Push(63)

When he opens his eyes, they dig into mine. “Two of the same,” he says stone-faced. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *

Neither of us brings up my conversation with Saz. We don’t talk about it on the drive home or all day Sunday. He doesn’t ask, and I don’t offer. But I think David already knows what Saz told me. I think he called or texted him about it. I also think David probably chewed Saz a new one for sharing what wasn’t his to share.
On Sunday, I get my period, so by the time Monday rolls around, we have both caught up on our sleep. And grocery shopping and laundry. David is still not letting me out of his sight, driving me wherever I want to go and hanging out at my apartment as if it’s his own. I make it no secret: I love how safe I feel when he’s around. When I tell him as much, his face shines, and he plumps himself up like a horny rooster strutting through the barnyard. It makes me laugh out loud.
At work on Monday, Matt goes back to being Matt, though he does ask me if David was mad at him for his departing comment on Friday. I laugh and tell him that David wanted to chase him down for it, but in the end, I managed to hold him back. We had a great weekend, I tell Matt, and then I thank him again for our little talk on Friday. I don’t want to make things awkward between us, so I make no mention of his discussion with David about “the new hottie at work.” Inside, though, I think of it every time I look at him. It still makes me feel giddy. And stupid.
On my way to lunch, I get a text from David.


Hi.


Hi back.


Day going well?


Slow. Yours?


Hands in a toilet so not so great.


Um, ewww. TMI.


Sorry, but true.


I guess I never thought about David having to do that kind of work for Carl, but obviously he does.


Not your favorite job, I’ll assume.


Correct.


See u at 6:00?


I’ll be there.


I appreciate it.


Good.


I miss u.


Better.


I don’t really think about what his reaction will be. It is something else that doesn’t matter. And so I put myself out there.


I love u.


I press Send. I stand in line for a deli sandwich, holding my breath. My stomach is dancing. I don’t expect him to say it back. Hell, I don’t know what I expect. My phone pings almost instantly.


Best.


It makes me smile. Clever motherf*cker.
* * *

David is waiting outside for me at six, double-parked and sexy as shit. I am really freaked out about our little text exchange. I would never forgive myself if it changed things between us. If it was too soon.
I have never said “I love you” to a guy before, because I have never loved one before. Hell, compared to this, I barely gave a damn about a guy before. But, David. David makes me love him. He makes me love us.
“Hey,” he says to me as I reach the car. He is freshly showered. I can smell the soap and the remnants of his shaving gel. He is wearing dark blue jeans and a plaid button-down. It’s ironed. Very neatly ironed. The idea of David ironing is an absurd turn-on. I think I must be nuts. “How did the rest of your day go?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Great, thanks,” I say as he plants a small kiss on my forehead. “You look extra mighty fine today,” I add as I climb into the car.
“Must be a girl,” he says, closing my door. I am wearing a stupid-ass smile, and he grins at me as he walks around the front of the car to his side.
When we arrive home, I get my mail before we head inside. I haven’t checked the mailbox since early last week. David is standing behind me when I insert my key and open the slot. There is only one envelope inside, and when I look at my name and address written on the front, I know immediately who it is from.
I wave the letter at David. “Christ all-f*cking-mighty,” I blurt out emphatically. “What the f*ck is it with these people?”
“What is it?” David asks. I am sure he sees my skin starting to sear. I feel the red creeping up my neck and across my face. He is looking at me cautiously. And then I see his face change. I see the crazy current starting to move through him. I see his body tighten and his skin flush, just like mine. “Is it from him? Is it from Michael?” he asks.
“No,” I say, practically shouting it at him. “It’s from one of my f*cking * brothers.” I recognized Ricky’s handwriting the moment I saw it. He must have gotten my address from Michael. I want to break something.
“What?” David spits back at me in disbelief. “Jesus, Emma.”
“Michael must have given him my address. Fucker. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” he says. He’s calmer now. His voice settled.
I work my index finger under the lip of the envelope and tear it open. Inside is a written letter. A note, really. My heart stops.


Em—
Michael is in the hospital. He might not make it. I thought you should know.
R.
241-445-7878


And folded up with the note is a newspaper clipping.



chapter Twenty-Eight

Anna

I am standing on this bridge, and I know that he is watching. He is always watching. First it was from his bedroom window, the one across the courtyard from mine. But then, after David got him evicted, he started watching me from his car, from the sidewalk, from the coffee shop adjacent to the restaurant where I work. Hell, he watches me from wherever he can. I hate him, and the more he watches me, the more I want him to die. The more I want to die.