Chapter 13
“All I’ve got is Monkeynaut,”Blaze said when she returned to the kitchen. “Can or glass?”
Two blue cans sat on the island. There was a monkey in a space helmet on the can.
“Granny always said a lady drinks from a glass,” Emma told him. “But a can is fine. Granny isn’t here to chastise me.”
Blaze slid the can into a Roll Tide koozie and handed it to her. Rory would approve.
“I didn’t open it because I thought you might want to do that yourself.”
Emma pulled the tab up and pushed down. “I wasn’t thinking about that, but thank you.”
He took a sip of his beer. “Never let a man you don’t know give you an open container.”
She smiled. “I’m well aware of what some men put into drinks. I’ve treated a few cases in the ER.” She sipped the beer, her tastebuds unsure whether to wince or shout hallelujah. “Wow. Very hoppy.”
“It’s strong, right? I bought it because I wanted to try a local brew and there was a space monkey on the can. Been my favorite since.”
Emma studied the monkey. She wasn’t sure if he looked happy or terrified to be going into space. “I was seventeen when craft beer became legal in Alabama. Before that it was just the national distributors like Budweiser who could sell beer here. Straight to Ale was one of the first breweries to open. I can honestly say this is the first of theirs I’ve had.”
“Not a beer girl?” he teased.
She took another swig. The beer was cold and barely scalded her throat going down. It was strong, but good when you knew what to expect. She needed it to take the edge off, which she was positive it was going to do in the next couple of minutes.
“Corona with lime is more my speed.”
He made a face. “Slightly better than beer-flavored water.”
She laughed. “That’s usually how I like my beer. Corona is a party. This is a sit-down meal with dessert.” She swigged more of the surprisingly delicious liquid. “I could get used to this, though.”
“Better go easy on that, Em.”
Her insides melted just a little. Em. Nobody called her that. It was Emma Grace in Sutton’s Creek. Emma or Doctor Sutton everywhere else.
When they were kids, Rory had called her Idgy from time to time, but she hadn’t done that in years. Theo had never called her anything but Emma Grace. Same for everybody else. When you said it fast enough, it all kind of ran together and became its own nickname anyway.
EmmaGrace. Emagrayss. Kinda like if you cut the word immigration off without the -ion. And without the shh sound.
Hmm, maybe not such a good comparison after all.
“I will.” She sighed as the beer warmed her blood. “I suspect sleep will elude me tonight. I was hoping this would help.”
It was more than she meant to say, but the infusion of fresh alcohol was already loosening her tongue. She turned away and walked through the big cased opening and into the living room. The walls were bare but there were curtains on the windows. Her mom had put those up because she had them in her apartment too. Tall, thick ivory curtains—neutral, bless her—that were meant to keep in heat in winter and repel it in summer.
Emma trailed her fingers along the back of the couch, then rounded it and sat at the far end. She leaned her head back on the cushion and closed her eyes. The stress of the past few weeks was still there, still sitting at the back of her head like a noxious cloud of burning rubber. She wanted it to go away, but she wasn’t sure if it ever would.
“What happens next?” she asked.
She felt the couch sink as Blaze sat down. When she opened her eyes, he was at the opposite end. He picked up the TV remote and turned it on. Bluesy rock, instrumental, flooded the room. He notched it down a bit and tossed the remote on the couch beside him.
He’d propped his feet up and he was leaning back on the couch, one arm stretched along the back of it. He took another drink and leveled his gaze at her.
Emma’s belly tightened. Warmth bloomed there, and lower. If she put her hand out, she could touch his fingers. She told herself not to do that, no matter how much her brain thought it was a good idea.
“If you want a different channel, let me know.” He sucked in a breath, blew it out. “What happens next is that I change the locks and see about installing security cameras in the hallway and on the exterior of the building. Seth will do some digging online, see what he can find out about Simon Marsh. Assuming the guy isn’t the paranoid type who uses a burner, he’ll tag his location. We’ll know if he’s in the area sometime tomorrow.”
Emma’s pulse throbbed. “And if he is?”
“Not much we can do except watch and make sure he doesn’t get close to you. You ever have any reason to believe he’s capable of escalating further?”
Emma needed more beer. She took a gulp, then lowered the can and looked at him. “Isn’t everybody?”
“When the circumstances are right, sure. But escalating a situation because you choose to and escalating because you feel threatened are two different things. I’m asking if he’s the former.”
“I think he is. He was normal until he wasn’t.”
Though honestly, the signs had been there. She just hadn’t recognized them. He’d been overly interested in her schedule, shown up at the hospital unannounced, and asked pointed questions about any of the male doctors who spoke to her—or that she spoke to. He was possessive in public when men talked to her or acknowledged her in any way.
Any of those things were warning signs. All of them together were a red flag.
But the second she’d felt a tendril of unease, he’d smile and tell her she looked pretty. Or he’d whisk her to dinner, or send her flowers, or perform some other grand gesture that had all her gay and female coworkers sighing if they were around to witness it.
“You’re so lucky.” “He’s so attentive.” What a gentleman.” “I wish my husband still sent me flowers.” “Snap that one up, Doctor, because they don’t make them like that anymore.”
“You’re thinking about something,” Blaze interrupted.
She lifted the beer. It was three-quarters empty by now. “I was just wondering if I should ask for another or if I should call it quits for the night.”
Because the truth was too embarrassing. She couldn’t admit that she’d been so thoroughly deceived by Simon’s good-guy act that she’d made excuses when he’d started losing his temper over her wardrobe, which hadn’t been anything low cut or revealing, acting jealous, and texting or calling her a hundred times a day. He’d gotten angry if she didn’t respond right away, but he’d always couched it as being concerned for her safety. Loving her so much that he immediately started to think she’d been hurt somehow.
Lies. Every bit of it.
“How about I get you some water? You drink that when you finish the beer. If you want another one after the water, I’ll get you one.”
“Sounds fair.” It hit her when she agreed that maybe she’d done that too fast. Maybe she should protest. Simon used to tell her what to do, what to eat, how much to eat, what to drink. She hadn’t fought back, and she should have. But Blaze wasn’t giving her an order. Or was he?
“Hey,” she said as he stood.
“Yeah?”
“What if I don’t wanna drink water? What if I want another beer anyway?”
“Do you?”
She looked down at the can. “Maybe. It should be my choice if I want water or if I want more beer.”
“You’re right. If you want that beer, I’ll get it for you.”
“Then why did you suggest water?”
He shoved a hand through his hair and looked over her head like he was thinking. When his gaze landed on her again, her heart tripped over itself.
“I was a military guy, Emma. I’ve done my share of drinking and been with my buddies when they were drinking. I know that downing alcohol too fast can lead to regretful choices. Drinking water in between slows you down and gives your head a chance to clear.”
He wasn’t wrong. Her doctor brain knew it. She sighed and rolled her head back to gaze at the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll have water.”
“Coming right up.”
Emma rolled her head to the side so that her cheek was on the back of the couch. She didn’t need to watch Blaze walk away. Didn’t need to focus on his ass in those jeans, the way the faded fabric hugged the curves of his impressive bottom. She definitely didn’t need to imagine it naked.
Too bad she did all those things anyway.
Blaze came back with a bottle of water and set it on the end table beside her. She’d managed to look away before he returned so he couldn’t know she’d been staring at his butt and fantasizing about him with no clothes.
Yum.
“You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine.” Emma picked up the water and took a drink.
She’d finished the beer when his back was turned. She really did want another, but the room was pleasantly fuzzy, and her blood buzzed.
“What will you do to him if you catch him?”
“Depends on what my guys find out. If he’s in the local area, we’ll have a talk with him and strongly suggest he go back to Chicago.”
“Is that code for beating him up? I can’t approve of that. I’m a doctor.”
Was she slurring her words? She blinked to pull Blaze back into focus. Seriously, it’d been one beer. Was she really that much of a lightweight?
One beer and two glasses of wine.
Ohhh yeah, the wine. Plus, dinner had been a while ago, so it was no longer soaking up alcohol.
“Not beating him up, Em. Threatening him? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
She liked the sound of that. “Threatening him with what?”
“Bodily harm, of course.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “I like you, Blaze Connolly.”
He blinked and then his eyes narrowed. “I like you, too, Emma.”
She took another drink of water and set the bottle on the end table. And then, because she couldn’t remember why she shouldn’t do it, she crawled across the couch and settled in the crook of his arm. Emma closed her eyes and sighed. “You smell good.”
She thought he twisted a finger in a lock of her hair that had come free from her bun, but maybe she was imagining it. The room was spinning just a little bit, and she was tired. So much stress. So little sleep. Emma yawned.
“You do, too,” he said, his breath ruffling her hair.
Was he sniffing her?
Didn’t matter. Emma turned into his side, stretched her arm across his abdomen—whoa, so firm—and dragged her eyes open to gaze up at him. His were hooded as he studied her.
A portion of her brain was beating tambourines like it was Saturday night in a tent revival meeting, but the rest of her was saying one word. Safe.
“Sleepy,” she said. “Thanks.”
He slid down on the couch, taking her with him so that she lay against his chest, one leg thrown over his. That secure feeling intensified.
“Sleep, Emma. I’ll protect you.”
“I know,” she murmured. “’S’what you do.”