Suddenly, I ran out of shits to give. I had used them all up being angry at Ford. If I lied about screwing him, she'd just go on believing whatever she wanted to believe and keep hounding me. My patience was in shreds; I didn't even have enough energy left to be tactful, especially not to the woman who'd been a total bitch to me since the moment I got here. I put down the jelly jar and met her icy glare with one of my own. “Quick question, Celeste: What makes you think my life is any of your fucking business?”
Her face went slack for an instant. “Jesus Christ. You're not even denying it?”
“I'm honestly curious. Why do you have to shove your nose into everything? Is there a medical name for whatever the hell is wrong with you?” Relishing her look of outrage, I resumed spreading peanut butter on my bread. I knew I was being childish, but that didn't make it feel any less satisfying. “Just stay out of this.”
“I'm not going to let some … some snotty college whore steal him out from under me! You knew Ford was mine, but you just waltzed in here and—”
“No, I knew you wanted him.” She'd conveyed that with all the subtlety of a dog whizzing on its favorite tree. “And I didn't care. Because whether or not he fucks you is his decision, not mine.” I considered mentioning that Ford knew exactly what she was scheming and would never fall for it, then decided to save it. I wouldn't be the one to make this conversation even pettier than it already was. “You can't call dibs on another human being.”
“Maybe not. But I can make it a lot harder for him to get distracted by you.” Her suddenly light, syrupy tone made me turn around again. She wore the fake smile I'd seen on her so many times. “How does this sound? I don't tell your parents what sick little games you've been playing with Ford. In return, you don't touch him for the rest of the summer, and you don't contact him after you leave.”
I held back a hollow laugh. I've pretty much torpedoed our relationship already—no blackmail necessary. But what should I say now? Even though things were over between us, I still wanted to protect Mom from the knowledge of what we'd done. If I took the deal, would Celeste be true to her word?
The front door crashed open, followed by loud, rapid footsteps. I whirled around just as TJ came barreling into the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said, “but Ford's on his way to St. Peter's.”
My heart jumped into my throat. A hospital? Was he hurt? Was “fuck off” going to be the last thing I ever said to him? Shit. What had I done?
Celeste looked almost as shocked as I felt. “W-what happened?” she asked.
“Mac broke his damn leg,” TJ replied. “Looked bad, from where I was standing. Ford put him in the truck and drove flat out.”
Fear drained out of me, leaving me weak with relief. It was almost immediately followed by guilt. Mac was still a human being in pain—that was nothing to feel relieved about.
But the thought of Ford getting hurt scared me to death. And it was then I realized how truly screwed I was. Whether I liked it or not … I still had feelings for him. Serious feelings.
“Should we go after them?” I asked.
TJ shook his head. “Wouldn't make any difference. It'll take as long as it takes, no matter how many of us are hangin' around.” He sighed and took off his hat to wipe his brow.
“Oh. Well … thanks for telling us,” I said.
The words felt lackluster, but TJ gave me a comforting smile. “Sure thing, Miss Emma.” He inclined his head at Celeste, who still stood behind me. “I wouldn't neither of you wait up. He won't be back until after dinner. Or maybe even later, depending on how busy the ER is.”
As TJ went to tell Russ the bad news, Celeste shot a dark look at me, then followed him. Clearly, my days were still numbered. But she wasn't stupid. If she tattled on me now, Mac's broken leg would just steal her thunder. And I hadn't had time to get really freaked out over her threat, anyway. Celeste would wait until this all blew over, and I'd stewed over my options: either promise her what she wanted or dare her to do her worst.
Five minutes ago, I thought I knew the smartest move. But now … I wasn't so sure I could bring myself to take her deal anymore.
Chapter 18
Ford
The house was dark when I finally pulled into the garage. Mac was settled up in Griff’s spare bedroom, and the old man fussed over him like a mother hen, if I’d ever seen one. Maybe I’d just found a way to get Griff to retire a little more quickly—by putting him in charge of Mac’s recovery.
I eased the door shut and slipped into the kitchen. It was after midnight already, and the house was silent. Glancing down at my dirt-and grass-stained jeans, I knew I needed to head straight to my own damn room to strip and shower and call it a night, but my feet still carried me right to Emma’s door. Despite Mac’s condition, I’d been thinking about her nonstop since I saw her gardening. What I had to say couldn’t wait, even if I had to wake her up for it. Sitting in that waiting room for hours on end, I remembered something my dad had told me years ago: there were some things you just didn’t wait to tell someone. I love you and I’m sorry were two of those things. Because if you waited too long, there were no guarantees that you’d ever have another chance. Emma could pack her bag and walk out of here tomorrow, and I might never see her again. If that happened, I’d be left with nothing but memories and regret. It wasn’t a chance I wanted to take.