Ash to Steele (41 page)

   Emma lays her head on my chest, softly circling her finger against my neck, before she raises her chin, her beautiful laughter filling the entire apartment.  “I think we just created a masterpiece of our own.  Careful, don’t ruin it,” she instructs, gingerly stepping off the canvas onto a towel, pulling my hands to do the same. 

  I look down and have to agree with her opinion of the art we created, smeared with a myriad of hues from our bodies writhing on the canvas as we made out.  “I think that’s my favorite one of yours yet,” I tease. 

   “Mine, too,” she kisses my neck before looking at her paint covered clothing.  “Let me spread this out to dry.” 

   She bends to grab the floor canvas and, with a flick of her wrists, it billows in the air before floating to the floor.  She follows the canvas, her slender frame falling towards the ground, and I catch h
er head before it hits the hardwood floor.  Her eyes are closed and she’s so damn pale, it scares the hell out of me as I shake her, trying to revive her. 

   “Emma!” I yell, demanding her to open her eyes, but she doesn’t respond.  She lays motionless in my arms, and panic spews through my veins as I shake her harder, “EMMA!”  Not wanting to, I slap her.  Not hard enough to hurt her or even leave the slightest of a red mark, but enough to jolt her back to me. 

   Slowly, her eyes open, fluttering a few times before she blinks, glancing up at me.  She’s disoriented for a second before she tries to sit up.  

   “No, just lay here for a minute,” I demand gently, holding her in my lap.  “You fainted, Emma.”

   “I did? What happened?” she murmurs.

   I have a very good idea of what caused this and I close my eyes.  “When are you supposed to have your period?”

   I see my panic reflecting in her eyes, and she chews on her lip, thinking, “I’m just a few days late, but that’s not unusual for me.”

   Carefully, I lift her, “I’m going to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to buy a pregnancy test.”  I carry her to the shower and turn on the water, stepping into the spray as I make sure she’s steady on her feet before I let go, washing the paint out of her hair and off her body.  She’s quiet, not saying anything as I clean the paint from my own body. 

   We dress in silence and, when I grab my keys and hold my hand out to her, she looks scared as hell.  “Don’t worry until we have something to worry about, okay,” I whisper, slipping her hand in mine as I lead her down the stairs, keeping an eye on her to make sure she’s not getting woozy again. 

   The drive to the convenience store and back seems hours longer than the twenty minutes it takes.  Waiting on the results of the test seems double that time.  Emma’s curled on her bed, her face ashen, as she stares at the little stick that is getting ready to decide the direction of fate for the rest of our lives.  Tears spill down her cheeks as she covers her face in her hands, and I know she’s pregnant.  I slip next to Emma, pulling her into my arms. 

   “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she weeps at the same time I utter similar words from my mouth. 

   “Why are you sorry, Emma?” I ask, gently pulling her hands away from her face so I can see her.

   “Because I pushed you that night.  Please, don’t be mad at me.  I can’t handle that right now.”  More tears fall down her face, and I’m baffled by how she’s crying harder than the night of the attack because she thinks I’m angry at her for being pregnant with my child. 

   “Hey, easy, I’m not mad at you, Em,” I assure her, wiping her tears with my thumbs, “why would I be mad at you?”

   “Your face. When you first thought I could be pregnant, you looked so miserable.  Then, you barely said a word.” 

   “Hey, sshh, no.  I’m not mad at you, baby. I thought you were angry with me and I wouldn’t blame you.  I’m the one who didn’t use anything, remember?”  I feel like shit at how I made her feel this way.

   “You weren’t exactly in the frame of mine to be thinking of that at the time.”

   “I should have.  I should have thought about that for you.  I’ve already tainted so many of your beliefs, now, I’m adding pregnancy before marriage to the list.”  I let my head fall against her headboard, groaning, as I bring my knees up and swipe my hand down the length of my face, “I can’t seem to do anything right when it comes to you.”

   Emma pushes my legs down and straddles me, “You love me, Breck.  In my book, that’s doing a helluva lot that’s
right
by me!”

   I glance down at her flat, slender stomach.  Thoughts of what her dad is going to say to her eats at me.  I don’t think he’ll be harsh or cold, but he’ll be disappointed, and that’s going to kill Emma.  I did this.  Placing my hand against her belly, I rub my thumb against her soft skin.  I know that we didn’t plan this and haven’t even talked about kids, but I can’t regret it, not when the baby is going to be a part of who she is.  “I’ll tell your dad, Emma.  I’ll explain everything.”

   She lays her head on my shoulder, and I caress her back as she shakes her head, that quiet strength she possesses coming through, “I’ll tell him.”

   “We’ll tell him,” I correct her.  I stay with her tonight, holding her until she falls asleep. 

͠

   John stands, walking left then changing his mind and turning right.  He paces for several seconds and I slip my hand over Emma’s.  I wish he would yell at me, hell, take a swing if he wants, but I can’t stand watching Emma being tortured by his silen
ce.  He paces a few more times before stopping in front of Emma.  Her chin falls forward, and a part of me dies. 

   “Come with me, Emma,” John orders.

   I stand, holding my hand out in front of her, not sure why he wants her alone.  “If you have a problem with what happened, then I’m the one you need to talk with.”

   “A problem?” John states quietly, his eyes full of an emotion I can’t read.  “I’m not sure I would phrase it that way.”  His jaw is tight and his fist is clenched at his side. 

   Emma’s never mentioned him being violent, but old memories die hard, and there’s no way I’m letting her go alone with him right now.  Instinctively, I pull her closer to me.  John notices my line of sight and relaxes his fist, his lips parting as his eyes soften, “Son, I’m not like your uncle.  What he did goes against everything I believe; I would never hurt Emma.  Come with her if you want.”

   I follow John, gripping Emma’s hand tightly while he leads us up his stairs.  The old wood squeaks when we walk down the hall and the door to Emma’s old room is open, making me curious to see it, to see how she lived before I knew her.  I doubt I’ll be allowed anywhere near her room if her father has his way.  When John opens the door to his room, he goes to the closet and pulls a box from the top shelf. 

   “I’m not saying I’m not upset with you for having sex before marriage or getting pregnant.  I’m a minister and I believe what I preach but I’m also a man.”  He hands the box to Emma, “A man who has made his fair share of mistakes.”  He kisses the top of Emma’s head and leaves the room. 

   Emma glances at me with confusion clouding her blue eyes.  Carefully, she removes the aging lid to the antique box and sets it on the quilt.  She leafs through some old papers and pictures until she sees what John wanted to show her.  There’s a letter written by her mother, addressed to Emma before she was even born.  Emma pulls me on the bed next to her, and we read the letter of a mother’s anguish explaining to her unborn child that she was conceived out of love but also out of wedlock.  How Emma’s mother’s words begged for forgiveness and declared her love forms a lump in my throat as we find out that Emma was almost put up for adoption out of fear of what her strict father would say. 

   “That letter was written before I even knew about you, Emma,” John leans against the doorframe.  “When I found out she was pregnant, I went to your grandfather.  He laid me flat on my back when I told him about you.”

   “He hit you?” Emma’s brow furrows, “but he’s always been so gentle.”

   “That’s what a granddaughter does to a man,” John chuckles.  “He never abused your mother but she was terrified to go to him, so much so, she ran away, but not before leaving the letter in my locker at school.  When I saw it, I skipped the rest of my classes, found her and proposed.  Your grandfather married us quickly so no one knew your mom was pregnant.  There was talk but it died after awhile.”

   I can’t help but laugh,  “I’m sorry.  I don’t mean any disrespect but I’m finding it hard to believe that these stigmas exist in this day and time – even in your day and time.”

   “You’re not from a small town,” John smiles.  “Both Emma’s mother’s father and mine are ministers.  Their fathers and grandfathers were as well.  It wasn’t easy.  People talk and even though it shouldn’t, it hurts.  Don’t get me wrong, small towns have plenty of good people and it’s where I would want to raise any child but, just like anywhere else, there are positives and negatives.  It’s harder to hide something when everyone knows your name and who you belong to.  It’s also harder to hide what you’ve done wrong, which can be both good and bad, I guess.  It makes you face things head on.  The way I look at it is, what you do with your mistakes and your past, that’s what shapes you.”

   “I don’t care what people say about me, Dad, I’ll deal with everything I’ve done,” Emma whispers, sinking into her father’s hug, “I’m just sorry for you.”

   “Don’t worry about me, honey,” he reassures Emma, kissing her forehead before wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry and your grandmother will have my backside.”

   Emma laughs, pulling my hand, “You will love Mamaw and her fried chicken.”

   The drive and yard are full of cars when we arrive.  I’ve never seen so many people in one house.  Emma leans close, whispering in my ear, “This isn’t even half my family.”

   I’m introduced to so many people, I can’t remember most of their names.  Kids run through the house and outside, the screen door slamming every few minutes.  Food and sweet tea are offered to me by every woman over fifty at least a dozen times.  There are a few whispers when we walk by and I see glimpses of people looking at us then looking away when I catch them, but mostly, I’m welcomed into her family.  Despite some of the warm welcomes, tomorrow can’t come quickly enough so I can marry Emma and get the hell out of here.  Gavin, Jess, and Gran
ddad are due in tonight and all I can think about is slipping away and being alone with Emma, having her show me the places she talks about so much, wishing I could take her to that lake and have a beer before going skinny dipping with Emma.

   The screen door slams again, and the room gets a little quieter.  I turn around and see the reason for the silence standing in the doorway.  Justin looks like he’s already had a few beers.  He spots Emma and storms straight towards her.  I meet him halfway, blocking his path.  “I came to talk to Emma,” he snarls.

   “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I reply, the threat of a growl rumbling low in my throat. 

   Murmurs spread throughout the living room, and Emma turns towards us, her eyes widening when she sees the fire in mine.  

  Justin cuts his eyes to the left then the right, scanning the people in the room.  The prick thinks he’s safe if he pushes the issue here.  He’s mistaken.  “You don’t make decisions for her,
Ash
!”

   My fists clench at my sides and I force myself to refrain from putting him in his place.  “Don’t-call-me-that-again.”

   Emma places her hand on my arm, “I make my own decisions and I’m choosing not to talk to you, Justin.”

   “I think you can spare five minutes, Emma.  That’s all I’m asking.”

   “She told you no.  I’d listen to her if I were you,” I warn.

   The stupid bastard gets in my face, “This is none of your concern.”

   Smiling, I match his glare, “She’s
my
wife.”

   “Not until tomorrow,” he snaps, grabbing Emma’s wrist. 

   I grab his hand and twist it backwards until he falls to his knees instead of taking him out like I would’ve done a month ago.
   “Breck, let him go,” Emma cries. 

   Twisting sharply, I make him cry out before I release his hand. 

   He jumps to his feet and takes a swing. 

   I swerve my head and grab his arm, jerking it behind his back and pushing him forward. “Emma get out of the way,” I bark when Justin comes at me again. 

   He plows into me, sending us stumbling backwards.  Wrapping my arm around his waist, I give a sharp upper cut to his gut and he falls to his knees.  A few of Emma’s cousins head my way, and Emma stands in between them and me. 

   “Justin started this.  If he wants to get his butt kicked, let him,” she states quietly, a sadness filling her eyes that kills me. 

   Coughing, Justin pulls himself to his feet, “So, that’s the way it’s going to be, Emma? You are actually going to go through with this?”  Justin shakes his head, “I thought you were smarter than that.” 

   “Justin, you’ve had too much to drink, go sleep it off,” Emma turns to walk away.   

   “Listen to her, Justin,” John softly warns, stepping on the other side of Emma. 

   Justin takes a deep breath, leaning his head back before holding up his hands, “Em, please.  I’m asking for one last favor.  We’ve known each other since birth.  Just give me five minutes.”