Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
FORD
Present Day
“I woke up moments later with my cheek pressed to the cold bathroom tiles. The sight of Hayley’s blue sneakers greeted me, her scream echoing around me as though from a distance. She held me…pleaded with me to go to the hospital, but…”
Tears crest my bottom lashes, joining the others that mark my emotion-stained face when Emmy trails off. My heart is torn to shreds, knowing she went through all of this on the day I walked away, and the ache I’ve carried with me these past five years throbs with blinding pain, the like of which I’ve never dreamed.
The pain I left her to bear. Alone .
“It was too late.” She swallows roughly, inhaling a ragged breath before whispering, “ She was already gone .”
I clench my jaw, glancing around my hallway in utter helplessness, wishing I could hold her. That she could hold me. That I could somehow turn back the clock and find a way to do things differently.
My breaths come in short rasps, and I’m feeling lightheaded, as though I’m not getting enough oxygen to my lungs, as the magnitude of her words permeates me down to my very core. I’m certain that the unbearable pain in my chest will be the end of me when Emmy’s almost stifled sob lands on my ears, and I know I need to hold her.
Right the fuck now.
Without further thought, I stand and kick off my shoes before I push open the ajar door separating us.
The slender curve of her spine faces me, her blonde hair piled atop her head as she looks out at the city beyond.
Her mournful eyes fly to mine when I stride across the room, her mouth dropping open in surprise as I grip the sides of the tub and step in, fully clothed. The bubbles slosh over the sides when I settle my full 6’4” frame into the water, my eyes never leaving Emmy’s tear-streaked face.
“What are you…”
She trails off when I gather her in my arms, holding her close to press a hard kiss to her brow. Her arms tentatively reach up to grasp the material of my wet shirt, pulling me closer as her body sags against me. All the pent-up tension leaves her shoulders as a sharp intake of breath catches on a low, aggrieved sob that’s like a knife to my gut.
And there, in the safety of my embrace, Emmy falls apart. As she cries quietly against my chest, I rest my cheek on her forehead and whisper mindless words of comfort.
Of sorrow. Of grief, not only for the baby we lost, but the life we could have had.
The life we should have had were it not for forces outside of our control. And I’m once again filled with a bone-deep hatred for the man who betrayed every core value he instilled in me.
I lose track of how long we stay connected, and it isn’t until Emmy shivers that I realize the water has cooled substantially.
Without a word, I reach for her towel and stand as I hold it open for her to step into, carefully keeping my eyes fixed on hers at all times.
Once she’s wrapped up, I step from the tub and lift her into my arms, carrying her bridal style to the master bedroom.
When I set her on the bed, she silently watches me as I fish out an oversized T-shirt and new underwear that I know won’t fit her, but they’re all I’ve got right now. Her eyes never leave mine as I pass them to her, and she takes the offering with a soft smile before moving off into my ensuite to change.
As I hear her donning the items, I call through the partly open door, “I can get fresh panties delivered?—”
“I’m good, thanks.” Her chuckle is self-deprecatory, making my lips twitch upward in a lopsided smirk. “These are fine.”
She peeks around the door frame before re-entering my room. Her damp hair swishes down her back as my t-shirt brushes the tops of her knees. “Do you still prefer the left?”
My feet pause by the bathroom door at her quietly spoken question, and I nod once, glancing over my shoulder to watch as she peels back the covers before slipping in on the right side of my bed.
I continue into the ensuite, where I strip off my wet clothes and dump them in the hamper. Having toweled off, I don a fresh pair of Calvins, and walk back into my bedroom.
Emmy is snuggled down, her eyes studying the tattoo on my chest as I cross the space. And when I slide in on the left, I don’t hesitate to gather her to my side. I don’t have it inside of me at this point to even pretend I can put boundaries between us anymore.
She tucks herself in the way I know she likes, her bare leg slung over mine, her head resting on my chest, and my arm snug around her waist. I bury my nose in her hair, filling my lungs with her scent, which helps ease some of the lingering tension from my shoulders.
Sleep hushes her voice as she traces the ink on my chest with her index finger. “Don’t leave me.”
The gravity of that plea cleaves open my chest, and my arms tighten around her as the lump in my throat makes breathing difficult. All I can do is lie here, letting my actions speak when words fail me. Moments later, her hand stills on my chest, and her soft, rhythmic breathing tells me she’s succumbed to sleep, following a traumatic day in more ways than one.
I listen to her sleeping as I inhale the jasmine and rose scent surrounding us, and I’m filled with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.
As well as the knowledge that until I work through my demons, I’ll never become a man deserving of her love. And alongside her welfare, that is my priority.
And as I allow myself to be lulled to sleep by the sweet cadence of Emmy’s even breathing, I silently vow to do whatever it takes to be the man she needs.
To be the man she deserves.
EMERSON
My eyes flutter open as the smell of coffee and bacon assaults my nose, making my stomach complain loudly.
When I push myself upright, I take in the room with fresh eyes. Neutral tones of beige and white surround me. Light and airy, with massive windows overlooking smaller buildings in the neighborhood. As my eyes continue to examine the space, I smile softly to myself when I spot Ford’s familiar black cowboy hat atop a dresser to my right. His acoustic guitar rests against the dresser, a bright orange guitar pick tucked between the neck strings.
The sun shines onto the bed, her rays warming me as I stretch leisurely, feeling more rested than I have in years.
I kick my legs over the bed, curling my toes in the plush carpet beneath my feet before I cross to the ensuite. Having quickly freshened up, I check myself in the mirror and nod at what I find.
You’ll have to do.
My stomach dips, remembering the ICON gala and the events that had led me to stay here last night instead of returning to Ataraxia. As I recall how I’d told Ford of the pain I’ve continually carried with me in all the years after his disappearance, an ache spreads across my chest.
But I realize now, having shared the burden, it doesn’t feel quite so unbearable any longer.
The thought lightens my steps as I pad barefoot from the ensuite through the master bedroom and follow the divine smell of breakfast out into the living area.
An enormous L-shaped couch and built-in fireplace dominate the space as I bypass it in search of sustenance, which I find seconds later when I step through a wide arch into a galley-style kitchen.
Ford’s bare, muscular back faces me, beaded with sweat as he cooks over a large skillet.
Low-slung black workout shorts hug his ass, stopping mid-thigh and showcasing random tattoos interspersed across both legs. I take a beat to appreciate the ink, noticing a Mustang like his quarter horse Marshal on one calf and a silhouette of a willow tree, seemingly a nod to his mother’s stud ranch on the other.
Even though I’ve not made a sound, he calls out over his shoulder. “Hope you’re hungry. I’ve made enough to feed a small army.”
“How did you know I was there?”
I step closer with a smile in my voice as I slide onto a stool by the kitchen island.
Ford chuckles as he dishes up two gigantic plates, placing one before me. “It’s literally my job to notice things most people don’t. I heard you move when you woke up and figured it was only a matter of time before the smell of your favorite maple bacon reeled you in.”
“Mmm!”
“Now eat up.” His eyes are twinkling when he winks. “And when you’re done, you can confirm that it really does taste better with a little man sweat running through.”
I’m giggling at his silliness even as I shake my head before my eyes drop to the feast laid out for me, and I waste no time digging in. Pancakes, eggs sunny side up, sausage links, grits, and his divine maple bacon are demolished alongside a mug of steaming hot coffee with the perfect amount of sweetener, just the way I like it.
I can feel Ford’s gaze on me the entire time, but it isn’t until I’ve laid my knife and fork down on my almost empty plate that I meet his eyes. There’s laughter lurking in those oceanic depths as he quirks an eyebrow.
“Man sweat for the win, right?”
I snort and pick up my coffee, shrugging as a hint of a smile touches my lips. “I mean, my plate speaks for itself.”
His blue eyes never leave mine, deepening almost to black as they rake across my face.
“I’ll cook for you every day if it means you’ll eat more’n a bird-sized portion, Tink.”
My cheeks heat as I sip my coffee, and his lips spread in a broad smile that sets butterflies swarming in my stomach before his deep chuckle resounds through the kitchen.
“Gets me every time.”
When I frown in confusion, he reaches between us to run the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “That damn blush.”
The blush in question deepens, tension zapping through the air between us, but before I can reply, his cell rings, and he grabs it, pressing it to his ear with a terse, “Holloway speaking.”
I can just about make out a deep male voice on the other end before Ford hangs up with a growl. “ Shit !”
His expression is thunderous when he drops the cell into his gym shorts pocket, and all my senses are suddenly on high alert.
“What’s wrong?”
My stomach lurches as he rises from his stool and walks through the arch leading into the living room beyond. I follow after with a perplexed look until he flicks on the TV, and his agitation begins to make sense.
News reporters converse as images of Dave pop up between them, and my knees weaken when the live feed flashes to cameras outside Ataraxia, where the media swarm to get a glimpse of me.
“The story fucking leaked. It’s all over the news, Emmy.”
“Oh my God… How ? I thought it was handled?—”
My panic-filled eyes find Ford’s, and he quickly crosses the space between us, cupping my cheek in one big hand. The pad of his thumb dusts over my skin as his brow knits in concern.
“You’re safe with me. No one can get to you here. We can?—”
Ford’s cell rings again, and he swears under his breath as he yanks it out of his pocket. He checks the caller, frowning slightly before answering. “What’s up, Hayley?”
For a beat, I wonder why she didn’t call my cell, but then I recall Ford powering it off following Beckham’s demands last night.
My heart stalls as I strain to hear what she’s saying until Ford pops the call on speakerphone, and my sister’s voice fills the living area.
“…and interviews scheduled for every day after that, Ford. It’s too much for her to handle right now, but what do I do ? — ”
“I’ll handle it, Hayley. Thanks for the heads up.”
Without a single word exchanged, I know exactly what’s going on, and I pluck Ford’s cell from his grasp as a deep-seated rage, unlike anything I’ve felt before, rises in my chest.
I dial Beck’s cell number from memory, unsurprised when he answers on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to reach you all fucking morning, Emerson?—”
“I’ll keep this brief. Cancel every single event between now and the Breaking Us premiere?—”
“ What ? I can’t?—”
His outraged exclamation is cut off when I hiss, “And if you don’t get the media under control, I’ll find an agent who can.”
Silence greets me as I drive my point home. “You’d be wise not to mistake my kindness for weakness, Beck. You work for me , you got that?”
Then I hang up and pass the cell back to Ford, who’s watching with a proud gleam in his eyes. He takes the proffered cell with a smirk, shooting me a wink that makes me stand taller beneath his praise as he nods.
“Atta girl, Tink.”