop me from
clawing and scratching her.

“It’s
me!”

I stop
wrestling her, confused.  I press my eyes together tightly and reopen them. 
“Mom?” I ask in a scratchy voice.

“Shhh. 
It’s me.”  She releases my arms and feels around my forehead.  Worriedly she
asks, “Nightmare?”

I feel
the pillow beneath my head when I nod and realize I am in bed.

“Here,”
she hands me a glass of water from the bedside table, then sets a small pill in
my other palm.  “This will help.”

I put
the pill in my mouth and she helps me swallow a few sips of water.  I lay my
head down and close my eyes.  As I stare into blackness, I try to think of
absolutely nothing.  The nightmare felt so
real.
  I could feel
everything, smell everything.  A chill goes through my body as Mrs. Davis’ face
reappears in my mind. 
Please,
I beg myself. 
If I dream anymore don’t
make it a nightmare.

“I love
you Em,” I hear my mom say as the door closes.

My body
starts to relax and I wonder what type of pill she gave me.  My mind starts to
drift. 
No nightmares.  Please.

My
subconscious listens to my silent plea and rewards me with a perfect rendition
of James’ voice.