Chapter 17
Emmett
The few hours have been a blur of vomit and groaning.
Whimpered pleas and apologies from Tristen’s best friend.
And I’m not sure why, but I find that helping Tristen take care of him has me focusing on the two of them. How close they are. How I wish there was someone like that for me.
My eyes burn as I walk the hall, my feet sluggish as I retrieve the water Tristen asked me for.
I don’t fit.
Again, I find myself on the outside. Watching as everyone else gets everything they need from those around them.
Except me. I don’t even know these guys, and yet here I am, trying to be … helpful, I guess. Though I can’t explain why.
I should leave. Give them the space they need.
The cup overfills and water spills all over my hand, making me jerk back.
Swiping the errant tears from my cheek on my shoulder, I sniffle back the utter loneliness pressing down on me and tip the cup. Wipe down the side and my hand, and shuffle back to Hatley’s bedroom.
There’s a trashcan perched next to his sweaty head, towels laying around. The scent in the room is acrid, a residual aroma from his purging that required Tristen to shove his fingers down his throat in order to start. But once it did? It seemed like it’d never end.
“Hey,” Tristen whispers and reaches over his best friend for the water. “Thank you.”
He chugs half, then sets the rest on the crate turned nightstand next to Hatley’s head.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper back and shift on my feet. “I’m gonna …”
“Stay.”
My sight snap to his when his thick voice cracks, his deep brown eyes wide and tired. Begging and screaming at the same time.
Exhausted.
Lonely.
It jolts me.
“Stay?”
He nods, one single dip of his chin.
“Please.”
I don’t know why I’m stepping forward when I should walk the other way.
Or why, when Tristen lifts his blanket, I climb in beside him, my back against the wall, the heat of his arm burning into my knee.
We’re not even touching, and yet it feels like we are.
He settles on his back, his entire side plastered to the back of Hatley, who’s so close to the edge of the bed, I worry he’ll fall out.
“This is a terrible idea. The bed’s too small.”
“He always sleeps like that when he’s not snuggling.”
My brows pinch. “His head is practically hanging off the mattress.”
Tristen nods. “Normal.”
“That does not seem normal.”
His shrug shifts the blanket, and his arm brushes my knee.
It prickles, like a limb fallen asleep coming back to life, and my breath stalls.
“Sorry,” he murmurs and rolls to his side facing me, his arm coming up to prop beneath his head. There are tattoos there, catching my attention. “Do you always hate being touched?”
I blink and inhale, startled by the sudden subject.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But mostly.”
He nods, his hair rustling.
Dark eyes meet mine for a long beat, searching for something in them, and just when I think he might ask me why, he gives me a soft smile instead.
“You can lay down. You don’t have to sleep sitting up.”
I scrunch my nose up. “I only do that when my stomach hurts.”
His eyes soften and I find myself staring right back into them easily when he asks “How does your stomach feel now?”
Shrugging, I slide down an inch. “It’s fine.”
“Like aching but I can deal with it, fine? Or I’m pretending it doesn’t hurt, fine?”
I scoff and slip another inch down the wall.
“It’s just fine. Doesn’t hurt but doesn’t feel great either.”
“How about your ribs?”
My mouth opens to respond then slams shut. How the fuck did he know about that?
“They ache, but I can deal with it.”
His smile makes my face feel hot.
“There it is. How about your head? How’s that?”
“Is this Operation? Do you have to dissect each piece individually in order to come to a diagnosis?”
“No.” He licks his lips, the movement drawing my eyes down to his mouth. “I’m trying to get an honest answer.”
Oh.
Why does that make my stomach clench?
“I’m sorry,” I mutter and pull my legs up to hug my knees.
“Em.”
I drag in a breath then look at him. “Yeah?”
“I trust you to tell me. I just want to make sure.”
I nod, though I don’t let him see the way his statement makes my eyes burn. I think he can tell anyway because he pats the mattress near my feet, ending the conversation, and with a gentle voice he tells me to lie down.
“It’s been a long fucking day.”
My head bobs in agreement, the weight of the day pulling me down to the bed.
And after a long, ceiling-stare moment, I turn my head to look at him and he’s right there. Sharing the pillow. So close that the ghost of his breath teases my nose.
It’s almost enough to have me bolting from the bed and sleeping on the floor.
But then he’s cracking open one of those brown eyes I’ve seen somewhere before and looks right at me like he sees me.
It does something to me. Something I can’t explain.
“I’m gay,” I mutter before I can chicken out.
His lips curl up on one side and my stomach clenches. “Hi, Gay. I’m Tristen.”
“I—what?”
“You never heard a dad joke before?”
My brows pinch and his grin grows.
“That’s not … I don’t …” I huff out a breath and turn back to the ceiling. “You lied to your friends at the firehouse.”
He shifts beside me in what I think is another shrug, but I can’t look at him. I feel too vulnerable.
Holy fuck, did I really just come out to him?
“It’s not up to me who knows your sexuality. You didn’t even have to tell me just now.”
“But we’re about to sleep in the same bed.”
“If it’s contagious, pretty sure I already caught it from Hat a long time ago.”
The snort that tickles my throat is automatic and startles me. I clear it away and sink into the mattress as Tristen’s eyes fall closed once again. It smells like sage and soap.
Just like he does.