“What’s with the Secret Service wannabe look?” Travis asked when they were pulling away from the curb. “The sunglasses give off a retro Top Gun vibe. Was that the goal?” Travis laughed.
Jerome and Sawyer weren’t laughing.
“Would you behave?” Emmy sighed, ignoring her phone’s pinging from the confines of her purse.
“Have you ever thought about throwing that thing out the window? Or running over it?” Travis frowned at her. “Or turning it off? I’m happy to help if it will make it shut the hell up.”
“I’ll do it.” Krystal dug Emmy’s phone from her purse, stared at the screen, then smiled. “When was the last time you checked your messages?”
Emmy Lou shook her head. For the last two days, Melanie had been handling all of her social media. “A while. I need…a break.” So far, the only break she was getting was from Momma. Some big snag in the bathroom renovations had her flying back to Austin in a fit of temper. “Melanie will let me know if something is really important… Why? Please tell me it’s not something bad.”
Krystal held out the phone.
Brock. A video message from Brock.
“You’re not going to play it?” Krystal asked, all gentle sympathy.
But Travis grabbed it, hit play, and held the phone out of Emmy’s reach.
“Em, it’s me. I guess you can tell. Right. Practicing here all day and I thought… We should talk.” He stared at the phone, frowned, and the video ended.
“Do you know where they’re playing, Sawyer? Is it far away?” Krystal asked, studying her face. “It’s not like you need another rehearsal.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sawyer,” Emmy called out. Krystal might be ready and willing to talk to Brock, but she wasn’t. “I can’t. Just let it go, please.”
They were quiet for two blocks. For those two blocks, Emmy’s gaze kept bouncing from the window to her phone screen and Brock’s frozen image.
“Well, if you’re going to stick your head in the sand and deprive yourself of a chance at happiness, let’s get drunk.” Travis nodded, hugging her against him. “I’ve never seen you drunk and I’m thinking it’ll be hilarious. Who’s with me?”
“Was that an attempt at reverse psychology?” Krystal cocked her head to one side. “Or an attempt to get us day drinking?”
“Either works.” Travis peered out the window. “Or we can go back to the hotel, unpack, and Emmy can keep staring at Brock on her phone because that’s not at all pathetic.”
Emmy didn’t argue. This—she—was pathetic. But she still scowled at Travis.
“I figured you’d want to talk to him?” Krystal said, then shook her head. “You know what? This is all you. See him or not, just do what you want to do. Not me or Travis or Momma. You. Okay?”
Emmy nodded, turned her phone over on her knee—then shoved it into her purse. She knew what she wanted, but it wasn’t just up to her… She was scared, plain and simple. Talking to him meant learning the truth. Was Brock manipulating her? Or was it Momma? Not knowing kept her in limbo, but it also prevented her from the pain either option carried with it.
I am so pathetic. Self-loathing burned the back of her throat. She’d rather not know the truth—that way she didn’t have to accept that someone she cared about wasn’t a good person. Enough is enough. Momma was wrong—she was strong enough. It was time to stop giving everyone else power over her. Right here, right now. “Let’s go to the stadium.”
“Good for you, Em. You should talk to him.” Travis looked at her, his smile growing as he nudged her in the side. “Who knows? Might even wind up losing the nun’s habit—”
&
nbsp; “Are you really going to start that? Now? I am going to talk to him.” She stared at her brother. “I have never said anything about having sex with Brock.” Her thoughts and fantasies were for her alone. “You keep bringing it up. Over and over. You won’t shut up about sex.”
“She has a point,” Sawyer said, his gaze meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
“Even if I was going to have sex with Brock, that would be my choice and none of your business.” For the first time in her adult life, Travis was speechless.
The rest of the drive was relatively quiet. Krystal and Jace had a FaceTime call with his sister, Heather, while Travis sat, arms crossed, pouting like a little boy. When they pulled up in front of the stadium doors, Emmy climbed out, Krystal following.
“Hold on.” Krystal opened the rear door of the Suburban and dug through her overnight bag. “I’m not judging.” She slammed the Suburban doors shut and shoved a box of condoms into Emmy’s purse. “Or condoning. I’m keeping you safe.”
“Why does everyone keep thinking I’m about to have some… some sex party?” Emmy stared into her purse at the unopened box.
Krystal laughed. “How am I supposed to know if you were just putting Trav in his place or not? If you do decide to have a sex party, you’re covered.” Krystal shook her head and hugged her. “Text me later. He doesn’t deserve you.” She climbed back into the Suburban—but they didn’t drive off until Emmy Lou was inside.