Push(90)

Standing in the living room holding the gun, I try to unravel another option, but I can’t focus. It’s only been a dozen seconds since he knocked, but I already know that he isn’t going to go away. He will wait for me. If I pretend I’m not here, he will just find another time, another place. If I don’t do this now, I’ll go back to being afraid. I’ll go back to being nothing more than an emotional hostage. It will be the same as it was with Michael. I will be trapped.
Do this, Emma. Do this now. Stop thinking of Ricky as your bother. He’s not the sweet kid he was so many years ago.
Do this.
I take a breath and straighten my back.
Fuck him. Fuck Ricky. I’m not giving him jack shit. There’s no way in hell am I going to let him blackmail me, too. I’m done thinking about this, and right now, I’m going show him just how done I am.
I lift the gun, holding the barrel up to my line of sight. My other hand grasps the dead bolt and twists it open. I hear it click and drop my hand to the knob, turning it as quickly as possible. I whip the door open and hold the gun straight out in front of me.
“Jesus-f*cking-Christ!” I shout. My heart is pounding, and my body is shaking with rage.
David stands outside my door wearing a hoodie and a pair of jeans and looking surprised as f*ck.
“What the hell?” I scream at him. With my finger pressing tightly against the trigger, an inhumane amount of horror soaks into my body. “You scared the living shit out of me! What the f*ck is wrong with you?”
He stares at the gun still pointed at his chest. His body braces with realization.
I lower the gun to my side. The idea of the flicker of a single finger changing absolutely everything screams through me. I could have wiped out the world with a squeeze. Jesus. The rush of adrenaline pulsing out of me is blatant and fierce, and I can’t stop myself from lashing out at him. “Why would you do that? Why would you knock on my goddamned door at ten o’clock at night when you’re supposed to be at poker?”
Apprehension settles into his face. “I needed to see you,” he says, his expression wide-eyed and electric. “I needed to look at your face and to hear you say that we are all right. I need to know that you to forgive me for what I did.”
It occurs to me that even though our earlier text exchange made it clear to me that we were okay, it did not do the same for David. He is here because he is unsure of himself. Unsure of me. Unsure of us. The vulnerability in his words streaks through me.
I take a deep breath and turn away from him, walking back into the apartment. “I thought you were Ricky. I was positive that you were Ricky. Hell, I didn’t even bother to use the peephole, I was so sure,” I say as I put the gun down on the table. My voice has changed. It’s steadier now. I hear David close the door behind him.
“Then you were right to have the gun,” he says, “but I told you, Emma, he’s not coming back here.”
“I almost f*cking shot you, David. Don’t you see? I don’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either,” I say as I turn to face him.
“Do you trust me when I tell you that he isn’t coming back?” he asks after a brief pause.
I need to think for a second, because it’s a good question. Before I found out about what he did, I trusted David completely. But do I still trust him? Do I trust that he isn’t going to lie to me again?
“I trust you as much as I can right now,” I say, “but this isn’t a matter of trusting you. It’s a matter of trusting Ricky. I know him, David. He is selfish and greedy and about as sharp as a marble. And that is anything but a good combination.”
“It is a matter of trusting me, Emma. I am telling you that he is not coming back, and I need you to believe that. I need to know that you aren’t going to panic every time there is a knock at your door.” His face looks pained, as if my response is somehow a matter of life and death. “I need you to trust me on this.” I am left, yet again, wondering how he can be so sure that Ricky is not coming back. I sigh and rub my hands against my face.
David sits down at the table, sucks in a gigantic gulp of air, and says, “I can’t stand the thought of you being so afraid, Emma. That’s why I did what I did. I wanted to get rid of Michael so you would never have to be afraid again. But after you opened that door and I saw the gun and the panic in your face, I know that your fear of Michael has only morphed into a fear of Ricky. And that is the last thing I ever wanted to happen. So I’m going to tell you something, and you aren’t going to like it, something that I decided not to tell you last night because I thought it might be too much. But clearly it’s the only way you’re going to trust me on this—the only way you are going to stop being afraid.” My eyes narrow. “This is not a lie, Emma,” he adds emphatically, “and the fact that I didn’t tell you about it last night does not make it a lie. I left it out to protect you.” I roll my eyes at him and cross my arms over my chest. Again with the protection crap.
“You’re right,” he continues. “Ricky is selfish and greedy. Not only did he come here to blackmail me, he was the one that convinced Evan to kill Michael.”
I am staring at David in disbelief, shaking my head.
“When I took the rest of the money to Ricky on Saturday night, he had been drinking, and he said some things that gave him away. He said that Evan killing Michael was the best f*cking thing in the world. He and Evan had known for years that they would inherit everything when Michael died because they had a copy of his will. Michael gave it to them a few months after your mother died. He had it redone because he wanted you left out of it completely. So, now that Michael is dead and Evan’s in jail, Ricky will get it all—and, believe me, he was thrilled as shit about it.”