Page 35 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

“Do you know part of the reason I didn’t want you to be my neighbor?” My thoughts and emotions are all tie-dyed—bleeding together into one big shape. “Because everyone loves you as soon as they meet you, but most people only tolerate me. This town, though…theyloveme and my spikes. It’s my sanctuary. My safe place. Maybe it’s because they loved my parents, and they love my siblings—” My voice breaks. “I don’t know, and I don’t always feel like I deserve it. But they do—and I was afraid that if you moved into my town that I love so, so much, I’d have to watch them fall in love with you over me. Because there’s never been room enough for both of us. We are two sides of the same coin—but everyone always chooses you.” Sadly, I don’t even think I’m that drunk right now. I’m just hysterical. Jack’s chest is absorbing all of my saltytears. “And I wouldn’t even blame them because you’re so damn likable. Even when I’ve hated you, I’ve always liked you.”

He holds me closer, my cheek smashing against his chest. “People may like me, but they don’t know me. I don’t think anyone has ever known me quite like you have. And that’s part of why I wanted to move back to Rome. Because ofyou.Because through our strange, twisted relationship, you’ve made me feel less alone. I wanted to be part of this town because I know that for you to love it, it has to be pretty spectacular. And I swear to you, I would never try to steal their love away from you. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. They love you more than you know. Believe me, I’ve seen firsthand how much this town worships you and your spikes.”

A broken sob tears me in half as Jack shields me from a little bit of the darkness. We stand here like this for a while—Jack holding me. His body is warm like sheets fresh out of the dryer. This is the first time anyone has ever held me like this…or that I’ve allowed myself to be held. Of course it would be with Jack.

“What else?” says Jack softly. “I want to know.”

I sniff and savor the feel of him holding me tight. “I’m intense sometimes…but…at least I have good nipples, right, Jack? Tell me I do.”

I could swear I feel him smile against the top of my head where his chin is resting. “The best I’ve ever seen, Emily.”

Chapter Eleven

Jack

After a while, when it seems the worst of Emily’s panic has died down, I guide her to the couch. She folds over and buries her face in her forearms. I know these emotions are amplified from the alcohol, but I haveneverseen her like this. Wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Emily—the woman who seems to single-handedly carry the world on her shoulders better than Superman ever could dream—is an emotional (and physical) wreck. And for all my joking that she’s a humanoid, I guess maybe there was a part of me that believed shewastoo perfect for raw feelings like this. Too tough for puffy eyes. Too organized for a snotty cry. But here she is, breaking down in front of me. Or maybe the better way to phrase that isin spite of me.

“It’s over, Jack. My life is over,” she mumbles for the tenth time tonight.

“You’re a very dramatic drunk, did you know that?”

The sleeves of her robe are stained with wet mascara as she looks up at me. But her gaze snags on the stains and they make her sad all over again. She pushes the fabric up to her bicep and mystomach knots at the sight of the little cuts on her elbows—and knees too—from falling on her way to get me.

“Okay, let me see if I understand this,” I say, sitting on the floor in front of the couch with my back to Emily, whose face is now over my shoulder as I open her laptop. “You tried to email something to someone else, and you accidentally sent it to Bart instead? And now you want me to get it back before he opens it?”

“Yes.” She sniffs and pushes her golden bangs behind her ear. Her eyes are going to ache like crazy tomorrow from how swollen they are tonight. It’s killing me slowly to see her like this.

“Password?” I ask, looking down at the screen resting on my legs.

Her hand extends over my shoulder, her forearm brushing my neck from her sloppy motor skills as she plucks six numbers on her keyboard. Her hand loses life and drops onto my chest.

“You shouldn’t set your password as your birthday.” I look down at her limp hand. Red polish a little chipped on her thumbnail.

When she doesn’t say anything, I angle my face to her, only to find her heavy eyes watching me. “You know my birthday?”

“I’ve known you since college. Of course I know your birthday. I also know it’s your tradition to bring in two slices of pie for your birthday lunch and eat them both yourself.”

A little frown pinches between her brows. “I’m too tipsy to understand subtlety right now. Was that a dig at how much I eat?”

“Not at all,” I say with a genuine smile.

She shrugs but doesn’t move her arm. “I like pie.”

“I like that you like pie.” I click around her laptop. “I’ve still never had one from the Pie Shop thanks to your ban.”

I imagine bringing her a whole pie to school on her birthday this year so she can eat the entire thing. And on that thought, realizing I’ll be here this year and the next—that I won’t be in Nebraska, living a life away from Emily—it soothes a part of me I didn’t know was aching.

“February tenth,” Emily says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Yours is February tenth. Your last birthday I thought about making your favorite coffee beans in the break room in honor of it.”

I’m smiling. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because it would have been a breach in our unspoken rules.”

I nod and suddenly rethink every choice I’ve made with Emily over the last decade. The source of that initial tug that brought me back to Rome is growing into a new awareness. Maybe I’ve always picked fights with her because I enjoy it. Because I enjoyher.Because we’re friends. Maybe we’ve always been friends in a weird unconventional sort of way. But maybe I’m ready for it to evolve into something…conventional.

“I missed my chance to make you birthday coffee,” she begins in a sad, resigned tone that turns downright pouty. “Since I’ll probably be fired after Bart opens my email anyway.”

I can’t sit back and watch her shrink into despair anymore. “It’s time to tell me what was in the email, Goldie.”

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