Chapter 73
Emmett
I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
My hair is combed back, and my hoodie is still in the truck, but that doesn’t stop me from constantly reaching for the hood I wish I could pull up over my head. Or yanking on the cuffs.
The material is stupidly stiff and smells like it sat in the back of a closet for too long. It’s uncomfortable as fuck.
I try to turn around, to run back to safety, but Tristen is right there. Eyes swimming, brows furrowed really low, a crease forming on his forehead.
“Bubbles, it’s okay. We can come back later.”
I grit my teeth so hard, I feel them pulse. “What if I can’t?”
His gaze flicks between mine in that assessing way that makes me simultaneously itchy and seen. I want to look away, to stare at the ground and make my way back to the truck. I don’t.
“That’s okay, too,” he finally says softly.
Deep beneath the ever-present pain festering inside my chest, below the never-ending cloud of darkness, the little me trembles.
“You’re too good,” I whisper and his jaw ticks.
“Nah, I’m not.” He drops his gaze for a moment, shoulders rising softly with his breath. “But I’m glad you think I am.”
The way he looks at me through his lashes has the urge to press my lips to his boiling to the surface.
I go to step forward, to get closer, but the roar of an engine makes me pause.
Awareness crawls across my skin, the humid air between Tristen and me shifting as the bike comes closer. The sun beating down on us feels hotter. Whispers of the trees sound louder.
Stepping back, I catch Hatley pulling up next to where we parked, shaking out his hair.
The smile on his face ticks up when he sees us, his confident gait carrying him across the grass to us with his helmet tucked under his arm.
I wanna be like that one day.
“Time to party in a cemetery, bros!” He claps a hand on Tristen’s back, tossing a nod in my direction. “I almost brought the Kamchatka.”
Tristen spins on him with a gaping mouth.
“What’s Kam—what?”
Hatley snorts and pushes Tristen’s face away. “Vodka,” he says to me, then turns to Tristen. “I said almost.”
There’s a roll to his eyes and a snicker on his lips, his sure steps carrying him past us across the plush green grass where he comes to a mound of freshly laid dirt. It’s only a few spots away from us, the new knowledge of her being so close sending my stomach into knots.
“C’mon, bubs.” Tristen low tone is like a shock, the words spoken close to my ear. “We can leave whenever you want.”
I’m on autopilot when he tugs lightly on my sleeve, leading me closer to where Hatley’s settling into the grass.
“I picked the stone,” he announces proudly, picking short blades he tosses onto the pile. “It’ll be here in two weeks.”
Something in his smile feels off, one of the muscles in his jaw jumping. He’s quick to look away, unzipping his moto jacket with a jerk, and I freeze.
“H-Hatley.”
It comes out choked, and I grab onto Tristen when my knees feel too weak.
“What?” he asks, adjusting his tie and it fucking matches.
It matches mine. And Tristen’s.
A deep green that flutters away from his chest with the wind.
“You didn’t have to,” I whisper, throat too thick as Tristen’s arm comes across my shoulders.
Hatley looks beside me, then back to me with a sad smile. “I told you, Em. You’re my friend and friends show up for each other.” He pats next to him where he laid his jacket, inviting me to sit with him and I don’t know that my legs could hold me up any longer if I wanted them to.
Tristen follows more gracefully on my other side, the wind rustling the blades of grass over the loose dirt. A stark contrast of green against brown.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Hatley covers my balled fist and Tristen squeezes my shoulder.
Falling into the latter feels like the right answer, my face buried in his neck, my fingers wrapping around Hatley’s.
I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but no one speaks or moves, just tethered together next to a grave of the woman that couldn’t do half of what these two have done for me in just the few months we’ve known each other.
Is this what all those shows were about, Mother?
A wave of something like understanding bowls over me and I suck back a choppy breath. It’s full of sage and leather and dirt.
Home.
It feels like home.
The thing the woman in the ground could never give me.
It makes me sick.