Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emmet
I stay very still, a mix of shock and fear coursing through my body.
Adam is kissing me.
That’s the shock.
The fear is from the voice in my head that’s telling me to kiss him back—harder. To push this further and take it to the next level.
Yes, this is what I want, but not like this.
Not with alcohol involved.
Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can’t pull away. We’re like magnets, unable to be pulled apart.
Seconds pass. Minutes. Hours, maybe. I can’t be sure. Hell, it could be a year. I should push him off me. I should tell him to stop.
But instead, I give in.
I deepen the kiss, bringing my hand to the back of his head and pressing him closer to me, parting his lips with my tongue and tasting him for the first time in years.
He groans into my mouth, and I press my body harder against his, needing to somehow be closer than we already are. There is zero space between us, but I need it to be less than that.
I want to bury myself in his soul, stay with him forever.
His hands come to my hips, digging his fingers into my bare skin, searing me, marking me with phantom prints that’ll burn like invisible brands for years to come.
Just like all the others.
I see Adam everywhere. I always have. Not just in the world, but on me.
I see his kisses on my neck, his fingers on my chest, my ribs.
I see his hand in mine and his head on my shoulder.
I see his arms around my waist, his legs tangled with mine.
Adam is everywhere.
He burrowed into my veins and left a ghost of himself when he left.
Now he’s here. Kissing me as if all the years between us didn’t happen.
“Emmet,” he whispers, his lips millimeters away from mine.
I take in a slow breath and let it out even slower.
His hands come up to cup my cheeks, gently brushing his fingers along my skin.
“I care,” he says softly.
I grit my teeth. “It’s not enough.”
My heart and my head war with each other, the same way they always do when it comes to Adam.
My head, we’ve been here and done this. We know where this ends.
My heart, it doesn’t care. It only knows what it wants, what it craves.
I’ve always known somewhere deep down that Adam still cared about me. Maybe it’s what kept me hung up on him for so long, and maybe that’s a bad thing. But I knew. I knew when he left me that night that it wasn’t what he truly wanted—it’s what he thought he was supposed to do.
And that made it hurt ten times more. It’s what kept me up at night, wondering if he regretted his choice. Wondering if he would come back to me.
I know Adam cares, but he never did. He never came back.
“It isn’t enough,” I whisper.
“What?” he says, his voice raspy.
“It isn’t enough,” I say more firmly, grabbing his wrists and bringing his hands to his sides.
I thought I wanted this. I thought this is where I wanted us to go, and maybe I do. No, I definitely do. But it can’t be like this. It just can’t. My heart can’t take it. I can’t have a drunken hook-up with him. That’s where I draw the line. We both deserve more than that.
“Emmet,” he says again, this time softer, his eyes meeting mine. “I want you.”
Those words… I’ve wanted to hear those words for so long. There have been so many nights I’ve begged and pleaded for him to come back to me and say exactly that.
Which is why my heart splits in two when I speak the next words.
“For how long?”
It’s a crazy thing, the mind. It contradicts itself all the time; does what it wants to do.
I finally have what I want, yet I won’t accept it? All for what? What kind of nonsense is this?
Maybe this was all a mistake. Not just coming here, but going to Seattle. I should have stayed here in California. I shouldn’t have bought the bar. I should have moved on when I was eighteen and Adam first left me.
What was I thinking? Why did I think this could work? Why has it taken for me to get what I want to realize it was a mistake?
Live and learn? I should have learned the first time. I should have learned when Adam chose to leave.
Actions speak louder than words, and his actions spoke volumes.
Adam’s lips part, his eyes searching mine. Confusion mars his face, reflecting exactly how I feel. He says nothing.
I force a smile, though not a single part of me is happy. In fact, I’m on the verge of tears. I take a step back.
“I’d really like to go to sleep.”
His mouth closes, lips forming a thin line, and he nods once, then walks away.
I crawl into bed, tucking myself under the blankets. My chest aches, and I focus on my breathing. It’s erratic, and I may pass out if I don’t get myself to calm down. I listen to him shuffle through the drawer to get clothes. I hear the bathroom door close.
The water from the sink goes on.
He’s brushing his teeth.
The toilet flushes.
The sink again.
The door opens.
Footsteps.
The blankets are pulled back. The bed dips.
The light clicks off.
“Good night, Emmet,” he whispers.
I want to say it back, but I bite my tongue and force myself to sleep.