Chapter 72
Tristen
Having Emmett back on my couch, curled up and snoozing in my hoodie after a fresh shower he insisted on feels so damn normal that it’s making my eyes burn.
Turns out, he wasn’t kidding.
Nothing came home with us from his old house, his old life, and I don’t blame him.
The ability to leave all that shit behind felt good even to me.
Especially the little black case I made sure was on the kitchen counter before I walked out and got in the truck.
I’d almost turned around on the drive here, desperate to go back and get it, if only just to have it. But then Emmett squeezed my arm, and the urge fell away.
I can always get another.
Sucking back a breath, I settle into the couch beside him, keeping a few inches between us.
The TV is on mute. Fans blowing around the house.
It’s … quiet.
So quiet that my knee bounces and the idea of sitting here in silence makes my brain itch.
Dammit.
I drag my hands over my denim-clad thighs and glance at the clock just beneath the TV.
“Do you work tonight?” Emmett’s groggy tone pulls me back down, his heavy gaze landing on me. He’s just tired. Yet it feels like he can see the things inside my head that he shouldn’t.
“No, I called in.”
He sighs and straightens, pulling his hood up over his head. “I’m fine.”
“I know, I know,” I rush out and force my lips up in a smile. “I just thought it would take longer to bring you home.”
He sighs again, thin fingers wrapping up the cuff of his hoodie—my hoodie.
“Can I … see her?”
“Uhh.” I clear my throat. “You mean the—” dammit why is this so hard?
“Yeah,” he says softly, saving me from asking whether or not he means the place they buried his mom. “Where can I find her?”
“I’ll take you, bubs.”
Those sweet eyes grow wide and glassy as I get my wobbly feet beneath me. “You’ve been?”
My throat goes thick, and I nod.
“Yeah. Me and Hatley went with Bobbie.”
Tears collect on his lashes but don’t fall down his cheeks. “Can he come, too?”
I swear, my heart stutters in my chest, a mix of pride and jealousy swirling around me.
“I’ll call him.”
Emmett nods and settles back into a ball on the couch before looking up at me innocently. “I want to wear the suit.”
Gutted, I nod again, my voice too small to trust, and I head back to the room where I stashed them.
It doesn’t take long after calling my best friend and inviting him to the cemetery with us that I emerge from the bedroom clad in stiff black and white fabric, Emmett’s suit draped over my arm.
“What do you think? Thrift threads looking good?”
He leans up slowly, drawing his hood back, and blinks at me.
Then blinks some more.
His silence makes me flush as I hold my arms out and do a little awkward spin, showing him what I hope is a decent fitting outfit.
By the time I make a full circle, he’s on his feet right in front of me. “You didn’t have to wear one, too.”
I flash a small smile, and he dives forward, crashing into my chest so hard it knocks me back a step and steals all the air from my lungs.
Thin arms circle my waist, the bones aching with how hard he squeezes me.
It takes me a full minute to snap back to Earth and return the embrace.
“I know,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of his head. “Just wanted to look like I belonged with you.”
The feel of his face rubbing against my chest makes the spot feel warm and my heart leaps but then he’s pulling back, pressing into my stomach as I untangle my arms from his shoulders.
It’s too short, the embrace, and I want so badly to pull him back against me.
Instead, I hold up the suit Bobbie found for him at the second-hand shop.
“It’s all you, bubbles.”
Has been.