Saving Emmy by Rayne Lewis
Chapter 19
Slate rubbed the back of his neck, replaying the last moments with Ember over and over in his mind. Fuck! Why’d they have to have that moment in the cage room? Why couldn’t it have been anywhere but there? It was the makeshift high school prom all over again. Relegated to the friend zone for fifteen years, only to be banished back there...again. She left before they could talk, and he knew she was going to play the friend card...again.
Cy entered the room and headed to his cage, his hair wet from his shower. “You okay, man?”
Slate stroked his too-shaggy beard, a reminder it needed to be trimmed after a four-day trek, and debated if he should say anything to Cy. He needed to get into the shower and into the conference room to debrief, a task that could take a while. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long, but the way his luck was having it, they’d be debriefing until the midnight hour. Knowing he couldn’t spring this on Cy and then have to sit in the conference, he decided to let it ride until after business ends were tied up.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just want to get this over with, sit back and get home.”
“I hear that.” Cy rummaged around in his locker, pulled out a black t-shirt and slipped it over his head. Walking out of his area, he eyed Slate. They were best friends and Slate knew Cy could read him like a book. Some type of weird telepathic skill all the guys had honed over the years working together.
“Not now.” Slate gave him a look that said don’t push the issue.
“After the debrief?”
Slate drew in a breath, exhaling in a whoosh. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Meet you in the conference room after you get that four-day Lebanese funk off ya. Hit the shower and I’ll see you in fifteen.” With that, Cy left the room.
Slate grabbed a change of clothes from his locker, his shave kit, and headed for the showers.
* * *
“Ah, man!” Cy leaned back in the chair, hands rested behind his head and stared at Slate.
The debriefing had gone rather quickly and, for that, Slate was grateful. He tried to stay in sync with the guys, but his mind kept wandering. He tried to concentrate, which made him more frustrated, because he knew how to stay in the mindset of the moment but couldn’t command his brain to focus. Why was this fucking with him? Put it aside; come back to it later. He kept repeating the mantra each time he caught himself sliding off the topic. King had noticed him slipping a few times and gave him a subtle nod telling him to stay on track. Slate was all too grateful when King wrapped up the debrief and sent everyone packing.
“So, ya just let her leave?”
Slate walked the length of his office and rubbed his freshly trimmed beard. “I didn’t, let her leave, she’s a grown-ass woman, she leaves when she wants to leave.” He knew if he would’ve caught her before she bolted, he could’ve tried to talk her into staying around until after the debrief. Or, at least meet up with him later in the evening, but he had an inkling she was gone. When he didn’t see Mary at the front desk when he headed to the conference room he knew she was MIA by the time everything wrapped up. He was pissed she’d left without telling him and she had no one on her six.
“Did you call her?”
“Straight to voicemail.”
“What about a text?”
Slate shook his head. “And text her what? ‘Sorry for almost making my every lustful dream of you come true. Sorry about the last fifteen years of wet dreams. P.S. Thinking of you.’”
Cy wrinkled his face in a look of disgust. “Wet dreams? Really? What are you, twelve? Don’t you just rub one out in the shower or knock it out before you go to bed? Get it before it gets you?”
Slate dropped his head, not believing he was talking about spooging in his sleep and about jerking off when he should be figuring out what he was going to do next: getting a plan of action in place. He wasn’t going back to the friend zone. He’d decided it was time to lay it out on the line, heart be damned. It was just the how part that was killing him. How do you tell the girl you’ve loved since childhood, since kindergarten, that she’s what makes you live? Keeps you living. Keeps you breathing. Brings you back after each death-defying mission. Hallmark didn’t make a greeting card for that particular occasion. God only knew, he wished they did.
“You talk to Pops?”
He stopped pacing. Should I talk to Pops? What could he say to Pops that he couldn’t say to Ember? He knew the advice Mitch would give him. Hell, it would be the same advice he gave him at Ember’s house after the range shooting. Pops had all but given him his blessing.
“I see the wheels turning, my friend. Talk it out. You do your best strategizing when we talk out a mission. The best plan comes together when we all speak out loud and bounce ideas and solutions off one another.”
“I need to talk to her but not anywhere public.”
“So, no restaurants.”
“No restaurants.” Slate repeated.
“Public places, including parks? Not too secluded, but also people not at the next table like at a restaurant.”
“Park could work. Put that on the possibilities list.” Slate crossed his arms over his broad chest. A park was on the right track, but still felt too public. He wouldn’t want to put her somewhere she’d feel embarrassed, or a place she felt she couldn’t fully express her feelings. No, a park wasn’t going to be the place. “Second thought, scrap the park. Not gonna work.”
“Okay, no park, no restaurant. Thought about a skywriter? ‘Emmy, I’m hard for you! Love E.’” Cy laughed at his joke until he saw the frustration cross his friend’s face. “Sorry, bud, just trying to break the mood.”
Slate knew Cy had his best intentions in mind, and yes, the mood was tense, but he damn well was going to lay this out. Even if it meant he’d lose what he had with her. The thought sent a lead weight to his gut and a piercing to his heart. Was it worth losing what they had? Friends weren't all that bad. Until it was. Until it would be.
Don’t wait until tomorrow has passed and you’re left wanting that opportunity back.Pops’ words echoed in his mind. Someday she’d find someone she thought was the one, and he’d be wishing he’d have taken the opportunity to tell her how he felt.
Sooner or later you're either going to have to tell her, or you're going to have to let her go. I would hate for you to miss the opportunity when it has always been yours.
Damn! Pops’ words reverberated in his mind. But, was this the time to risk everything? Were Pops’ words just sentiment? You’re a son to me, Eli. Let’s just make it official sooner, rather than later.
“Yo...Slate.” The snapping fingers brought him back to his office. “Dude, where’d you go?” Slate pushed Cy’s hand out of his face. “Damn. You were way off in Lalaland. No one was in the wheelhouse.”
Slate shook himself from his trance, welcoming back the present, and apologized to his friend.
“What about inviting her over to your place? No fancy dinner, just some takeout or pizza, something that won’t have her thinking you’re trying too hard or that you are trying to force her into talking about this…” Cy paused, “your friendship.”
It sounded like it could work, but he didn’t want her to come to his place. That may have her thinking she’d be trapped if all this turned into a shitstorm. Her place? That’d be a better option. She’d be on her ground, with her surroundings, and add in the comfort factor. She could ask him to leave if she felt things were out of her control.
“Hey, bud...you're zoning out again.”
“Sorry.” It was a shitty apology, but what else could be said.
“Talk it out.”
Slate reiterated his thoughts of going to her place instead of his, but it still didn’t feel like it was the right answer. They’d spent countless hours at her house over the years, watching tv, vegging out or just being...friends. Life long, familiar friends. Could he taint the space where they’d spent so much time? Built so many memories? The place she’d held him as her friend when he’d come home from an especially difficult op in the Army, saying nothing, but being his refuge? The space where he’d held her after the shooting incident?
No. He wouldn’t sully sacred ground. There had to be a better place to bare his soul.