Chapter 14

I watch Anthony teeter away and then hurry in the direction I think the girls went. Em isn't anywhere in sight, so I ask club personnel if they've seen him. I get lucky near the front entrance.

"Yeah, the sloppy drunk with the two hot chicks? They went outside to catch a cab," says one of the hosts. He chuckles. "I wouldn't want to be in a tight space with him, though. He'll probably redecorate it with whatever's in his stomach."

I call out a "thanks" over my shoulder as I push past people to squeeze through the single glass door. The sidewalk is crammed with people waiting to gain entrance or merely socializing, but I don't see Em or the girls among them.

As I continue to scan the crowd, I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. It doesn't make sense to me why I'm so worked up about what is likely a huge overreaction on my part—perhaps it's the culmination of a day's worth of worry and frustration.

Not wanting to muss my makeup, I dab underneath my eyes and smooth down my hair. Several deep breaths help to calm me as I prepare to go back into the club. I'm just about to approach the doorman when I see Emily and Erin step out from a small walking path between the Underground building and the one beside it. They're both wearing disgusted looks on their faces.

"Where the fuck is my friend?" I demand, striding angrily toward them.

Emily scowls and jerks her head toward the walking path. "He's back there puking his guts out. Gross. I don't care if he is Anthony's brother—I'm not babysitting his wasted ass." She marches back toward the club. Erin shrugs sheepishly and tries to keep up.

I don't give them a second thought as I round the building corner as fast as my heeled sandals will allow. The walkway isn't dark, but it's not as brightly lit as the sidewalk. I spot Em hunched over and kneeling on the ground about halfway down the path.

"Em!" I cry, crouching down beside him. I'm careful to avoid the puddle of watery vomit in front of his knees.

"What do you want, Bella?" he coughs, his chin on his chest.

I know he's messed up, but the surprising vitriol in his voice still hurts.

"I want to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fucking peachy, so feel free to go back to Anthony where you belong."

I put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away, nearly falling over in the process. I stare at him, my hand still outstretched as the damn tears threaten to well up again.

"Why are you so mad at me? What did I do?" My voice cracks toward the end, and I wince in shame at my weakness.

Em finally looks at me, squinting as he tries to focus on my face. He stares for a few seconds, then groans and crawls around the puddle to sit against the building wall.

"I'm not mad at you. Sorry. As for what you did…it's complicated."

I carefully lower myself to the ground beside him. "Try me."

He shakes his head, then rests it against his drawn-up knees. "I can't."

"What? Why not?"

Another shake of his head and a low moan are the only responses I get, and with that, I reach my saturation point.

"Alright, that's enough. Come on, get up." I rise to my own feet and pull on his upper arm. "Do you want me to take you back to your trailer, or would you rather get a hotel room nearby?"

He lets me help him to his feet and accepts my support as we make our way to the street.

"Trailer, I guess," he mumbles. "I don't feel so hot, though. Oh, god."

Em seems to take a turn for the worse and leans heavily against me. An Underground doorman notices my struggle and helps me get Em into a cab. He's also kind enough to give me a plastic bag for the ride. I'm about to climb into the vehicle when I hear Rosalie's voice behind me.

"Where are you going, Bella? Where's everyone else?"

I turn to face her. "Em's had too much to drink, so I'm taking him back to the buses. I think Anthony and Jazz are still in our spot…no idea about Seth and Ty." My gaze circles around her. "What happened to Laurent? Are you two…okay?"

"Ha, I'm great. As for Laurent—he didn't take our breakup very well. When I finally got it through his head that we were over, he started bawling like a baby. It was ridiculous. I left him on a corner about four blocks back."

"Rose!" I exclaim, feeling terrible for Laurent. "How could you just ditch him on the street like that?"

"Hey, I tried to do this as nicely and calmly as possible, but he had to be all dramatic about it. I wasn't about to stand there and listen to him beg all night for another chance." She shrugs, obviously considering the matter closed.

"God, you are such a bitch," I say in disgust.

"Yeah, pretty much. I don't have time in my life to waste on people who aren't going anywhere."

The cab driver clears his throat loudly, and it's the perfect catalyst for me to end the conversation. If I talk to her any longer, it'll be me who needs the vomit bag.

"Speaking of going somewhere, we're gonna take off." I climb into the cab and try to shut the door, but she holds onto it.

"Hey, are you coming back later, you know, for Anthony?"

"God, Rose, I don't know. Probably not. I've got more important things to take care of right now."

She casts me a speculative glance. "Yeah, I can see that." The cab door is slammed shut in my face.

"Bitch," I repeat under my breath as we drive away.

It's touch and go for Em on the ride back. Several times, he shoves his face in the bag but manages to keep it down on each occasion. It doesn't help that the cabbie, who keeps eyeing Em warily, is breaking land speed records to get us to our destination as soon as possible.

Em is trying to rest against the door frame, but the errant driving causes his head to bang repeatedly against the window. He's so out of it that he doesn't move until I grab his shoulders and pull him toward me. A sharp turn of the vehicle propels his body against mine, and I end up squashed against the opposite door. Of course, it so happens that his face is planted snugly in my chest.

"Jesus, Em, your head weighs a ton." I attempt to push him off but have no leverage with my elbows pinned against the seat.

"That's 'cause it's big. Like the rest of me. Really big, heh," he mutters, drops of saliva splattering on my skin.

"I'm sure it is," I say diplomatically. "You know, it would be great if you'd try to stop drooling on me."

"But you're so delicious." He shoves his nose into my cleavage and inhales deeply. "Mm, yummy Bella."

I'm not sure which surprises me more—his drunken action or my involuntary reaction. I shift uncomfortably under his weight and try to get the situation under control.

"Whoa there, Don Juan. That's yellow light behavior. How about you help me get us in a more appropriate position?"

"I've got a position for you."

"Em, what the hell? You didn't turn into Mr. Lothario last time you were buzzed."

"Shoulda drank more then." His lips are creeping up toward the neckline of my shirt.

"You're a mess. Come on, up you go." I shove with all my strength and am able to move him off me…straight onto the floor of the cab. His head makes a dull thud when it hits.

"Shit! Are you okay? Em?" I try to pull him back onto the seat, but he's all crumpled up and just too heavy for me.

"What's going on back there? Did he throw up? I charge extra for cleaning." The driver sounds equal parts alarmed and angry.

"Iz all good, just hangin' out down here," Em mumbles from the floor. "Are we home yet?"

"Actually, yes." The cabbie steps on the brakes hard at the makeshift checkpoint entrance to our caravan site.

He thrilled when one of the team's security personnel help me get Em out of the car. He doesn't even wait for the extra tip I'm digging out of my purse—he just speeds away.

The cooler outside air seems to help sober Em up a bit, and he's able to stagger back to the steps of his trailer with moderate help from me. He pulls a small set of keys out of his pocket and puts them in my hand. Then he leans over to throw up all over his shoes. Twice.

I'm able to jump out of the way in time, thank god, but Em is a watery mess. Apparently, his hands got caught in the deluge and are dripping. The bottoms of his jeans are also wet.

"Fuck," he groans, wiping his hands on his thighs. "This isn't good." His knees start to bend as if he's trying to sit down, and I quickly yank him toward the steps so he doesn't put himself in the middle of the puddle.

"Bella? What's going on?" He squints up at me unlocking his door. "Why are we here?"

"I'll remind you later. First, we need to get you cleaned up. Wait on the steps, okay? Don't try to go anywhere."

I sprint inside his trailer, grab some clothes out of a suitcase, and stop to run water over a towel from the bathroom on my way back outside. Em is still sitting down, doubled over with his head between his knees and making low groaning noises.

"Alright. Let's work on putting you to bed. We need to get you out of those nasty clothes, and I'm really hoping you can do it by yourself."

Thanks to loose laces on his Chucks, he's able to kick off his shoes and socks without too much trouble. I have to help him out of his jeans, which could have been an awkward situation if we both weren't so grossed out by the amount of vomit on him. When we get the tee shirt off, he's standing in front of me clad only in boxer briefs, which I studiously avoid looking at.

Em uses the towel on his hands and face. He needs my assistance again in putting on the shirt and shorts I got for him to sleep in. Other than a copious amount of grunts and groans, he doesn't speak to me during the process.

I only have to give minimal assistance when taking him up the steps and into the trailer. The earlier alcohol elimination sessions probably had something to do with his improving condition. He makes it to the bathroom under his own power while I grab the essential water and Tylenol combo from the kitchenette. I also take a loaf of bread along, which I hope to get him to eat.

He's sitting on his mattress clutching his head in his hands when I come back out to the main space.

"Here, take this, drink this, and eat this," I say, handing him the Tylenol first, then the water, and finally the bag of bread.

"I just brushed my teeth," he mumbled, staring at the loaf.

"Later tonight, I think you'll prefer the taste of bread in your mouth over bile."

"Yeah." He takes out a slice and nibbles on a corner. "Thanks."

"Sure." I sigh tiredly, suddenly feeling the effects of the long, stressful day. "Do you think you'll be okay for the rest of the night? Anything else you need?"

"I'll manage." He shakes his head dejectedly. "Bella, I'm really sorry about the way I acted tonight. I was a complete ass to you, and I don't even want to think about the parts I don't remember."

Without intending to, my mind recalls the feeling of his weight on top of me. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose as I push the memory away.

"Oh god, was I that bad?" Em must have caught my expression and misinterpreted it. Sort of.

"Just forget it. Everyone has their shitty days, and given we're in Chi—…uh, I mean…" I try to come up with a quick change of topic, but it's too late. I see his face contorting in anguish before he covers it with his hands again.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Em. Both for bringing it up and for what happened." I sit down on the mattress and put my arms around him.

He takes deep breaths in an effort to calm down, and I just hold him, rubbing circles on his back. After some time, his hands fall into his lap, and he stares at the trailer floor.

"I went to their graves today."

My rhythm falters for a moment, but I quickly resume the pattern on his back. The last thing I want to do is make him feel self-conscious and have him shut down.

He doesn't speak again right away, and I wait.

"Fourteen years, and it still hurts just as much. I don't know if it'll ever get better. I keep thinking…I can't get it out of my head that things would've been different…if I hadn't…" He turns his head away from me to hide the wetness in his eyes.

Once again, he's quiet as he battles secret demons inside him. I stop moving my hand, though I keep it resting on his arm.

"You know I'm here for you, no matter what, right? Whether you feel like talking or not, it's okay."

He nods and then lets out a shuddering breath.

"See, when I was a little kid, I liked sleeping in weird places—under my bed, in closets, buried under a pile of cushions in the living room. My parents didn't mind. In fact, it was sort of a game for Mom and Anthony to search the house in the morning and figure out where I was. But during…the fire…" A sob escapes from his throat before he can muffle it. His hands curl into fists on his thighs as he tries again.

"My mom got Anthony out right away, but Dad couldn't find me. She came back in the house to help him look, but the smoke was too much…the fire was spreading too fast…they couldn't find me…they just couldn't…"

His grief won't be denied this time, and he breaks down completely. I pull him into me as he lets go. I can feel his tears soaking my shirt, and it's all I can do to keep my own at bay. He needs me to be strong right now, and I can't let him down.

"I'd put together a bed of blankets in the tub of the basement bathroom. The fire never made it down there, but...neither did they. I woke up in the arms of a firefighter as he was carrying me out of the smoking house."

Em hunches over and grabs two handfuls of hair. "Anthony's never said anything, but I know there's a part of him that blames me for their deaths. I can see it in his eyes sometimes. He tries to hide it, but I can tell." He scoffs bitterly. "Of course, I feel the same way."

"Em—" I start, but he shakes his head.

"I know, Bella. I know that the fire caused by a faulty electrical connection was what actually killed them. I realize that I was just a kid, shit happens, and I shouldn't blame myself. But I can't help the way I feel. I can't stop myself from thinking that if I had been in my bed like a normal kid, they would have had plenty of time to get me out like they did with Anthony."

I clamp my lips together to keep from speaking. He doesn't need me saying things that he already knows and that won't make anything better. I just squeeze him more tightly to let him feel how much I care.