Run Away with Me

  I’m halfway through the bag when a snap of a branch has me jumping to my feet. Someone’s coming. It sounds like a rhinoceros stampeding toward me. I stand up and lean over the railing to see, hoping it’s Em and not my mom or the cops.

  It’s none of them. It’s Reid Walsh. He appears, barreling into the clearing, brandishing a stick like a lightsaber.

  “Where’s Em?” I ask. “Did you give her the note?”

  “She’s not coming.”

  “What?”

  Reid looks at me. I think I see a hint of smile crack his lips, but his eyes dart to the wilting wooden boards of the tree house. “Look, she’s not coming, okay?”

  “You’re lying,” I bark, stepping toward him. He holds his hand out, shakes his head.

  “She wanted me to tell you to leave her alone and that she never wants to see you or hear from you again. Or from your uncle.”

  It’s as if he’s launched himself up the ladder and kicked me in the chest.

  He snorts. “Guess you can’t blame her.”

  His words ring in my ears long after he’s run off.

  Somehow, I’m sitting down with my legs hanging over the ledge, the darkness lapping all around. What a stupid idea, to think that Em would ever have wanted to even see me again, or speak to me, let alone run away with me. We were little kids the last time we planned to run away together. And we never followed through that time either.

  I feel hot and squirmy inside when I think about what an idiot I’ve been. I climb to my feet, shaky but resolute. I just want to get away from here. If my mom has already left, then I’ll catch the ferry to the mainland, then the train to the airport, and I’ll buy a plane ticket with the 312 dollars I have stuffed in my bag.

  That money was meant to buy Em and me tickets to the NHL playoffs this year, but I guess that isn’t happening now.

  Stiff and cold, I stuff the sleeping bag into my backpack and throw it onto my shoulder, taking one last look around at this place we built together, before I say good-bye.

  Em

  I close my eyes and breathe in the damp earth. The trees block out the sun, painting bars of shadows across me, and it’s so cold I wish I’d worn a jacket. I glance up at the tree house. I don’t think I can do this. You’ve got no choice.

  “Em.”

  I turn around and my heart slams like a rocket into my rib cage. Jake is striding toward me through the undergrowth, a smile on his lips but a question in his eyes. It’s just like the time I saw him again on the beach, when he first came back to Bainbridge. He seems nervous, unsure of my reaction. He stops in front of me and moves to pull me into his arms. I dance backward on shaking legs.

  He freezes, his eyes darkening, his arms falling heavy to his sides. “What’s going on? When you weren’t at the police station, I figured something was up.” The look in his eye is so afraid that I find I can’t speak. I just want to reach for him, kiss him, make it all go away.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and his jaw pulses. “I know I shouldn’t have hit him, but he deserved it—”

  I cut him off fast. “Look, let’s not talk about it.”

  “But—”

  “No,” I say, walking away, putting more distance between us. I need to do this fast. Get it over with. Get away from him. “I think we should break up.”

  I hear him take a sharp breath in. “What?” he asks quietly.

  I turn to Jake, but my gaze rests somewhere in the middle distance, not on him. “I don’t think it’s going to work, Jake. I mean, you’re going back to college and I’m stuck here.”

  “Seriously?” Jake asks, stepping toward me. It’s as if he knows that if he gets close enough, I won’t be able to think straight, that he will have the advantage, so I walk even farther away.

  “Yes, seriously,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around my waist. “I’ve thought about it a lot. You and me, we are never going to work. And I just have too much on my plate. I can’t deal with a long-distance relationship as well.”

  Jake says nothing, but I can feel his eyes burning through me. I risk a glance up at him. He’s been waiting for me to make eye contact.

  “This is bullshit,” he says, the word flying across the clearing like a bullet.

  I startle. Jake doesn’t swear. “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  Suddenly, he’s right in front of me. He takes my hand and when I try to snatch it away, he holds on tighter. “Look at me,” he says, and I hear the thick layer of emotion in his voice. I glance up at him.

  “I thought you wanted to be with me,” he says. “I thought we had something—something real.”

  I shrug and wrench my hand from his grip. “Look, Jake,” I say, “it was good. While it lasted. But all good things have to end. There’s no point in dragging it out.”

  The confusion in his eyes is so real it’s heartbreaking, but I’m able to stay cold, unresponsive to it. All I do is draw on all the tricks of the old Emerson—shutting down, closing off to all feelings and emotions. It’s easier than I thought it would be.

  “No point?” he asks. His hand falls to his side. “Of course there’s a point. I love you.”

  Okay. Not that easy. I feel that like a slice to the heart.

  “What?” he asks me. “Suddenly, you don’t love me anymore? Because two nights ago that’s not what you were saying.”

  “I made a mistake,” I whisper, looking again at the tree house. Our tree house.

  “A mistake?” Jake asks, and I hear the wounded note in his voice.

  “Yes,” I say, anger ripping through me. “It was a mistake getting involved with you. I should never have done it.”

  “I don’t get it,” he says. “Is it because of the fight?”

  I turn away and start walking out of the clearing.

  “No,” I say.

  He steps in front of me. “Then what? I’m sorry. I know it was stupid. I just reacted when he called you a—”

  “You don’t need to be my defender, Jake. I don’t need you to stand up for me.”

  “I want to stand up for you,” he says, his voice husky, his eyes filled with hurt.

  “Why?” I ask. “Because it makes you feel better? Less guilty because you weren’t around to stand up for me back when it happened? Because you ran off and didn’t care a damn about me or what happened to me?”

  I don’t know why I’ve just said this last part. I didn’t mean to. It just came flying out of me, and I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. The words are hanging in the air between us like a bad smell.

  Something flashes across Jake’s face. “I’ve said sorry, Em. I told you what happened. I explained why we had to leave. I would have told you to your face, but you didn’t want to see me. You made that perfectly clear. And I get it. I really do get it. I don’t blame you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He frowns at me. “I waited for you. At the tree house. You didn’t show up. And I know why, but—”

  “When?”

  “The day after. I went there after school. I had this stupid idea.” He laughs under his breath. “I was there for hours waiting for you to show up.”

  “Why would I have shown up?”

  “Because of the letter.”

  “What letter?”

  Jake blinks at me. The blood drains from his face as though a sluice gate has opened in his neck. “He never gave it to you, did he?”

  “What? Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Reid. I gave him a letter to give to you.”

  Jake bites his top lip and stares at the ground. Now he looks like a bull about to charge. I take a step toward him. He looks up and my feet freeze. “It doesn’t matter now,” he says.

  “You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath, forcing myself to be resolute. “None of it matters now. You should leave.”

  Jake stares at me for a moment and then he turns around and walks away.

  I stay where I am, rooted to the spot, watching until he’s out of si
ght, willing myself not to run after him.

  The sound of clapping starts to echo through the damp woods. It gets louder. Rob appears on the path. He’s climbed down from the tree house and is sauntering toward me, smiling while he applauds. It was part of the deal that I let him watch.

  “Nice acting,” he says.

  “I did you what you wanted,” I spit at him. “Are you happy now?”

  He nods, still grinning. “Hell yeah. That was Oscar-worthy.”

  “I broke up with him like you told me to. I let you watch. Now are you going to drop the charges?”

  Rob studies me, smirking. “I’ll think about it.”

  I reel back and stare at him in disbelief. “Think about it?”

  “Yeah, if I drop the charges, what’s to stop you from running back to him?”

  My mouth falls open. He’s a bully—I knew that all along. But this is like a child pulling the wings off an insect, slowly, taking his time about it. I gave him a taste of power and control, and now he’s desperate for more. Damn it. I should have known this is what he’d do.

  I weigh him for a moment, a riptide of anger building inside me, and then I take a step toward him, fists coiling at my sides as I consider the giant target that is his head. There’s a smug victory smile on his face, and it stops me in my tracks. For a brief second, it whips me right back to the locker room all those years ago. I saw that same smile on Jake’s uncle’s face right after he did what he did, both threatening and amused, both of them believing that my silence was a given.

  Jake

  The ice is torn up by the time I get off it and stagger my way to the locker rooms. It’s past midnight. I’m the only person in the building. I collapse down in the darkness onto one of the benches, breathing hard, sweat coursing down my face. Gradually, my pulse rate starts to settle, but as it does, the ache in my chest expands. I smack my head back into the lockers. The only thing that helps me ignore the ache in my chest is being on the ice. I headed straight here from the airport, stopping only to dump my bag in my room.

  Maybe I should have stayed in Bainbridge and tried to reason with Em some more, but I had a flight to catch and Sarge was yelling at me to get back before I got into any more trouble, and the truth was, after finding out that Reid never gave Em that letter, I was on the cusp of going over to his house and confronting him. I knew then I had to leave as soon as possible, before I made things even worse. Why did I ever believe him when he told me he’d given her the letter? Why did I believe him when he told me that she never wanted to see me again? Why didn’t I just go over to her house and demand to see her? I was such an idiot. All those wasted years and wasted opportunities. Things could have been so different.

  I thought Em and I were in a good place, though. I thought we had gotten past all her worries and fears and that I’d convinced her I was committed to her. Did I misread things so badly? Or was it because I punched Reid and she saw a side to me she didn’t like? Or what if it’s because she doesn’t want to date someone who’s most likely going to prison? I mean, I wouldn’t blame her.

  I pull off my shirt and undo my skates, then head for the showers. Beneath the scalding-hot jets, I bow my head, my thoughts spinning wildly. All I can see is Em’s face when she told me she wanted to break up. She was so cold and so distant. She was Emerson again.

  “There you are.”

  I jerk around, startled. It’s late, and I didn’t think anyone was around.

  Lauren is standing in the doorway, smiling one of her seductive smiles. Her gaze dips to my chest, then even lower. Her smile spreads.

  “Did you miss me?” she asks, stepping closer.

  Em

  The way he looked when I did it tore a hole in my heart. If I had ever doubted Jake’s feelings for me, which I hadn’t, that would have convinced me of them. And then there’s the fact he wrote me a letter. And now I can’t stop wondering how different things might have been if I’d received it. I want more than anything to know what it said. And why Reid never gave it to me. Though perhaps that’s obvious.

  I check my watch. He must have landed already. I need to wait until I know for sure he’s on the other side of the country before I call him and explain. Maybe I should have told him the truth all along. But I was worried that if I did tell him and we playacted a breakup, Reid would know it was fake. Jake’s the world’s worst actor. I was also afraid that Jake would do something stupid if he found out that Reid was threatening me again, and jeopardize his career even more.

  When I explain, Jake will understand. Hopefully, he’ll laugh. We’ll just pretend we’ve broken up. Reid won’t find out, especially with Jake being away, and then, once he’s dropped the charges and the case is closed, it won’t matter. Reid might like to think he’s controlling me, but he isn’t. I’m the one playing him.

  I pick up my phone and dial Jake. It’s one in the morning, but I can’t wait.

  “Hello?” a girl answers.

  I sink down onto my bed. “Who’s this?” I ask.

  “This is Lauren.”

  Lauren? “I was looking for Jake,” I say, my heart thumping.

  “He’s in the shower,” she answers, and I can hear the lazy smile in her voice. I swallow, glancing at the clock. It’s almost one in the morning. “He’s just had a very heavy workout.” She giggles. “I can go get him if you like?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  I hear a voice in the background. It sounds like Jake. “Can I take a message?” Lauren asks.

  I hang up and sit there staring at the phone in my hand for several minutes trying to fit the pieces together. They won’t fit. Or they will. But the picture they’re making is so devastating I can’t accept it.

  All that bullshit about how much he loved me and it took him less than a day to move on.

  Jake

  What are you still doing here?” I ask Lauren.

  She leans up against my locker. “I wanted to see you, Jake,” she says hesitantly. “I wanted to talk.”

  In the middle of the night?

  “Excuse me,” I say, indicating she move out of the way of my locker. She makes a big show of stepping aside. I yank open the locker door.

  “You’ve been ignoring me,” she says.

  I keep my back to her, rummaging in my locker for my clothes. What the hell is she doing in here? How did she even get in? If Sarge finds out, I’m going to be in so much shit. No girls are allowed in the locker rooms. This is not what I need. She’s already gotten me into so much trouble as it is.

  “Why are you ignoring me?” Lauren asks.

  I turn around, studying her in amazement. “Why am I ignoring you? Um, maybe because you sold me out to the press?”

  Lauren’s eyes go big and round. “What?” she says, her mouth forming a glossy O. “I didn’t sell you out; what are you talking about?”

  “Drop it, Lauren. I know it was you. No one else knew.”

  “Jake,” she says softly, resting her hand on my shoulder. “Come on.” She pouts at me. “Why would I do that? I love you. We’re good together, you and me. You know it.”

  Her eyes are glimmering like a cat’s in the low light. I put my hand on top of hers and lean down. Her lips part in anticipation. She presses her body up against mine.

  “Go try it on with some other guy,” I say. “I’m not interested.” I take her hand and peel it off my shoulder, and then, grabbing my clothes and my phone from the bench where I must have left it, I walk back into the bathrooms and lock myself in a stall, resting my head in my hands. I wait ten minutes. When I walk out of the stall, Lauren’s gone, but I double-check before I drop my towel and pull my hockey gear back on.

  Picking up my stick, I head back out onto the ice.

  Emerson

  Aloud bang makes me pull the covers off my head and sit up. I stumble groggily out of bed and over to the window.

  “What the . . . ?”

  I dart from the room and down the stairs, fly through the kitchen, and dash across
the lawn, barefoot and still in my pajamas, heading toward the shed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” I yell at the man in blue overalls who is carrying a toolbox across the lawn.

  He freezes and looks at me and then looks back in the direction of my dad’s old work shed. “Er . . . ,” he says. “I’m the carpenter. I was just finishing off the wheelchair ramp.”

  “The what?”

  He nods over his shoulder and I do a double take. The work shed no longer appears to be a work shed. How did I miss this?

  “I’m just going to get started on the one by the back door,” he says, and starts walking toward the house.

  I watch him go and then walk past the bushes until I’m standing by my dad’s old workshop. One side and the back—which has a view of the woods that brush our fence line—have been completely knocked out and replaced with French windows. There’s even a deck where my dad used to keep the log pile.

  “Oh, hey.”

  I look up startled. Toby is standing in the doorway looking like a burglar caught red-handed. He’s holding a rolled-up piece of paper in one hand and a tape measure in the other.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  He looks from side to side as if trying to find an escape route. “Um . . .” His face crumples. “Oh man, it wasn’t my idea, okay? It was Jake’s.”

  I peer past Toby’s shoulder into the shed, which used to be where we kept the wheelbarrow and my dad’s tools, but which now is . . . I’m not even sure what it is. . . .

  “What’s happening?” I ask Toby.

  “It’s a luxury rental unit. Jake had the idea. We’ve been working on it for weeks.”

  The mention of Jake’s name is a karate chop to the chest. It’s been a week since we broke up, since he ran back into Lauren’s open arms, and the thought of it is a constant slow drip of acid on my broken heart.