Chapter 7
Tristen
I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.
I mean, it’s a great fucking idea because I feel like a kid that somehow just scored a sleep over with the popular guy at school who happens to be that way because he ignores everyone, but Emmett looks like he’s going to throw up any time now and we haven’t even made it up the driveway yet.
The borrowed truck bumps over the driveway’s edge that’s in desperate need of fixing. I’ll get to one of these days I’m not working.
Or apparently invading a practical stranger’s hospital room.
Only to invite him back to my house where I sleep.
Good going, Ten.
Snorting, I pull half into the dying grass because Hat’s and my bikes are pulled up to the garage like a hoodlum parked them, and kill the engine.
The guys from the firehouse must have brought them home when we borrowed the truck again last night, and I’m honestly glad to see them right where they should be. It was weird as fuck leaving for work this morning knowing Green Envy was stuck somewhere else.
Emmett’s still holding the to-go cup in his lap, cradling it in both hands when I turn to look at him, his sight downcast to the plastic lid as he stares right through it.
“My roomie might be home. That’s his bike.”
He nods once. Rubs the pad of his finger over the hole in the lid.
“He’s a sarcastic asshole, but he’s good people.”
Another nod, but this time it’s accompanied by a small sip.
“He might have a guy with him.”
That one gets a twitch to Emmett’s brow, then a tip of his chin. “I have met people before.”
I can’t help the grin that slides on my face.
I go to pat his shoulder but stop mid-motion and withdraw back to my side of the cab. A repeat of what happened when I woke him up is not what I’m after. “Just making sure you’re also good people. I’d hate to have brought you all the way out here only to turn around.”
I’m mostly joking because there’s no way I’d just dump him somewhere but the way his lips thin almost makes me take it back.
But then he’s undoing the seatbelt and climbing out of the truck with nothing but the cup in his hand.
It’s the same way he left his hospital room.
No phone, no extra clothes, no loved ones crowding his side.
Nothing. Just the baggy long-sleeved shirt hanging from his frame, some sweats that looked like they didn’t belong to him, and the cup I gave him.
The lack of support sits raw in my chest.
No one came for him.
How anyone, family or friends, couldn’t see the pain etched into his face and run to his side. How they couldn’t hear the suffering hinging on his words. The torment darkening the depths of his pretty eyes.
Bobbie had even confirmed my suspicions were right.
He didn’t have a single visitor other than her, if she counts. No calls from a job or school looking for someone they missed.
Just Emmett.
My stomach twists.
“Hey! Wait for me,” I call out and jab at my own belt, the button taking two tries with my shaking fingers before I’m freed. Go-bag trailing behind me, I bound up the few steps that creak beneath my weight and jam the key into the lock, a forced smile stretching my lips. “You’re in a hurry.”
Emmett’s eyes track my movements, the weight of it drawing my attention to him as I twist the key. Push back the front door with a window in it. Hold the storm door back with my ass. Swipe out an arm in invitation into the house.
It’s then that those honey eyes of his slide to meet mine and hold steady.
We’re at a stalemate. A standoff only broken up by his subtle blinks.
And I am … jittery.
Self-conscious.
Will he like it?
C’mon, Ten, it’s not like you gave him an option.
I even texted Hatley before we left the hospital saying I was bringing home a friend and didn’t bother to wait for his response.
He’s gonna give me a look when I see him next, that look that tells me I probably fucked up, but he’ll support me anyway.
Considering how often his room is filled with guests, having an extra one for a few days won’t kill him. At least until I figure out what to do with Emmett.
It seemed like going home was the last thing he wanted.
“After you,” I mutter when what feels like minutes have passed but is probably only a few seconds, staring into the depth swimming beneath long dark lashes. It’s another contradiction on him with the blond hair falling into them, his brows pinched and just as dark.
Like his outside is trying to keep the balance of things while shit on the inside is in turmoil.
There’s something familiar about the way he’s looking at me, watching me, that takes me back. Reminds me of simpler times and playgrounds at recess. And I let it take me, claim me, pull me into the memory of mulch crunching beneath my beat-up shoes and a brilliant sunlight blinding me.
I squint against it. Raise a hand to block it out.
Only that seems to break the trance, and I blink rapidly against the sight of my front porch.
It’s on the smaller side, the green paint chipping on the groaning boards that need tacked down.
“It’s nice.”
Snapping my gaze into the house, I absently rub at my sternum and step inside where I find Emmett standing in the middle of my living room, eyes darting around the single couch and average sized TV.
The carpet is weighted down. The fireplace needs work.
There’s a stain on the ceiling where Hat shot off a Coke cannon and covered the plaster on accident one night.
Just as there’s a dent in the hallway wall from a shrink wrap prank that went horribly wrong.
Or horribly right, depending on who you ask.
“It’s not much.” I shrug and drop my bag by the door to stack the plate and glass left on the coffee table with an eye roll. “But she’s ours.”
The house holds her scars. The marks of being lived in. The age of her showing with each day.
But she’s exactly what I needed, when I needed it.
“She?” Emmett questions with a furrowed brow, his raspy voice following close behind me as I step into the kitchen and drop the dishes in the sink.
“Yeah,” I murmur with a slight grin. “Some people name cars and shit. See them as beings or things with energy.” I shrug again, turning to face him and leaning back against the countertop.
“Your house has a name? The house.”
Snickering, I tip my chin in affirmation. Push off from my lean. Head back to the living room with Emmett on my heels.
“So does my bike. If I have to drive the truck any longer, it’ll need one, too.”
There’s something akin to a breathy snort that escapes my new friend, and it makes the corner of my lips tip up.
“What, you don’t name shit?” I toss a grin over my shoulder as I speak and toe off my boots next to the couch.
“No.”
A snort works its way past the thickness in my throat.
“Hat thought it was weird at first, too. Now he’s the one naming shit most of the time.”
Emmett just watches me, his brows down low. “Okay.”
He sounds completely unimpressed, not that I blame him, but damn. I have to admit that his indifference stings a little.
Why would he give a shit, Ten? C’mon. He just met you.
Clearing my throat, I turn fully to my guest.
“So … Food or a shower first?” A giant step back is his response and my stomach twists up. “Fuck, that came out wrong.” I swallow, hands out in front of me. “Just trying to figure out what you need, is all.”
“Then ask me that,” he half-snaps with a rasp to his tone that’s got my Spidey-sense tingling.
“Tha—” Nibbling the inside of my cheek, I drop my gaze for a sec. “Shit, you’re right. Direct questions. Got it.”
When I glance back up at him, his eyes are wider. Shining.
Gorgeous.
Something so wounded shouldn’t be so pretty, should it?
The color is just so … unnerving.
“D-do you have bread?”
My chest aches at the innocence of his question. Of all the things to ask for, to want, and he just wants something simple.
The corner of my lips tip.
“Yeah, bub.”