Chapter 2 - What Emily Wouldn’t Say
Emily was asleep when I returned to my house.
She had insisted on coming home with me from the hospital because she did not want to go back to the apartment she shared with Dustin.
That alone told me something.
She was twenty-nine years old.
Independent.
Stubborn.
Had once moved across three states because a company offered her a job she wanted and I told her it might be safer to stay closer to home.
Emily had never chosen my house because she was frightened.
Until now.
Her right eye was swollen.
There was a purple mark near her collarbone.
Both wrists carried finger-shaped bruises.
The emergency-room discharge papers sat on my kitchen counter beneath a bottle of pain medication.
The official history said:
Patient reports falling down approximately six stairs after losing balance.
I had read the sentence at least twenty times.
My daughter had never been a good liar.
But she had apparently learned.
Daniel arrived forty minutes after I returned.
He did not knock.
He still knew the garage code.
My son was thirty-five, clean-shaven, expensive jacket, expensive watch, the same dark hair I had before it turned gray.
He looked around.
“Where is she?”
“Sleeping.”
“Did you go to Dustin’s gym?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“You walk into an MMA gym looking for your daughter’s boyfriend after she gets injured, and what do you think people assume?”
“That I’m concerned about my daughter.”
“They assume you’re threatening him.”
“I didn’t.”
“You rolled up your sleeves.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
Daniel’s expression froze.
There.
Another half-second.
“Dustin told me.”
“He called fast.”
“He was freaked out.”
“Good.”
“Dad.”
I stepped closer.
“Did you see Emily last night?”
“No.”
“Talk to her?”
“No.”
“Talk to Dustin?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Before or after the hospital?”
Daniel looked irritated.
“What difference does that make?”
“A large one if you answer honestly.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Dustin called around six.”
Emily had arrived at the hospital at 1:42 a.m.
“Why did he call you?”
“Because he knew this would happen.”
“What?”
“You.”
I laughed once.
“You think I put those bruises on Emily?”
“No.”
“Then define this.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Dustin said they argued. She fell. He knew you would assume the worst.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Assume the worst?”
“I’m trying not to assume anything.”
My son had always been good at sentences like that.
He worked in sports management.
Neutral language.
Professional language.
Words that kept doors open.
“Are you managing Dustin?”
Daniel looked at me.
“What?”
“You’ve helped him with sponsors.”
“That doesn’t make me his manager.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He exhaled.
“Informally.”
“How informally?”
“I advise him.”
“For free?”
Silence.
I almost smiled.
“Daniel.”
“I have a contract.”
There it was.
“How much?”
“That is not relevant.”
“It became relevant when my daughter went to the emergency room and my son started begging me not to embarrass the man who was with her.”
Daniel stepped toward me.
“Do you understand what happens if you storm around accusing him of assault before anyone knows what happened? He has a title eliminator in six weeks. Sponsors. Broadcasting. A commission review. One allegation can destroy everything.”
“Whose everything?”
He looked away.
The bedroom door opened.
Emily stood in the hallway.
Bare feet.
Oversized sweatshirt.
Bruises visible below both sleeves.
“Stop.”
Daniel turned.
“Em.”
“Don’t.”
He softened instantly.
“I’m worried about you.”
“Then be worried quietly.”
I had to stop myself from smiling.
She got that from her mother.
Daniel walked toward her.
“Did Dustin hit you?”
Emily went still.
He asked it gently.
Brotherly.
Concerned.
But I watched her face.
Fear appeared before anger.
“No.”
Daniel exhaled.
Too much relief.
She saw it too.
Something hardened in her eyes.
“You’re happy.”
“What?”
“You’re happy I said no.”
“I’m relieved.”
“About me?”
“Obviously.”
“Or about your contract?”
Daniel froze.
I looked at Emily.
“You knew?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Everyone knew except you.”
Apparently.
Daniel turned on me.
“See? This is why I wanted us to talk like adults.”
Emily walked toward the kitchen.
“No, Daniel. You wanted Dad calm because Dustin is money.”
“That is not fair.”
She reached the table and lifted a glass of water with both hands.
Her wrists hurt.
I could see it.
Daniel could too.
He looked away.
That was when I hated him a little.
Not permanently.
Not completely.
But enough.
Emily drank.
Then said, “I did fall.”
I kept my face still.
Daniel nodded quickly.
“Okay.”
She looked at him.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Stop looking relieved.”
He opened his mouth.
She continued.
“I fell.”
Then she looked at me.
“But I didn’t fall because I lost my balance.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
I said nothing.
Emily pressed her lips together.
“Dustin and I argued.”
“About?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No, Dad. It doesn’t.”
Her voice rose.
Then she winced.
Even anger hurt.
“He grabbed my wrists.”
Daniel whispered, “Jesus.”
“He wouldn’t let me leave.”
My hands closed into fists at my sides.
Emily saw.
“Dad.”
I opened them.
She continued.
“I pulled away. He grabbed me again. I got one arm free and went toward the stairs.”
“Did he push you?”
She looked at the floor.
“Emily.”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel spoke carefully.
“What does that mean?”
“It means everything happened fast.”
She touched her swollen eye.
“I felt his hand on my shoulder. Then I was falling.”
Daniel sat down.
For once, he had nothing professional to say.
I asked, “Why did you tell the hospital you slipped?”
Emily’s eyes filled.
Not enough to cry.
Enough to make me wish she would.
“Because if I said Dustin touched me, the police would come.”
“Yes.”
“The fight commission might hear.”
Daniel looked up.
She pointed toward him.
“And that.”
Daniel’s face collapsed.
“Emily, I never asked you to lie.”
“No.”
She laughed.
“You just spent six months explaining how many people depend on Dustin winning.”
My son looked at me.
I could see him searching for a defense.
I didn’t give him one.
Emily continued.
“The coaches. The gym. His sponsors. You. Everybody.”
“Em—”
“And every time Dustin lost his temper, you told me he was under pressure.”
Daniel stood.
“I did not know he was hurting you.”
My daughter’s expression changed.
That sentence landed differently.
Not:
I didn’t know you were hurt.
I didn’t know he was hurting you.
Emily whispered:
“You knew there was something to know.”
Daniel looked as if she had struck him.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
SERGEANT MILLER, YOU DON’T KNOW ME. I’M NOAH VEGA FROM THE GYM.
May you like
A second arrived.
IF THEY TELL YOU THE GARAGE CAMERAS WERE BROKEN, THEY’RE LYING.
