The Righteous and The Wicked (30 page)

Eric bursts through the door of the restaurant, out into the rain-soaked parking lot. Drunken, he stumbles, his fists sticky with blood, his ears ringing from the shouts and adrenaline. He slumps over and places his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He hears his name being called over and over again. “Eric, wait, wait, Eric. Stop!”

He doesn’t heed the call but pushes forward through the rain toward the black Jeep.

The person who is running after him is not Emma.

It’s Danielle.

“Eric! Wait!” Her heels click against the asphalt as she chases him. She wants to stop him from leaving and breaking Emma’s heart, but he gets in his car, and then he’s gone. All she can see through the rain are red taillights and a soaking-wet, small, crumpled white box in the now empty parking space. She stoops down to pick up the box and opens it. A small gold key and a note are inside.

You have the key to my heart, now here is the key to my home. A home that I hope will not only be mine, but ours. I love you more than words can say,
amorcita
.

Any ice Danielle had in her heart for Eric has melted. A tear escapes her eye, and she cradles the small white box in her hands.

Eric swerves along the winding road, lucky to make it back to his trailer. He avoids his own reflection in the rearview mirror. He can’t stand to look at himself. The temptation to drive off a cliff is tempting. He pulls into his driveway and finds Deborah’s white car parked there.

He slumps his shoulders in defeat, lets out a labored sigh, and gets out of the car. Deborah stands in the rain before him.

He says nothing.

She says nothing.

He unlocks his front door and Deborah smiles as she follows him inside.

Eric floats above himself and looks down at the scene before him. The drunken fog around him is thick, and he’s lost in it. He watches himself open the fridge and take out an ice-cold beer. He watches himself hold it to his sore and swollen cheek. He watches as he rinses the thick and sticky blood from his hands. The water runs crimson, then soft pink, then clear. The blood washes away but the searing pain in his heart does not.

Eric watches, from his floating place, as Deborah sits down on his bed. He leans against the counter and floats, disconnected and numb. Deborah sits on his bed, but he sees Emma. He looks for Emma in her eyes. He’s unraveling like a discarded spool of thread, spinning out of control. He looks at the blond woman on his bed, the architect of this outcome, ready and waiting for him. He is splitting in two.

Two choices. Two paths.

He peers down both of the roads he could take. One is dark, and one is light. He lets himself imagine the possibilities that each of these journeys would provide . . .

Deborah could make this feeling go away. He could have power over her, over something. He could let his demon rip her clothes from her body. He could make that smirk on her face melt into a look of ecstasy. He could taste her mouth and then make her taste him. He imagines the feel of her mouth around his cock. He could hold her head there until he finished, until she swallowed what he gave her. That release would just be the first. He could let his lust dominate him. He would bend her and fuck her a million different ways, slamming his body into hers until this sick, sinking feeling went away . . .

Or he could leave. He could run through the muddy path to Emma’s door and wait for her. He could grab her, hold her and kiss her wounds. He could try to take her pain away. He could make love to her. To the woman he loves. The one who sees the good in him. Their love would outshine any past she has with Aaron. Her husband would leave when he saw the life Emma has now—with him.

Or he could stop fighting this fucking endless battle. He could just surrender and never look back. He could stop trying to be something he’s not and let the abyss envelop him. He could let himself feel Deborah’s wet heat all around him. Her cries of passion would be a siren song luring him farther away from the life he tried—and failed—to lead. Just touching, just feeling, just owning her body—when she is spent and he has used her for what she is—he could hunt for more, and never stop hunting.

He could never hunt again. Never hurt anyone again. He could fight against the sick need and the violent impulses. He could take Emma away from her decrepit and empty home and give her something new. Something not yet touched by the evil of this world. And in that new place, that new home, he could continue to hold onto the strength she gives him. He could try to keep his head above water with her by his side. With her hand in his . . .

Eric floats, and watches as he travels down these divergent paths. One is easy. One is hard. One he deserves. One he does not.

Deborah’s lips move but he doesn’t hear a word she says. She begins to disrobe. She unbuttons her shirt, her body damp from the rain. Her skin glistens with moisture and her rain-soaked, golden hair falls across her face.

Eric moves. He comes away from the floating place and walks toward the willing woman who sits, half-naked, on his bed. Her face anticipates the devious indulgence. The desire to experience sin is written all over her face and body. Eric takes slow steps toward her. The beautiful blonde, the snake with the apple. His temptation. A woman like all of his other victims, ready to be taken, ready to see the black mark on his soul. He licks his lips as he approaches her, and takes her bare shoulders in his hands. He guides her off the bed so she’s standing before him, her shirt unbuttoned, her pants undone. He looks at her breasts, then at her eyes. She smiles.

But Eric does not smile back. “Get . . . the
fuck . . .
out . . . of my life.” The words come out of him, laced with the disgust he feels for her.

Deborah’s jaw drops. Her expression turns into a scowl. She jerks away from his hate-filled hands and pulls her shirt closed. She gathers her things in a livid haste, enraged at the rejection she has just endured. She grabs the doorknob, but stops. Before she opens the door, she turns and looks at the gorgeous man she knows she’ll never get to have. If he wouldn’t turn to her now, in this most lonely hour of his life, than he never will.

“Let me tell you something,
Eric.
” His name floats in the air like a loathsome and dirty word. “She’ll never give you what you need. Little Miss Prim and Proper? Someone like
her
will never be enough for someone like
you.
You’ll get sick of her.
She
will get sickened by
you
. I know what kind of man you are. You’ll wake up one day and look at her, and you will feel empty. She can’t fill you. She’ll wake up one day and look at you, and wonder why she wasted her time. It can
never
work. The smartest thing you can do is to get the hell out of here. Happily ever after is bullshit, and you fucking know it.” She throws open the door and then she’s gone.

Eric sits down on the edge of his bed and rakes his long fingers through his damp and disheveled hair. He closes his eyes and he’s floating again. He doesn’t want to believe Deborah’s right.

A third path presents itself to him. This path hurts. This path is hard. But this is the path he
must
walk. This path will lead him where he needs to be. It’s the path that will save not only Emma, but himself. The righteous path.

He grabs his coat, and walks through the woods toward her house. The last few stubborn raindrops fall and the light from the porch casts the driveway in a yellow glow. A green car is parked next to Emma’s, and Eric knows who it must belong to. The better man. Emma’s savior. He can see two silhouettes in the window. Aaron is inside with her, and Eric’s on the outside looking in.

Dejected, he returns to his trailer. He opens a drawer, takes out a pen and paper, and forces his nearly broken hand to write.

Chapter Twenty-Six

To have faith is one of the biggest challenges life can present. To believe without seeing, to trust without knowing. To continue to hold on to those beliefs and to that trust, when everything else is telling you not to—when the world is collapsing around you, and you’re faced with things you don’t understand—to have faith in those moments is brave.

Emma stands amid the chaos that was once her friend’s engagement party. “What are you doing here, Aaron?”

Aaron holds a napkin filled with ice to her bruised eye. “Your friend called me. She told me where you were, and that you weren’t doing well. I haven’t been doing well either, and I’ve missed you so much. Emma, I realize that I deserve any wrath you have in your heart for me, but please know that I’m here because I love you . . . and I’m sorry. I was depressed. I was grieving. I know that’s not an excuse, but I’m better now. I’m ready to try again. I’m sorry, baby. Please forgive me.”

Emma doesn’t believe Abby or Danni would have called Aaron. She grabs his wrist and lowers his hand from her eye. “You’re
sorry
? Aaron, you
destroyed
me. How can you expect me to ever forgive you for that?”

“I don’t expect this to be easy, but we need to work through things. I want to fix this. I’m ready now. I miss you so much.” He leans in to kiss her forehead.

She moves to avoid his lips. Her head throbs with pain. “Just take me home.”

He holds Emma’s body to his as he shields her from the rain. As they ascend the porch steps of her house, the wind chime clatters in the wind. The song that rings out is almost urgent, like it’s trying to warn her.

She takes off her shoes and sits down at the kitchen table. Remembering his wife’s favorite drink, Aaron brews coffee and joins her.

Emma takes a deep breath. “I have something I need to tell you. This may be shocking. It may be hard for you to hear—”

“Baby, I know now that
nothing
can keep me from you. Nothing could ever make me love you any less—”

Emma shakes her head at his pledge. “Stop. Just listen to me, please. Aaron, I met someone. I met someone else.”

“What?”

“You
left
me.”

“And now I’m back. Just because I needed some time doesn’t mean you violate your vow to me. I haven’t touched another woman, Emma. I haven’t even
looked
at another woman! You’re my whole life. How could you do this to me? To us?”

“Me? You abandoned me! You disappeared! What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”

Aaron’s shocked by his wife’s use of profanity. He has never heard her speak like this. “Who is he?”

“His name is Eric. He’s the man who beat the other one tonight.” She looks at the floor, studying the pattern of the tile, afraid to meet his eyes.

“You
have
to be joking. That guy is a monster, Emma. I could tell from the second I saw him. No good man could do what he did. Beating someone within an inch of his life? Hurting a woman, and then running out? Yeah, he’s a real prize.”

“You don’t know him. He was here for me when
you
weren’t.” Emma thinks of Eric, alone in his trailer right now, hurting. The urge to go to him is poignant.

“Baby, I know I messed up. I’m sorry for what I said just now. I’m sure he was good to you when I wasn’t here. I know I should’ve called you, I should’ve explained. It just hurt
so
much. I was grief-stricken. Please, Emma. You
have
to forgive me. I’m ready to try again.” He takes her hands and pulls her to stand with him. He places his hands on her waist, and presses his forehead against hers.

Lips that she once loved and craved linger just a breath from hers. A part of her wants to kiss him, to remember. He leans in to her. . . but she pushes him away.

“Aaron, I
love
him.”

He freezes. His face aghast, he places his hand over his heart and backs away from her. His expression reflects the pain he feels as a result of the wound she has just given him.

“I love him, Aaron. And I want a divorce.” With those words, a ten-ton weight is lifted from Emma’s soul.

Aaron shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes
.
I do.”

“I’m not giving up. I won’t.” His words don’t match the defeat in his voice.

The look on his face tugs at Emma’s heart. It’s so hard for her to hurt him. Her best friend. Her love for so long. She shows him some mercy. “Just stay the night. You can sleep in my dad’s room. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”