Page 43 of Only for Love

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Emma

TGIF.

Thursdays are always the worst, because I’ve been on the clock at Emerald’s, then classes, then the Delightful Diner, and then my internship. I’m sitting in a client meeting and taking notes for Jeremy Rossdale, my boss, the managing partner of Creative Dynamic Worldwide. With the exception of a couple of hours’ sleep, I’ve been on the job for twenty-four hours in a row. Somewhere in there, I played a solid game of hide-n-seek and dried Cally’s tears when we couldn’t find anything that was packed.

Moving with a two-year-old? Not easy.

But it’s Friday—no classes and my only job that doesn’t require physical labor, even if it’s also the only job that doesn’t pay. The internship’s lack of a steady paycheck might blow, but I have a promise from Jeremy: if I get my college degree while doing mundane intern work, I will be hired as an entry-level marketing executive and have a foot in the door for if and when the art department hires. Meaning I’ll be paid to do something with a camera, even if it’s just brainstorm shoots.

Still, the potential for a paycheck and benefits? Yeah, that I’ll bust my butt to get. It’ll be a dream-come-true job, mostly because my clothes will stay on and my paycheck will be direct deposited. No writhing and crawling on the floor for bills, no carrying trays of coffee and half-eaten pancakes for coins.

The internship is my long-tail approach to success. Eat that, Professor Dickhead.

I try to stifle a yawn and fiddle with the yarn-and-bead bracelet Cally made me last night. It’s pink and purple. When she showed it to me, she did a dance and sang a nonsensical song that still makes my eyes burn with tears. Such a cute kid.

My mom came over after Cally went to sleep so I could pick up a shift at the diner. I wore the bracelet, and all three of the truckers who came in for coffee and hash browns remarked about it.

Staying busy has served a secondary purpose recently. The last few weeks have been a roller coaster. Summerland County gossip has buzzed for days about Grayson dying overseas, and my trip to see Pops went about as well as a disaster.

But on the upside, my twenty-first birthday is almost here, and I’ve finally been able to scrape together enough money, with a little assistance from my folks, to move Cally and me from our one-bedroom teeny-tiny, should-be-called-a-studio apartment to a real, albeit still teeny-tiny, house. I picked up the keys earlier this week.

God, I need some coffee if I’m going to make through moving. My phone flashes with a text from Sarah, my best friend and fellow marketing intern.

Sarah:Meant to tell you, I drove by! Super cute house. Way to go you. You don’t even touch your neighbors, it’s really something. Proud of you.

I roll my lips to keep from smiling. The new house rocks. I’m bursting to get everything out of the apartment and into the house so it will finally feel real. Dad and Ryan moved the beds, a lot of boxes, and our necessities this week. Cherry will take Cally tonight for an auntie slumber party so I can unpack boxes.

My phone rings, and I silence it. The caller ID shows an unfamiliar number. Jeremy looks over, his nose pinched.

I mouth, “Sorry.”

Again, I fiddle with the bracelet and take all the notes he’ll need. My handwriting is perfect, but I’ll have them typed and in his inbox before he leaves for the weekend.

My phone rings again, same number. Two calls in a row make me think of emergency situations. Cally fell. Got sick. Got lost. My stomach twists.

“I think that about wraps this up.” Jeremy stands. “Emma, need clarification on anything before we break?”

“No, sir. Got it all.” I tap my notepad, which is covered in details. He asks to be polite, but never in my time with him have I missed something he needs.

“Better get that.” Jeremy nods at my phone.

“Right. Thanks.” I slip out of the conference room and head toward the privacy of the hallway to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ems.” The nervous scratch of a faraway voice reaches into my soul, wrapping its brutal tentacles around me.

No one calls me Ems. No one but Grayson Ford. The boy I dream of, the man I dance for, the reason I’m still living, and the source of all my desperation. My throat tightens to the point that I think I’m going to choke, and an intense pounding in my chest finds its way to my ears. There is no way I just heard what I did.

“Grayson?”

It’s him. The him who ruined my life. Whomademy life. Who confused my mind to the point that I can’t figure out if I’ve been destroyed or set free. The him who… is… dead.

I tremble and press against the wall, feeling a wave of weakness. I’m unsure if I’ll crumble to the floor, praise God, or just melt.

“You’re—alive?” My voice breaks. Tears spill. I want to throw my phone and run. But I can’t.

“Yeah… maybe not the guy you knew, but it’s me.”

---