Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
EMMETT
Her voice is impossibly sweet as she taunts me, coating every rough edge of me like thick honey.
The way she picks out and pokes at all my most painful parts should piss me off. With anyone else, I would shut down. But Aspen does it with a care I’ve rarely known.
Not from my parents, who were professional liars. They lied to teachers and social workers. Lied to me and about me. Worse, they made me lie for them. Those lies were landmines scattered through my youth—destroying my trust and sense of stability from an early age.
Not from the social workers that handled my care after my parents’ death. Who seemed to give up when placing an angry pre-teen became too much of a challenge.
Or from the therapist I’d been sent to see after being placed with family that I’d never met.
My grandparents tried, but by the time I got to them my trust was eroded beyond repair.
Rory was the only person who was able to sink behind the walls I’d built up. But she’s been gone for a long time and my walls are even thicker than they were then.
Countless systems, processes, and people failed me, teaching me not to trust anyone or anything.
But the nurse sitting across from calling me a liar is harder to push away.
Not that I haven’t tried.
Aspen sees through every defense and keeps coming back. And I can’t figure out why I haven’t told her to stop point-blank.
I’m not interested in whatever she’s trying to accomplish.
I don’t want to be.
“There are a lot of things you can say about me, but one thing I refuse to be is a liar.”
“Good, I hate liars.”
She’s far too happy about this assessment.
“You’re a smart woman, Aspen. I’m telling you to forget I exist. It’s in your best interest.”
I’ve ruined plenty in my lifetime, but I’m not sure I could live with myself if I dimmed her bright light.
“The wake of devastation I’ve left is a mile wide. And it goes well beyond anything you think you know about me.”
Her smile fades with the serious tone in my warning, but she doesn’t shy away. Instead, she sits taller, those endless hazel eyes narrowing on me.
It’s hard not to look away.
“Oh, yippee, just what every woman wants, a man telling her what’s best.”
Well, fuck, I’m a dick. But I’m not that dick.
“Aspen—” I start.
“No. You don’t like talking so you can listen. Acting like you know better than me is reductive and pathetic. I’m a big girl. I’ll decide who I spend my energy on, thank you very much.”
Stubborn woman—built for battle and wrapped in the most deceiving package. She might be the Trojan horse my demons never saw coming.
“This brother you mentioned. He’s older, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “I have two. Both older and as much of a pain in the ass as you.”
“So, you’re the baby.”
A hint of the fury fades. “Yes, and . . . ?”
“Because you fight like it—scrappy as hell and impossible to ignore.”
Her lips part but there’s still that sparkle of gold in her eyes that tells me not only is she not offended, but that she likes this dynamic.
Her mouth shuts and curves. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I like seeing you really raise some hell, instead of being whatever makes everyone else most comfortable.” Now I’m goading her.
My heart kicks in my chest, waking up at this push and pull between us. It gives me a rush I haven’t felt in . . . maybe ever.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. It’s then that I realize the corner of my lip has pulled up.
“Keep smiling like that and everyone else will know you’re not nearly as big of a grump as you pretend to be.”
I force it back into a straight line. “I’m not smiling.”
“It was halfway there,” she insists. And damn, it’s a struggle not to let my mouth curve at that.
“It’s the fresh air.”
Being outside is really fucking nice. Being here with Aspen is the cherry on the top.
“Okay, Pinocchio.”
“So, Aspen, youngest child with two brothers, flight nurse, secret hardass, what else should I know about my only friend?”
“I didn’t think you had friends.”
“Yeah, well, you brought me outside.”
She beams across the table at me, and it does more to soothe the permanent ache I live with than any of the drugs they’ve given me in the last few days.
“I’m jealous of my brothers. They’re unstoppable—the best at what they do and unapologetic for it.”
“You seem pretty unstoppable to me.”
“Challenge motivates me,” she teases before letting loose a sigh. “I’m envious of how effortlessly they own their achievements.”
“And you don’t?”
Every crumb she brushes my way has me hanging on her next word more than the last. And sure, I want to stay out here as long as we can, but that’s not why.
“They’re at a different level. Take Trace. He’s not loud about his success, but he wears confidence like a second skin. Like there’s nothing he can’t do. Drake might not show it the same way, but he gives zero fucks.”
What she’s saying makes sense, but it’s not what I see when I look at her.
I see courage and compassion. I see the confidence of a woman who flies in helicopters.
“And you want to . . . care less?”
“I’m not really sure how to explain it without sounding like a jealous freak.” She rubs her temples. “I’m a whole-ass adult, and I still feel like I’m faking it half the time.” She lets that sit before adding, “Do you ever feel like you’re the last person who should be trusted with what we do?”
She has no idea.
When I don’t rush to answer she ducks her head, looping a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “Sorry, that was a lot.”
I tuck my chin, ignoring the strain on my shoulder and ribs to find her eyes.
“Every damn day.” She relaxes at that, but I’m not done.
“This is the only pep talk I’ve given . .
. maybe ever, so it’s probably going to suck,” I warn her.
“You’re allowed to take up as much space as you want.
Isn’t that what your brothers would do?”
She blinks back at me. It seems I’ve stunned her quiet.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” It’s barely loud enough to hear over the breeze.
“If it’s good enough for them, why isn’t it good enough for you?”
There’s a buzz and she checks her phone.
“Shit!”
I watch the shift happen with her soft curse. Something sharpens as her eyes scan the screen.
She huffs out a breath, already lifting the phone to her ear. “Yeah—I got it.” A pause. “I’m in-house. Give me ten.”
I deflate. It’s time to go back.
“Looks like our field trip is over.” There’s a hint of a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She grabs the rest of her lunch and shoves it into the bag. I frown as I realize she barely ate.
“They need a flight nurse for a transplant,” she says, tucking the phone away.
I don’t know much about that world, but I know enough to see it in her face—how saving one life doesn’t come without losing another.
I want to say something, to ease the line etched between her eyes, but I know there’s nothing to be said.
And before I can, she comes around the table, already slipping back into that steady, capable version of herself. The one who knows exactly where she needs to be and how fast she needs to get there.
“C’mon,” she says, gentler, like she’s making up for cutting this short. “Let’s get you back.”
One minute, she’s sitting across from me, talking about how she feels like she’s faking it.
The next, she’s the one people call when it matters.
She stands from the table and takes the empty bag from me, dumping it in the garbage. She’s quiet as she rushes me through the hall, back toward the elevator.
Focused.
I recognize it. I get the same way on a deployment.
When we’re sealed inside, just the two of us again, she clears her throat. Looking over my shoulder, the energy from our exchange and the call thrum.
“Try to be nice to case management. They hold the key to your freedom,” she finally says as we pass the second floor.
“Afraid they’re going to keep me here longer and you’re going to be stuck eating all your lunches with me.”
“You were a pleasure and a delight. The best lunch companion I’ve had all week.”
“Now who’s the liar?” I ask.
“You’d think so, but you’ve got an advantage on Kyle. He’s in a coma. Not exactly a great conversationalist.”
Just like that, she rights everything between us. An unexpected snort ends in a coughing fit as the elevator stops at three.
“Jesus. Get it together—it was a joke. Becky’s going to think this trip was too much, and we are both going to get yelled at. Also, there’s no Kyle. In the last week, I’ve eaten lunch in a supply closet and in my car, just for some peace and quiet.”
“That was dark, even for me,” I say.
“Really?” She sighs. “Time for my week to be over if I’ve crossed into tasteless jokes.”
“Are you off tomorrow?”
I can see her nodding in the reflection of the metal wall, but another yawn steals the confirmation.
“You should use your day off to catch up on sleep.”
“From the guy who’s never once rested properly? Bold of you.”
“I’m not the example, I’m the problem,” I say.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
“No, you won’t,” I say.
She crinkles her nose, leaning over me and pressing the button to hold the doors as we exit. “You’re probably right.”
“Cleo’s waiting,” Becky chides as we approach.
“That’s my fault. I talked her ear off,” I deflect.
Becky barks out a laugh. “In that case, I’ll allow it.” The older nurse—clearly running this floor—stands and takes the wheelchair. “I’ve got him from here.”
Aspen doesn’t move right away. I shift in my chair, finding her looking down at me like she’s unsure how to part ways.
“See you around, Aspen.”
“Yeah. See you, Emmett.” She sounds resigned, almost sad that this is the end of the road. Or maybe that’s me.
I’ll most certainly be discharged while she’s off, and we will probably never see each other again. Eventually, she steps aside and the calm she brought with her goes too.
Becky wheels me back inside my room.
I look over my shoulder, half expecting Aspen to still be there, but from this stupid chair, all I can see is the door closing.
“All right, Casanova, the field trip is over. Stop ogling my nurse. Back to bed.”