Emma winced. “Great choice!” She giggled.
They were laughing so hard now that everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. Emma knew they were being completely immature and inappropriate, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to laugh. It felt good, too, to share such a fun moment with Ethan. This was why she was with Ethan: They shared the same sense of humor. They understood each other. And they had so much fun together.
“I love seeing this side of you,” Ethan said when the giggles died down. “It reminds me that no matter how well you pull off Sutton, you’re uniquely yourself.”
Emma nodded. “We’re alike…and not alike. Kind of two sides of the same coin. Sometimes I think I’m losing myself to her.”
“You aren’t,” Ethan insisted. “You’ll always stay you.”
Emma stared at the glass bottles of alcohol behind the bar. “I can’t wait to become me again,” she said softly. “Mr. Mercer said that this situation is so much better than what I had before. But I miss being me. I want my life back. My own choices.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “I can’t wait for you to be Emma, too.” Then he took her hands. “But you have to admit that becoming Sutton has had some benefits?” He squeezed her palms. “Like meeting me.”
“Like meeting you,” Emma said, returning his gaze. They leaned forward and kissed lightly.
I turned away, feeling like I was eavesdropping on something personal. Emma’s words rang in my ears. I wanted her to go back to being herself, I really did. But it raised another point that I didn’t think of very often. When Emma put my dad behind bars, what would happen to me? Was I tethered to her because I had unfinished business? Or was it some horrible karmic screw-you for all the terrible things I did while I was alive?
Emma had everything to gain by getting justice for me. She would move on to the next stage of her life as Emma Paxton. Would I move on, too? Or would I be left with nothing at all?
25
MIDNIGHT SNACK
After practice and a long, hot shower, Emma knocked on the Vegas’ front door. She heard footsteps and a moment later, Madeline opened the door, put a finger to her lips, and ushered her inside.
Despite their light footsteps, Mr. Vega appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tumbler of amber-colored liquid, presumably Scotch. His cold, steely eyes canvassed Madeline as though looking for a flaw. Then he stared at Emma. “Isn’t it a little late for a get-together, girls? It’s a school night.”
Madeline cleared her throat nervously. “Daddy, we have a really big physics test tomorrow, and we’re going to be studying well into the night. Can Sutton please stay over? We won’t make a peep—I promise.”
Mr. Vega swirled his drink, looking like he didn’t quite believe them. Even in repose, he seemed coiled and anxious, ready to strike. Emma held her breath, forcing herself not to look at Madeline’s arms and legs. The bruises were expertly masked by sleeves and yoga pants, but Emma knew they were there. And she knew who’d put them there. She couldn’t believe this place was her alternative to the Mercers’.
He wasn’t on my suspect list, but he was a criminal. Now that I knew what Mr. Vega was doing—to Mads and Thayer—I got a chill whenever I saw him. It explained why Mads got so nervous when she was around him and why she fought to be perfect. She probably thought that if she could just get it right, he wouldn’t be able to find anything to criticize.
“Fine,” Mr. Vega finally said, holding their gazes for a disconcerting beat too long. “But keep it down. Your mother is already asleep.”
Emma wondered if Mrs. Vega had ever tried to stop her husband from hurting her kids, or if she was too scared of him to intervene.
In seconds, they’d dropped their stuff in Madeline’s room. Pictures of ballet dancers spotted Madeline’s walls. Framed magazine spreads hung next to photographs of her and Thayer. Porcelain figurines were arranged in a circle on her spotless dresser. She wondered if Madeline’s uberstrict father made her clean it every morning or if this was Madeline’s way of exerting control where she could.
Madeline shoved a bunch of pillows off her lilac-covered duvet and plopped down on her queen-sized bed. Hugging a pillow, she eyed Emma suspiciously. “You know, I’m all for the impromptu sleepover and everything, but why have you been avoiding going home all week? Did you have a fight with Laurel or something? Are your parents getting on your nerves?”
Emma eyed Madeline, glad she had given her a plausible out. “Laurel’s been really bitchy lately. I just needed a break from the constant fighting.”
“About Thayer?” Madeline asked sharply.
Emma stared at her feet. “Kind of.”
Madeline’s shoulders stiffened. “If you’re sneaking around with him behind my back, Sutton, I swear I’ll—”
“I’m not,” Emma assured her. “I mean, we’ve talked a couple of times, but it’s not like that.” She sat down on the bed next to Madeline. “I’ve got a good thing going with Ethan. He makes me really happy.”
Madeline flashed Emma a genuine smile. “Ethan does seem pretty great. Who knew the brooding poet would be such a good guy? I’m happy for you two.”
“Thanks,” Emma said shyly. “I think he’s awesome, too. And I do understand why you’re so protective of your brother. I know about rehab.”
A muscle in Madeline’s jaw quivered. She eyed the door. “Keep it down,” she whispered. “He told you?”
“Yeah. He told me the other weekend, when I ran into him at the grocery store.” This was one time Emma could be absolutely honest. “And I haven’t told anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”
Madeline let go of a breath. “Thanks.” She untied her hair and let its dark layers spill over her shoulders. “I love my brother,” she said softly, taking a strand of hair between her fingers and examining a split end. “I just want him to be okay.”
“I know,” Emma whispered. “He’s getting better, Mads. You said yourself he’s been clean since he came home.”
“As far as we know.” Madeline stared out the window. Then, abruptly, she whipped around and met Emma’s gaze. “I know I’ve been kind of crazy about my brother. But you can’t imagine what it’s like here without him. When he was spending time with you—and now with Laurel—he’s not here…” Her voice trailed off. Tears filled her eyes.
“I can’t be in this house without my brother, Sutton,” she finally said, shaking her head slowly. “He’s the only one who protects me, the only one who loves me.”
“Oh, Mads,” I whispered, watching all of this, feeling so powerless.
Emma wrapped her arms around Madeline’s shoulders. “I’m here for you,” she whispered. She might not be able to put herself in Madeline’s shoes exactly, but she’d had her fair share of family drama, too, and she knew what it was like to be scared.
I wrapped my arms around both of them, wishing desperately that I could make everything okay.
Hours later, Emma woke with a start, her throat burning. It was 3 A.M., which Becky used to call the witching hour. Becky had been a night owl, and without fail, Emma would hear her pacing their apartment at 3 A.M. on the dot.
A tear-shaped night-light on Madeline’s wall cast an eerie blue glow across the floor. The house was silent except for Mr. Vega’s snores, which were audible from down the hall. Emma wanted to close her eyes and fall back asleep, but it felt like her mouth had been stuffed with cotton.
She pushed back the covers as carefully and quietly as she could. Earlier, while they’d watched TV and gossiped, Mr. Vega had stuck his head in, looking enraged. “Where are your physics books?” he’d seethed. Madeline had jumped nearly a mile. “Um, we’re taking a break,” she’d said. After that, they’d turned the TV off and barely spoken. Emma hoped Madeline wouldn’t have to pay for that when Emma left in the morning.
The hallway bathroom was right next to Mr. and Mrs. Vega’s room, so Emma decided to head to the kitchen instead. The stairs creaked beneath her weight. She froze for a moment, sure Mr. Vega would come screaming for her. Just keep going, she told herself, staring straight ahead and creeping toward the kitchen. You aren’t doing anything wrong.
At the end of the hall, a curved wooden vase held skinny brown branches blooming with yellow flowers. An antique silver platter sat on a coffee table in a small sitting room. Emma crossed a Navajo-style carpet and rounded the corner into the kitchen, which still smelled faintly of spices from dinner. Just as her bare feet hit the cold tile, she saw something and gasped. Thayer stood at the black granite island. He was staring at her.
Emma jumped back. “Oh!”
“What are you doing here?” Thayer whispered. He’d been in his room with the door shut tight when Emma had arrived earlier.
He was wearing navy boxers and no shirt, and even the darkness couldn’t cloak his muscular shoulders and stomach. She averted her gaze fast. “Um, Mads and I are having a sleepover.”
My pulse ratcheted up. What I wouldn’t give for a few more minutes—alone—with Thayer Vega and those shoulders.
Thayer’s golden brown eyes traveled over Emma’s flimsy tank top. “That’s cool.”
As hard as it was to watch Thayer look at Emma like that, a part of me wanted my twin to be even closer. I wanted Thayer to pull Emma to his chest so I could remember what it felt like to have his arms around me.
Then he stepped toward Emma. “It’s been a long time since you slept over,” he said, his voice rough around the edges.
Emma swallowed. Thayer was standing so close, she could smell his deodorant and the mint of his toothpaste. He glanced at the clock on the oven. “Three A.M.,” he said in a low voice. “That was our old meeting time, remember? Is that why you came?”
“I—” Emma said haltingly. She wanted to tell Thayer no, but something was stopping her. It was like he was a magnet, yanking her toward him. “I just needed a night away from my dad.”
Suddenly, his arm was around her waist, and his lips were just inches away.
“Thayer,” Emma said, turning her head.
“Sutton,” Thayer breathed into her ear.
“I-I’m with Ethan now,” Emma blurted. She stepped away from him. “I should go.”
Thayer held up his hands. “So go.”
Emma knew she should leave. She really did. But something kept her there, staring at him for a moment too long. His hazel eyes drew her in. She could practically taste how much he wanted her.
“I—” she whispered, but the rest of the sentence evaporated on her tongue.
Don’t, I begged silently. Please. Give me a few more seconds. But then I felt the heartbreakingly familiar snap as she fled back upstairs to Madeline’s room, dragging me behind her, away from the boy I still so desperately loved.
26
CALL THE DOCTOR
