Chapter Twenty-One

 

 

Kaiden

Every mile closer to South Bell, the knot in my stomach pulled tighter. Scenery passed in a blur of various shades of summer greens. Full trees, endless farmer’s fields displaying acres of wheat, soybeans, and early corn were the only sights on our long journey. It was quite different than when we’d made the trek during the winter.

And hot. The haze of humidity gave the air texture as it reflected off the road in the distance, transforming the flat surface into mirages that disappeared as we got closer. It was dull and boring, and I tried hard to stay awake for Emerson’s benefit.

We’d chatted through an endless well of topics, reliving childhood stories, discussing my job and his upcoming school year, all while avoiding focusing on Mom’s annual celebration of Elijah’s birthday. We both felt the same way about it but didn’t feel right voicing those opinions.

Emerson worked diligently at keeping something on the radio, but it seemed the moment we found a decent station, we’d lose it again within a few miles. The truck stops where we gassed up and bought snacks were all the same.

I was anxious but couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. When we’d left back in February, it had been abrupt. The potential chaos we’d left behind—because of my idiocies—worried me. The random conversation I’d had with Bradley sat heavily in my gut ever since. Before then, I hadn’t spared a second thought for him or Emma or the ripple effect that could have resulted from my angry outburst.

“You’re quiet.” Emerson dashed a quick glance in my direction.

“Just thinking. Did Mom say anything when you talked to her?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Did she mention anything about what happened before we left?”

Emerson chuckled. I whipped my head in his direction, scowling.

“You give her too much credit, Kai.” He patted my thigh before returning his hand to the steering wheel. “When we talked, she had one focus.”

That was probably true, but I couldn’t imagine her not hearing something about the shitstorm I’d caused. I’d outed myself and Bradley. She attended their church. People loved gossip, and if Reverend Pierce was as pissed off as I imagined, it would have been the focus of his readings for months.

“Did you talk to her before yesterday? Since we left?”

“Once. She called me in a panic because she thought you’d been abducted.” Emerson shook his head with a smile. “It was the end of April. We’d been gone nearly two months, and she forgot I’d taken you home with me.”

The familiar weight of self-loathing and self-pity moved in at that remark, and I sank lower in my seat. “Figures. What if I had been abducted? She wouldn’t have known for two months? Gotta feel the love there. I could have been dead, and she wouldn’t have cared.”

I rolled my eyes at the truth of my life and watched the world pass by out my window.

“I’m sorry. At this point, you can’t expect differently. She’ll never change.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed and added, “It’s not fair. Never has been, but I did my best to make sure you didn’t get lost in this world.”

“I know. Thank you. Really.”

Without Emerson, I hated to think where I may have ended up.

His hand came down on my thigh again but didn’t move away. Steady, small strokes up and down my leg brought peace to the jitters I hadn’t been able to shake since we’d left. Emerson had always grounded me when life insisted on setting me adrift. I didn’t know what I’d have ever done without him.

“Should we tell her?”

“Probably not a good idea, Kai. I know she’s our mother, but even if she was the perfect parent, it’s too much of a risk. I don’t think it’s wise.”

“Okay. You’re probably right.”

As the miles passed us by, I reached for his hand, linking our fingers as we returned to our home town and the woman we called Mom who’d lost herself many years ago. It was just as hard on Emerson, and I knew it. We’d spent our entire lives being there for each other. It fortified our bond and somehow gave us something unique and meaningful.

We arrived in South Bell after the dinner hour. Emerson parked in the driveway behind Mom’s SUV, and we sat in silence, staring at the house for a few minutes before either of us moved to get out of the truck.

“We’ll share your room,” Emerson said breaking the moment.

“Okay. If it’s still there.”

Another gap of time ticked away without words, then, “We need to be careful. She may be oblivious most of the time, but she’s not blind, and we don’t want this getting out.”

“I know.”

I fidgeted, needing Emerson’s strength more with that declaration. Since bridging our invisible gap and stepping into waters unknown, my brother had become more crucial in my life than ever before. He sensed my shift in mood and squeezed my hand. “I’m here. Just play it safe, okay? We don’t want a problem.”

I squeezed back to confirm I understood, and we got out of the truck, collecting our bags from the cab before heading inside. Mom came from the living room when we entered the kitchen and called out to her.

Most mothers, after having gone long stints of time without seeing their young, might run to their children, offer up hugs, kisses, or greetings bestowing the ache in their heart from being apart, but not our Mom. Her facial expression gave the impression she was a trifle perturbed. Her gaze flicked from Emerson then to me before landing on the bags we’d dropped in a pile on the ground.

Emerson, always the one who knew how to handle her best, smiled and took her into a hug.

“Hey, Ma. How are you?”

It looked painfully awkward, and I shuffled my feet, knowing I should project the same welcome when he released her.

Our hug was less close and significantly shorter. My limbs stiffened automatically, and I counted every breath and measured every inch that separated us. It had always been like that. There wasn’t a time in my life when I remembered Mom nurturing or loving me as my friend’s mothers had. It was my reality. If I was sad, happy, hurt, excited, or any other emotion in between, it was Emerson who I ran to and Emerson who’d held me and made everything okay again. He was more than a brother back then, and he was more than a brother now.

Mom pulled away and rested her hands on her hips, rocking on her feet as she peered back into the living room from where she’d come.

“I was just sorting through albums and deciding which pictures to put out this year.”

There were only around fifty to choose from, but each birthday it was a rigorous process picking just the right ones. She had special birthday frames for the ones selected which she mounted around the cake. The angel figurines from the wall unit were moved as well along with the candles she burned only on special occasions.

“Need a hand?”

I wanted to smack Emerson for volunteering, especially since I knew picture selection often turned into endless reminiscing of a time from before I was even born. There was already a part of the day set aside to tell those stories, we didn’t need to do it twice.

“Please. That would be lovely.”

Emerson winked at me and nodded to our bags. “Why don’t you throw these in your room and run to the sandwich shop and grab us food?” He slipped his truck keys into my hand and ensured our fingers clung a little longer before he let go.

Mom had already gone around the corner, so I thanked him for providing me an escape before shouldering our bags and disappearing into my old room. I kept the door open and listened to Mom’s muffled voice as she retold the same stories we’d both heard a hundred times over.

My room had remained untouched. Everything exactly as I’d left it. A mess. Seeing as how Emerson claimed Mom had called with concerns over my whereabouts back in April, I half assumed it wasn’t on her radar to clear it out. Maybe she didn’t know if my relocation was permanent. At the time, I didn’t think it was. I’d been against Emerson’s plan and had intended to return eventually. That was no longer the case. I didn’t see myself ever coming back.

I dropped our bags beside the bed and spent the following twenty minutes tidying up and stripping the sheets. If we were going to share, the least I could do was give us something fresh to sleep on.

Before heading out, I carried the bedding to the small laundry closet and started a load. As I closed the door to cut down on the noise, I caught Emerson peering over the back of the couch from the living room. His smile shot straight to my heart and warmed me through. There was pride in his eyes, and I beamed when I saw it. I jingled the keys to let him know I was running out, and he winked before returning his focus to Mom.

With two heaping, assorted lunch meat sandwiches arranged on plates, I reluctantly joined Emerson and Mom for the final stretch of picture-finding and story time.

My mother thumbed through an album, smoothing her hand over each individual photo. Elijah hadn’t been born in the digital age, so his short life had been captured on 33mm film which my father had painstakingly developed for his grieving wife. Those photos were carefully arranged in albums with the plastic pages that smoothed overtop, sealing them inside.

“No matter how many times we tried to correct you, you always called him Jaja. Do you remember that?”

The likelihood of Emerson’s toddler memory being that astute was small, but he agreed nonetheless. He always had. Just like the story of him wanting to take Elijah in the turtle pool the day Mom brought him home from the hospital. Emerson couldn’t possibly remember those details, but he acted as though they were as fresh as the day they’d happened.

Because I hadn’t been born yet, there were no stories that included me, so I frequently got left out when reminiscing.

I ate my sandwich as I listened. Emerson pointed to one of the pictures. “How about this one this year. Remember how much he liked his baby swing?”

“He smiled the first time in that swing,” Mom said, eyes glassing over as she peeled back the plastic film over the top. “Your dad would make his silly faces as Elijah rocked toward him. When he was a little older, it made him giggle that sweet little laugh he had, remember?”

Another nod. Another time neither of us really knew anything about. Emerson added it to the small accumulation on the coffee table. “I think that’s a picture for each frame, Ma.”

“Are there five?”

She took the pictures from his grasp and counted them out, sensually stroking her finger over the baby in each.

“I ordered the cake from Silvia’s again. She will have it ready first thing when they open.”

“Kaiden and I can run out and get it for you. Is anyone else coming this year?”

Her brow creased as she thought. “I invited the ladies from work, and a few from church, but…” She trailed off. “I don’t think so.”

Emerson rubbed her arm. “We’re here, Mom. That’s what counts, right?”

“You’ve missed so many years.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She stared at the pictures in her lap. “I’m going to frame these and make sure everything is ready. Then, I might call it a night. The bakery opens at eight.”

“We’ll take care of the cake. Don’t you worry.”

She rose and put the album carefully back where it belonged, in its own slot under the unit, alongside other albums that never saw the light of day. They were Emerson’s baby albums, filled with two years worth of his growing up. After Elijah died, so did almost all picture-taking. I didn’t have an album. Aside from a handful of shots my dad took before he died, my childhood was forgotten.

Mom fussed in the kitchen while Emerson and I finished our sandwiches. She said goodnight a short time later and disappeared down the hall. The weight of Emerson’s gaze pulled my attention from my thoughts.

“Come here.” He patted the couch beside him, crooking his head, encouraging me to move.

I went without thought and sank beside him. He wrapped a strong protective arm around my shoulder and pulled me tight to his side. I dropped my head to his shoulder and sighed, releasing more coiled tension than I knew I’d been carrying. He was the strength I didn’t have and the only stability I’d ever known.

We sat for a long time without words. Emerson stroked my hair in a soothing rhythm and eventually rested his cheek on the top of my head. The subtle intake of air as he breathed me in sent a calming essence through my body.

“We had that turtle pool for years, you know. Dad would set it up on hot days in the summer and let us splash around. The year I was seven, I decided I was too old to swim naked like we normally did and insisted on wearing my bathing suit. You were three. The concept of bathing suits was appalling to you. I don’t know if it was because I suddenly had a sense of modesty or what, but I remember trying to convince you to wear a bathing suit too. Dad entrusted me to help you get ready as he filled the pool with water. I chased your naked ass around the house for ten minutes, waving swim trunks in your face, but you wouldn’t have it.”

I chuckled, and Emerson kissed the top of my head gently before he went on. “Dad gave me shit and told me to just let you be. There was nothing wrong with swimming naked at three. I remember having a massive attitude about it. You splashed and played all afternoon in the pool. Slid down the little slide on your belly and ran around the backyard naked as the day you were born while I sat in a lawn chair and sulked.

“Dad told me I was being silly and was missing out, but there was no way I was gonna swim with your naked ass.”

“I have a damn fine naked ass. Your loss.”

Emerson laughed and pushed the hair off my forehead again, tracing his thumb over the silver scar left behind from my accident months ago. “It was my loss. Who knew.

“Meanwhile, the longer I sulked, the more observant of my poor attitude you became. Eventually, you started doing this stupid little dance at me where you’d hold your hands on your hips, thrust your pelvis out and flap your tiny little penis back and forth to taunt me while you sang some stupid song—”

“The penis song!” I flew from Emerson’s arms and spun to look at him, a wide grin plastered on my face. “Oh, my God, I forgot about that. Swing-a-ling-a-pee-pee, you can see my wee-wee.”

Emerson clamped a hand over my mouth as we both burst out laughing and collapsed sideways. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Dad taught me that song. It used to bug the hell out of you, I remember now.”

I didn’t remember the pool day he described, but I remembered that song being a huge source of pride because it was the one thing that I knew irritated Emerson, and growing up, it was my duty as his little brother to mess with him as much as I could.

Emerson pulled me into his arms since we were lying down. Our legs tangled together, and we rested our heads close. His smile lingered long after our laughter calmed. One hand settled on my hip and squeezed lovingly.

“Somehow, I think waving my dick in your face nowadays might earn me an entirely different reaction.”

Emerson pulled my head against his shoulder in a tight embrace and whispered in my ear, “Try it, I have a whole new approach to your little juvenile games.”

Our position on the couch was comfortable and could easily be disguised as brotherly roughhousing if Mom decided to get up for any reason, so I took comfort in Emerson’s arms.

“Thank you,” I said. “I know what you’re doing, and I appreciate it.”

“You didn’t deserve the upbringing you got.”

“No one does, but I had you, and for that I’m thankful.”

Emerson kissed my forehead. “Let’s go flip the laundry so we can go to bed soon. Tomorrow will feel like a long day.”

 

* * *

 

The two-tiered cake was iced with white frosting. Birthday wishes were announced in baby blue writing and flowers decorated all sides in an assortment of purples, yellows, and greens. There was a stack of paper plates and plastic forks set in neat piles off to the side in anticipation of guests who would never show up. It wasn’t that people didn’t care, but too much time had passed.

Elijah would have been celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday had his life not been cut short. Sudden infant death was to blame, or so the records showed. Perfectly fine one day, then the next, everything changed.

The kitchen counters carried an assortment of platters filled with veggies, meats and cheeses, crackers and hummus, fruits, and two kinds of potato chips. There was enough food for a dozen people. Twisted streamers in two shades of blue hung from the ceiling, and helium-filled balloons were bunched together with curly ribbons in every corner. The living room was alive and ready for the celebration, but the birthday boy was not.

My heart ached when my mother came into the room. Her hair was done up in a clean French braid, and her floral dress looked brand new. She scanned the living room and nodded. I caught Emerson’s eye as he arranged the framed photos near the cake. At least I wasn’t doing this alone like the last four years.

I filled a plastic cup with punch, wishing it was spiked before settling on the couch to wait. Once eleven ticked by and no one showed up, my mother would launch into her usual birthday boy speech. Then, we’d eat, share more heart-numbing stories, and eventually, we’d all make a trip to the cemetery where twenty-five years of misery would consume my mother.

“How are you holding up?”

Emerson sat beside me with his own punch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. He draped an arm around my shoulder and tugged me against him. Nothing about the gesture was unusual. We’d always been close, and it wasn’t uncommon for Emerson to pull me into hugs, ensuring I received enough to replace all the missed ones from Mom.

“I hate this.”

“I know. It’s one day. We’ll head home first thing in the morning.”

“You need to take the brunt of this. I can’t. I’ve done it alone for four years.”

“Deal.” He pecked a kiss on the side of my head when Mom called him into the kitchen. “Love you, Kai. We’ve got this.”

Emerson slinked away as those three parting words hung in the air. I’d heard them my entire life. Emerson never failed to remind me how much he loved me, but with all that had happened between us, this time they resonated differently. “Love” and “in love” were two different things, and I wondered if Emerson meant the former or the latter.

Eleven o’clock came and went. Mom stood by the window as she did every year, eyes trained on the road, waiting for people to arrive. At a quarter past, the only indication of disappointment was a slight falling of her shoulders before she turned and announced it was time to pay tribute to the birthday boy.

Emerson and I refilled our punch and gathered in the kitchen where the pictures and cake were waiting. My mother clutched her own drink between her hands and smiled as she looked into the past, hazel eyes glistening.

“I’ll never forget the day I went into labor. It was the middle of the night, and I was restless. Your dad encouraged me to get up and walk around to let off some energy, so I did. I ended up cleaning my oven top to bottom, defrosting the freezer, and sanitizing the fridge as well. Then, my back hurt…”

I leaned against Emerson, resting my chin on his shoulder while she carried on. I’d heard the story enough times I could recite it myself, right down to the breaking of her water, each centimeter dilated, and exactly how many pushes it took for my brother to make his presence into the world.

Emerson hooked an arm around my waist and appeared as though he was enraptured in her story. The gentle pressure at my side told me different. He was right there with me but far more skilled at supporting her than I was.

Her retelling of Elijah’s birth ended with the cake-cutting. She dished out a piece each, and the mood lightened when Emerson dotted my nose with frosting.

I shoved him away and laughed as I wiped it off with the back of my hand. “Dick. What was that for?”

He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Mom was occupied before holding out a heaping forkful of cake in front of my face.

“Here, quick,” he whispered.

Emerson hated cake, especially when it was iced. He could choke it down if he had to, but traditionally, I ate it for him. In secret, of course. I opened, and he jammed the too-large bite into my mouth so forcefully, I almost gagged.

I covered my mouth and tried to chew, swallow, and stop laughing before I sucked it into a lung. I coughed on a few crumbs and shoved his arm away when he came at me, fork loaded with a second bite.

“Let’s try not killing me,” I whispered.

He laughed, flashing his eyes behind him before waving me to hurry up and clear my mouth. I was better prepared for the second bite and took it like a champ. As I chewed the extra-large mouthful, I waved for him to scrape the rest of his cake onto my plate. Right before he shifted the remainder over, Mom turned, and I pulled away in a panic.

The cake splatted on the floor.

Emerson’s eyes widened as Mom gasped and scolded, “Emery, be more attentive. I just washed those floors yesterday.”

She pushed around him to retrieve a cloth from the sink as he crouched to scrape the ruined cake back onto his plate. He eyeballed me from below, and the look he gave was an unmistakable, amused warning. I was gonna pay for that.

I shrugged as I scooped more cake into my mouth, aiming for the smuggest look I could conjure. To be an ass, I started waving my hips at him in the same fashion I’d done as a kid when I ran around naked, and I knew he could hear the penis song in his head.

He pinched my thigh as he stood, and I almost spit cake out my nose from trying to contain a laugh. I was so glad Emerson was there this year. I’d missed his ability to turn a dreaded day into something more manageable.

By three in the afternoon, we’d managed a full day of celebrating and mourning Elijah. Mom had retired to her room for a nap, and Emerson and I tidied the kitchen to save her the hassle. There was so much food leftover, we filled a few plates for a late lunch as we worked.

“Wanna go to the movies when we’re done?” Emerson asked as he carefully laid Saran Wrap over the remaining cake.

I gave the table a final wipe and tossed the dirty rag in the sink. “Actually, I was gonna go out.”

“Out? Out where?”

Emerson left the partly covered cake and leaned on the counter, his interest suddenly piqued.

“Around. I…” Sighing, I shrugged, unsure if Emerson would understand my needs. “I need to find Emma and see if she knows how to get a hold of Bradley.”

Emerson’s brow dipped, but he didn’t say anything.

“He texted me a while back. We spoke on the phone. His dad kicked him out after I outed him. He was bouncing friend’s houses, but so far as I understood, he was on the street. I tried calling him this morning, but his phone is out of service. I need to know if he’s okay. It’s all my fault, Em. I did that.”

Emerson’s jaw tightened as he studied the floor. Deciding something, he reached for my hand and pulled me against him. “Watch yourself. The repercussions of your actions could still be rippling around. Don’t get yourself in trouble.”

“I won’t. You can trust me. I just… need to know Bradley’s okay.”

“Text me if you have a problem.”

I nodded. Before I could pull away, Emerson snagged the back of my neck and pulled me closer, leaving a lingering kiss on my lips. It was brief but carried a promise I felt in my core. Emerson would always be there for me, no matter what.

I headed out on foot a short time later, texting Emma’s number as I walked. Since the explosion back in February, I hadn’t heard a thing from her.

Can you talk? was all I sent. Simple. To the point.

She was a girl whose phone was attached to her hip. Unless she was blatantly ignoring me, I expected a reply right away. Before I made it to the end of the road, my phone pinged.

Emma: I’ll call you in five.

I turned on the street which led toward Reverend Pierce’s church and his property. I didn’t plan to make an appearance, but if Emma wanted to meet up, I wanted to be in the vicinity to save time. At a local playground, I decided I’d gone far enough. Another block would put me on the church’s front lawn, and there was only so much drama I cared to take on my shoulders. I sat on a bench and waited.

Ten minutes went by before my phone rang. I answered it, but Emma spoke before I could utter a hello.

“You have a lot of nerve. What do you want?”

“Hello to you too. I need to know if Bradley’s okay.”

“Now you care?” The bite in her tone made me cringe. “You couldn’t have given me five minutes to explain things, could you? You had to throw my brother under the bus. Do you have any idea what that did?”

I could envision the disaster, but I had the feeling it wouldn’t do reality any justice.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I was angry, and I know I didn’t handle it right.”

“You didn’t.” Her tone softened, and she fell quiet. “Are you in town?”

“Yeah, but just until tomorrow. Elijah’s birthday stuff.”

She and everyone in the church knew how my mother dealt with her lost son, and despite it all, they were sympathetic, even if they didn’t show up to help her celebrate.

“Where are you?”

“Park down the road.”

Laughter came through the line. “I thought that was you. Look up.”

I lifted my head and flinched at the person approaching and waving from a half a block away. Not just any person but a very pregnant Emma.

“Holy shit, girl!”

“Shut up. One fat joke and I kick your ass, pregnant or not. I’m hanging up.”

The line went dead. Watching her approach, I was surprised to see how well she looked. Where I expected anger, she beamed a smile in my direction. That was all fine and dandy, but where was Bradley?

When she made it to the bench, I slid over to give her space. Her breathing was labored, and she tilted her head to the sky as she held her bulge. “It’s too hot for walking.”

I didn’t mean to stare, but the changes in her were so significant, I couldn’t help taking it all in.

“You look…”

“Like a cow?”

“No… you look good. How are you feeling?”

“Like I need to get this baby out of me.”

“How far along are you?”

“Due the first week of August. Not long now. Counting the days.”

I absorbed that information, and when she relaxed beside me, I resumed scanning the park and empty streets. The Emma I knew, the one who was in your face and edging on trouble was no longer present. The woman beside me was different. More mature somehow.

“Are you living at home?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. For now. When the baby comes, Mom will help, but I hope to have my own place come winter.”

I squirmed when I felt her eyes on me but decided it was time to ask the question I came to ask, despite fearing the answer.

“Where’s Bradley?”

“He’s living with Pastor Steven and his wife. A lot has happened since you left, Kai.”

I flinched at that information and waited for her to explain. She sighed and adjusted her weight on the bench until she faced me, one hand methodically rubbing her lump.

“Initially, Dad exploded. He confronted Bradley, called him a lot of things which aren’t worth repeating, preached at him, then threw him out with nothing more than the shirt on his back. I didn’t get the boot only because Mom threatened to leave if he tossed his pregnant daughter out as well.” Emma snorted a derisive laugh out her nose. “Mom didn’t advocate for Bradley much at the time. I’m sure she wanted to but knew better.”

Emma studied my face a minute before fixing her dark hair behind her ear. “Remember when Emerson came out?”

“Clearly. It was a disaster thanks to your dad. Why do you think I kept my own sexuality a secret?”

“Well, when word got around about Bradley, the town really went to war. Now it wasn’t some other kid, it was the minister’s son. Dad took a big hit. Surprisingly, there were a lot of people who chastised him for his choice. More than you’d think. People came out of the woodwork and stood up for Bradley like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Good, fucking dick deserves to be put in his place.”

Emma smiled. “He lost a lot of the congregation. People rallied against him. He stood firm as ever on his views of homosexuality. And this was before anyone knew I was pregnant.”

My brows winged up. I could only imagine how that would have gone over.

“When I started showing, it was just more shit to hit the fan. Now his unwed daughter was good enough to live in sin and stay under his roof, but his gay son couldn’t? Oh, Kaiden, you’ve never seen an uproar like this. Long story short. Pastor Steven sought Bradley out a few months ago and took him in. His is an affirming church, and Bradley was welcomed with open arms. It’s been the best thing for my brother, and a real slap in the face for my father.

“Anyhow, with the pressure and the loss in the congregation, he’s beginning to shed his old views a little.”

She held up a tiny gap between her thumb and finger. “Really little, but it’s something.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. He met with Pastor Steven just last week. Bradley said he never asked about him, but he did have an open discussion about the changing times. Apparently, he even managed to curb his tongue and listen some. So, who knows?”

“And Bradley’s okay?”

“He is. I talk to him a few times a week. Last we spoke, he told me he was seeing someone. A guy from church. He’s happy. Even starting college in September.”

A weight lifted off my shoulders, and I sank back on the bench, wiping a hand over my face. “That makes me feel so much better. I thought I put him out on the street. I thought I’d ruined his life.”

“You did for a while, but things are better.”

Emma groaned and shifted her weight again. “You okay?” I asked.

“No, I’m pregnant and miserable.” She smiled and rubbed my arm when I must have looked worried. “I’m fine.”

“Can you give Bradley a message for me? I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.” She nodded, so I continued. “Tell him, I’m sorry. Tell him, I wish him the best, and if I could take back everything and do it differently, I would.”

Emma sought my hand and squeezed. “I’ll tell him. Now come on. Help me walk home.”

Taking some of Emma’s weight, I helped her up and secured an arm around her waist. The trip toward her house was slow, and we didn’t speak anymore. When we arrived, she kissed me on the cheek and smiled.

“Take care of yourself, Kai. I hope things are good for you now.”

“They are. Thank you.”