Chapter 54
Tristen
Being back in Barren Ridge, on the same street, and pulling up to the same house that I found Emmet in has my stomach in knots.
He’s alive, tucked into my side as Hatley pulls the rig over, and yet there’s still something ominous floating over me when we climb out together.
Emmett finds the hidden key beneath the faded welcome mat and lets us into the house.
Why doesn’t he have his own set?
The stench is the first thing that hits me.
The second is a wave of complete despair.
And that’s before I step inside and see the state of the house.
Piles and piles of … things line the walls, stacks of opened boxes and books ready to topple over at any moment. The carpet is even more worn than our house, a matted black something lining the walkways from the couch to the arch leading to the bathroom and the kitchen.
I don’t remember it being like this.
Take out containers and bottles cover the coffee table and spot the floor like a trail of crumbs all the way to the overflowing trashcan next to the filled sink.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath.
Something squishes beneath my boot, and I cringe.
Is this what he had to live in?
Bile burns the back of my throat, and I rush to find Emmett clearing clutter out of the way to make room for Charline’s gurney.
I don’t even know if there’s a bed to safely transfer her to.
“Emmett, you don’t have to stay here.”
He half-assed shrugs and reduces two piles of garbage to a single, taller one that looks like it could fall over with the slightest breeze.
“Her shit is here. This is what she knows.”
“But it’s—” I cut myself off when he straightens and tosses a bunch of magazines and envelopes onto the mess of a table.
It’s fucking dirty.
“Just some … clean up.” He looks around like he’s half lost and just as disgusted as I am. “It wasn’t always like this.”
The voice that eeks out of him has my stomach twisting.
“Bubbles,” I say softly and take the bottle from his grip, setting it next to another on the table. Something else falls off the opposite side but I don’t give a shit about it when I pinch Emmett’s sleeve.
He flinches.
Fuck.
I drop my hand.
“Bubbles, you don’t have to stay here.” The muscle in his jaw jumps, flexing like he’s gritting down hard. “You can bring her home. To our house.”
Haunted eyes swing on me, the soft sweet honey color hardened with an edge that makes my skin itch.
“No.”
I rear back. “Emmett.”
The sound of the gurney wheels hitting the steps on the porch has him jerking back again, eyes flicking to the noise.
I ignore the way my own eye twitches, my heart in my throat, and after a loaded beat, Hatley calls from outside.
“Tennnnn! Come help me, fool.”
A sigh pushes past my lips, and I turn away from Emmett with a deep scowl and a turning stomach.
I’m a fucking EMT. I’ve seen many things. Shit even the most hardcore gore fans would cringe at.
But this?
“Grab that end and lift her up.”
“Hatley, I don’t know if there’s room.”
My best friend’s brows meet in the middle of his forehead. “Just move some shit around so we can at least get her inside.”
I shake my head.
“I’m not talking couches and tables, man.”
There’s a slow nod of recognition, Hatley’s brow popping up. “Lemme try.”
He slaps my shoulder on his way by, disappearing into the house and leaving me to watch over Charline.
Emmett’s mom.
Never did I think I’d get the chance to meet her, though there’s still a part of me that didn’t want to. Still don’t.
She’s got an air to her. Like a cloud that follows overhead, not too different than the one I feel surrounding Emmett.
But Emmett agreed to do this, maybe he even needs her, and there’s no part of me that will ever let him have regrets if I can help it. The little boy inside him deserves the peace only his mother can give him; it’s something I can’t fix.
God, I hope she’ll give it to him.
The sun shines over the house across the street, slowly beating back the shadows and for the first time, I actually look at the woman that gave me Emmett.
Light strands string from her head, a similar shade to Em’s, and cover her dark brows.
She’s thin. Frail looking. Covered in sallow skin with sunken cheek bones and a clamminess coating her.
They look alike, but barely.
She looks like he did the night I found him.
“Alright, let’s get her inside.” I jerk around at Hatley’s voice, my best friend as close to me as the gurney is. “You okay?”
The second part is softer. Smaller. Meant for me and I drag in a lungful.
“I don’t like this, Hat.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened.” He shakes his head, a sadness darkening his eyes. “Emmett’s in there cleaning up like it’s his job. I don’t remember it being like this when we came through before.”
“So, I’m not crazy.”
Hat snorts and claps my shoulder. “Only a little bit, fool.”
The levity is short lived, Hat’s brows coming back down over his eyes.
“He won’t budge, will he.”
I already know the answer when I get the shake of his head. I can feel it in my gut.
“Tried. He doesn’t wanna bring her to our house. Says they should be here.”
It seems like there’s more on the tip of his tongue he holds back, his features pinching.
“What is it?”
He purses his lips, clear eyes boring into mine.
“He’s stubborn as shit.” I can tell that’s not what he wants to say and, fuck, does it twist something ugly inside me that he knows some shit about Emmett that I don’t.
That the guy I kissed told my best friend and not me.
But I swallow it back as Hat’s smirk plasters on his face. “You’re two peas on a pod.”
I smack my lips. “Fuck you, man.” Then push his shoulder. “And it’s two peas in a pod.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He’s chuckling as he kicks the wheel lock and starts hauling Emmett’s mom up the stairs, me on the other side.
“ Unit 1-2-2, call back.”
I can’t help the way my stomach turns, and my eyes automatically flip to Emmett.
Who is still trying to clean up.
They’d made just enough room to get Charline set up in front of the couch but that’s about it.
“1-2-2 checking in,” Hatley responds, his gaze boring a hole in the side of my head.
“Status report,” dispatch crackles over the radio strapped to his shoulder.
Fuck, they’re gonna send us out.
The turning in my stomach becomes a painful twist when I round the gurney and stand next to where Emmett continues to shove trash into a bag.
“Bubbles,” I murmur.
He jumps.
“Y-yeah?”
I gnaw the inside of my lip. “You gonna be okay?”
There’s a long, long, moment where he just … shoves more shit in the bag. Sniffles. Finally whispers a ‘yeah’ that’s so unconvincing, it makes my chest ache.
“I know you have to go.”
My jaw ticks, the radio crackling behind me. “Not if you tell me you need me.”
He pauses at that, his face hidden by his hair, and stares at some spot on the wall.
When he finally looks at me, there’s tears building in his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t.” I step closer. Take the bag from his grip. “Don’t lie to me.”
A single tear slides down his cheek and I hate it. I hate it that he’s crying again. That he’s hurting again. That he’s been put in this kind of position.
“I’m okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”
“Not if you aren’t, Emmett. Not if—”
“Ten.”
The grip on my shoulder has me hanging my head, a call of duty hanging thickly in the air around us.
“Tristen.”
Sighing deep, I trail my gaze up Emmett’s front.
I don’t know what to say. Or do.
How do I leave him like this?
My jaw ticks as I stare as his chin, the thought of looking into those sweet, tear-filled eyes unbearable.
It’s not until his hand rises, and he cups my jaw with his covered palm, that my stomach flips and I meet his gaze.
“I’ll come back,” I rush out before he can say anything. “As soon as we’re done, I’ll be here.”
Emmett’s lips flatten to a thin line, but he nods, one single dip of his chin.
“You shouldn’t,” he says quietly, and then he’s leaning in, closing the small distance between us.
His nose brushes mine, the tips touching ever so slightly, and then he’s gone. Backing away and picking up more shit from the floor.
It’s not until Hatley give my shoulder a squeeze that I unfreeze and turn away.
“C’mon, we gotta go.”