“It was innocent,” Mom protests. “She didn’t know we’d have the connection we did. We were at a school function and Emma introduced Paul to me, and there were immediate sparks. We felt guilty about it, of course, but we couldn’t deny how we felt about each other, even from the beginning.”
“And you knew full-well that Emma and I were best friends.”
“I knew you four spent a lot of time together, yes. I knew you were close. And trust me, Trent, that made the situation even more difficult for me.”
“I can’t talk about this anymore,” I grunt, abandoning the fucking vegetables and gathering up the project binder for Anthropology from the kitchen table.
“There’s more to say,” Mom pleads, following after me.
“No, there isn’t.”
Goddammit. I’m so fucking pissed I don’t even know what to do with myself.
“Do you want your dinner?” she asks, looking like she’s on the verge of tears. But at the moment, I don’t care.
“No.”
Fuck no. I can’t stomach anything right now.
I stalk out the front door, heading for my car.
Two years. Two fucking years. The thing with Paul was a legitimate affair, not a mistake. I’m angry at her, but I’m much more angry with Emma. It’s all come back again, full circle.
Another thought occurs to me. Maybe Emma planned all of this because she was looking for a mother. She lost her mom, and that’s why she tried to hook Paul and my mom up.
So that’s how it is? She tried to steal my fucking mother?
From the looks of things, she’s been pretty damn successful.
It’s time to rethink things. I showed up to my mom’s house feeling good, almost great. The friendship that all four of us were sharing, even though unorthodox, still felt right. I was dreaming of Emma’s body and remembering what it was like to be inside of her.
I was falling in love with her just like I did in high school.
And now this.
It’s all gone to shit.
Neither West nor Reese are home, so I spend the evening sitting on the couch at our place, thinking over all of this, weighing my options, and planning what I’m going to do next. I get super fucking annoyed when I look down and realize that I haven’t even touched this project that I’m supposed to turn in tomorrow. Emma gave me a list of shit to do with it to make sure that it was just right.
But as I stare at the thick binder containing our group project, an idea pops into my mind.
Maybe it’s too much.
Maybe it’s too cruel.
But Emma brought this on herself.
22
Emma
After finals, I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
I haven’t been seeing much of the guys all weekend, which seems strange after spending so much time together in the last few weeks of the semester, but I’m not thinking too much about it. I just want to focus on celebrating making it through my first semester at Clearwater.
So much has happened since I got here in the fall. It’s hard to remember what it felt like to walk across campus that very first day. But I feel proud when I remind myself that I really have earned my place here. The classes weren’t easy, but I worked my ass off, and I know that paid off. I have a good feeling about where things are going.
My phone buzzes, and I roll over on the bed to grab it, glancing at the screen. I sort of hope it’s one of the Icons, but my face falls when I read the message.