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“No.” I shake my head. “Whoever I fought with was definitely a man. Taller than Meghan too.”
“Taller,” Caspian muses, then he slides forward against the counter. “Speaking of, you never actually showed me the CCTV from the club. Are we sure there’s nothing there?”
“Positive,” Asher says, picking up his phone from where he tossed it and turning it on. “The footage is so dark, whoever it is might as well be a shadow.”
Asher plays the footage for Caspian and slides it across to him. Caspian leans over and falls silent while he watches. Meanwhile, my mind runs in circles. First things first, we have to get Emma a new phone and change the locks on her apartment. Not that I want her to go back there but if we can stop the culprit from rooting around in her home, it’s a start.
Then…I have no idea. I'm at a loss without an idea of who is behind this.
“Oh shoot,” Asher murmurs. “The hate she gets online. Have either of you ever noticed anything specific about it?”
“Nah.” I shrug one shoulder. “Other than threats of her getting what’s coming to her, the majority of it seems like regular, terrible trolling.”
“Related, you think?”
“Honestly, at this point it’s anyone’s guess,” I reply. “I can’t tell.”
“Fuck.” Caspian slides Asher’s phone toward me. “There really is nothing.”
“Right?” I pick up the phone, but just as I hand it back to Asher, something about the footage caught my attention. I pull the device back and watch as the video loops once more, showing me the same thing.
“What is it?” Caspian asks. “What do you see?”
A sickly chill crawls over my skin, washing away the lingering heat from Emma’s touches.
The figure helping her is shrouded in darkness, but one tiny detail escaped me before.
The stranger wears a dark black jacket with a blue tag.
A blue tag I’ve seen before.
35
EMMA
Igave myself one day to cry over the loss of the summer course and the shocking news of being pregnant. One day to get out all the pain and the fear, and then it was time to fix things.
At least fix the things I was in control of fixing. My recent pregnancy discovery prompts me to head to my parents' house in the hope of making amends with them. Part of me just wants to talk to my mom and tell her how scared and unprepared I am to have a baby. The other part of me wants to give them a chance—one chance for them to show me that they care for me, as their daughter, above all else.
I’m falling in love with three men and I have a baby in my belly that could belong to any one of them.
I want my mom.
Much like when I was younger, my yearning for parental affection and support goes unanswered. Instead, when Mom opens the door, I’m met with a cold stare and a grimace.
“Emma,” she says tartly. “What are you doing here?” She looks me up and down. While her lips purse, she keeps her opinion to herself for once and eyes me sharply.
“It…Well, usually we would be having our monthly dinner today and I miss you and Dad. So I thought I would come and see how you are.”
A cold look of disbelief crosses Mom’s face, then she turns away and stalks inside. She leaves the door open, which serves as my invitation to come inside. Maybe there’s still hope.
I follow her through to the lounge where my father sits with his nose buried in the paper. He curls one side and eyes me, then snaps the paper back up to hide his face.
“Do you need more money?” Dad barks before I’m even fully in the room.
“No,” I reply as a pulse of heat trickles down my arms. “I’m not here for that—or for anything. I just want to talk.”
“So talk.” Mom perches next to Dad, her lips pursed so tightly that all the color from her lipstick vanishes.
