Chapter 15 Caleb
Caleb
I grabbed my emergency go bag from under the back seat, then took Emma by the hand, hauling her out of the truck and toward the manor.
“Afraid I’ll run away?” she asked, trotting to keep up with me.
“Afraid you’ll float away.” With my head—and leg—throbbing, I struggled to move as fast as I wanted, which really pissed me off.
Maybe you’re just getting old…
Daisy’s words mocked me. Since when was thirty old? But I had bigger problems. I could hear Emma’s teeth chattering, so I pushed us harder.
“Hey,” she said breathlessly. “Where’s the race? I mean, we’re already as wet as we can be.”
True, but I was far too close to the lie-in-a-fetal-position-on-the-floor-of-a-dark-bathroom-to-puke-for-hours phase of the migraine. I got us inside, not realizing I’d dropped to my knees until she crouched at my side, a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Of course you are.” Her hair was plastered to her head, eyelashes holding drops of rain, her skin pale. “Where do you want to be?”
My mouth curved. “You gonna carry me?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“Agreed.” I drew in a careful breath. The meds must’ve started to work already; the urge to puke was fading. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For forcing me to go get the meds. I’d have waited too long,” I admitted.
“You did wait too long. Guys are ridiculous.”
“So I’ve heard. Listen, we’re going to be here awhile. We need to change clothes and find a place to relax and maybe sleep.”
Emma stared at me as if I’d suggested she cut off her head.
Insulting, but I got it. She was stuck in a storm with a man she didn’t trust. I wanted to tell her she could trust me, but I knew she shouldn’t.
I mean, I’d actually thought I could use charm and wit to lull her into being on my side throughout this build.
What a shitty move on my part. Plus, I was in trouble, deep trouble, because I knew something she never would—that this, whatever this was, was no longer just for the job at all, and I had no idea when that had happened. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “I promise you’re safe here with me.”
She stared at me for a long beat, then let out a breath and a nod. “I have spare clothes in my car. I’ll be right back—”
“No.”
She raised a brow. “No?”
“No way are you going back out there. I’ve got enough to share.” I tossed her a spare set of sweats and socks.
She hesitated, then nodded again. “I’m going to change in the bathroom.”
While she was gone, I stood and stripped out of everything, then crouched before the duffel bag.
I’d been carrying it around ever since a few years ago, when Tucker and I had gotten caught in a surprise snowstorm coming back from a ski weekend at Tahoe.
A great weekend, but we’d nearly gotten frostbite waiting out chain control, him in my only spare sweat bottoms and me in only my spare sweatshirt. Ryder still gave us shit about that.
But one thing I didn’t have was a towel. Nothing more fun than attempting to stuff my wet, naked ass into dry clothes. I was just reaching for the sweatpants when a beam of light hit me square in the chest, lighting me and said wet, naked ass up like I was on a Broadway stage.
This was accompanied by a sharp gasp—Emma—then the sound of the flashlight hitting the floor and rolling across the room.