Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
EMMETT
The hand holding her phone falls to her side, and her eyes move over me slowly, like she doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
Hell, I don’t either.
She sucks in a harsh breath. “Emmett!”
She’s at my goddamn door.
Aspen is at my goddamn door and can’t tamp down the thrill racing through my veins.
I shake away the disbelief.
“What are you doing here?”
“Me? What are you doing here? This is my place—well, my rental. I own it.”
“Wait . . . I rented it from some firm out of Chicago.”
I’m stunned—that’s all I can be. An hour ago, I was saying goodbye to her—resigned that it was for the best. And now, she’s standing in front of me.
Her teeth dent her bottom lip as her dark hair swishes around her face, catching the sun. She glows, almost unreal.
Every bit of the angel I thought she was in the helicopter.
But as she stands in front of me, a gift I don’t deserve, I realize there’s so much I like about Aspen, all of it more important than how we met or what she looks like.
I like the way she doesn’t give up when things are hard. There’s grace in how she handles herself. She’s sweet but not too sweet. She knows when to push and when to relent. Aspen reads people without trying and she gives them what they need. I like her quick tongue and her soft eyes.
But the real problem is that I noticed any of those things at all. That hits me in the gut so hard I almost miss her explanation.
“My brother set it up so that everything runs through his firm in Chicago. He’s a consultant .
. . or analyst. Honestly, all I know is he complains about every decision he has to make while simultaneously not letting anyone else make them, turns a boatload of money into a fuckton of money, and is generally an overprotective ass.
He didn’t want it listed with my contact info for anyone to get a hold of. ” Chaotic laughter tumbles out of her.
I like that too.
“Sounds like a good guy to have your back,” I say, forcing my voice steady.
Her brother.
Family.
Because unlike me, Aspen has people. She doesn’t shut everyone out. The exact opposite—her entire personality invites people in.
Hearing her talk about him with so much pride sends me reeling back in time.
Aspen deserves people who look out for her the way she looks out for everyone else—me included.
But I’m not that person.
“I mean, besides the protectiveness, he leaves his socks all over the place, but if you can get over his lesser qualities, he’s not all bad.”
I try hanging on, focusing on her words but they float in and out. I’m too distracted by the way she stands, hand on hip, weight shifted just so, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
It’s a stance I’ve seen before.
I had a family once. Rory used to stand like that.
“I’d have done the same thing . . .” I say absently.
That tilt of her head, the smirk—it snaps the last tether to the present and sends me headfirst into a downward spiral. The girl I knew back then had hair so blonde it was nearly white, but Rory carried her presence the way Aspen does.
Welcoming. Warm. Wanted.
“Whatever. It’s annoying.” She stomps her foot.
And that’s familiar too. It’s not Aspen standing in front of me anymore, it’s Rory.
“Em!” Rory squeals. “You’re never going to believe what happened today.”
Anyone else making that sound in my vicinity would end up on the other side of the wrench in my hand. But not my aunt.
It’s never not going to be weird, thinking of her like that.
And it confuses the hell out of everyone at school.
With less than a year between us, she’s more like a cousin.
Fucked-up family tree aside, she’s also my best friend.
For her, I set the tool on the gravel and shimmy out from under the old tractor, brushing my hands against my jeans.
Years of conditioning kick in when I look down and see the mess.
Rory’s eyes drop too.
“It’s just some character, Em.”
I frown. “They’re wrecked.”
“It’s not a big deal. They’re too short anyway—Mom mentioned you needed new ones.”
Another thing I’m not used to—someone willingly spending money on me.
“I can buy them.”
Rory rolls her eyes. “Good luck with that.”
I make a mental note to stop and grab a new pair before my grandmother can.
“What were you going on about before . . .? You know, when you were screeching like a pterodactyl.”
Rory rolls her eyes.
“Bennett Becker asked me to homecoming.”
That grabs my attention. Bennett’s a senior, and as a freshman on the JV team, I also happen to share a locker room with the varsity quarterback.
Having heard the way he talks in the locker room raises my hackles.
But it’s also the fact that he asked a freshman when he could have taken anyone that has alarms going off.
Rory is smart and sweet. Too sweet for him. The way he talks about the girls at school is vomit including. Mentioning it to the coach only got me benched. Someone braver would stand up to him, but I’ve seen where that gets you.
I hide my concern behind a cocky smile.
“Becker, huh? We could make it a group thing. A few of the other guys from the team had mentioned going.”
Not me. But now . . .
“You’re going to homecoming?”
“Sure why not. There’s a girl in my English class that asked me.”
I hadn’t exactly told her no yet. Although my grunted response about not knowing how to dance was a good as one. But I’d smooth it over or go alone—it didn’t matter either way.
“What happened to, ‘I’d rather contract a communicable disease than waste my time on a pointless social right of passage’?”
Hearing it back now, yeah, I was a dick. I’d earned that title through years of practice with building walls. I’d seen the disappointment on her face when she’d been so excited about going.
“I’m a complex individual, capable of changing my mind,”I retorted.
“Whatever,” she huffed. “If you make this weird I’m putting frogs in your pillow.”
I paled. I fucking hated frogs. The sound of them had been my only companion for so many fearful, lonely nights back in my parents’ trailer. And there were everywhere out here, in the middle of nowhere.
“Emmett.” The soft voice filtered through my memories. As light as a feather, a hand on my arm dragged me back.
I swallowed down the flashback, trying to push it away. What had we even been talking about? The loft. The firm. Her brother.
“He cares,” I finally force out.
Dampness coats my palms as I fight to keep my heart from ripping through the wall of my chest. Chills sweep over me and a cramping pain constricts in a band around my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
No amount of masking can overpower the triggering reminder of Rory and the few years I was normal and happy.
I sway and brace against the doorframe, pain from my injuries there but not. The weight of grief and regret crushing me from the outside.
All the playfulness drains from Aspen’s features.
I open my mouth to try to tell her to go, but nothing comes out.
“Oh god. You need to get off your feet. It’s already been a long day for you.” I barely register her hand on my elbow as she steps into the loft and takes charge. Whether I ask her to or not, Aspen shows up. It’s who she is.
As steady as the hands bracing me, she leads me from the doorway, soothing me, like it comes more naturally than anything in my life.
Falling apart would be easier if she left. It’s only a matter of moments before I succumb to my past, so I lie to the stubborn nurse, hoping it’s enough.
“I’m just sore. It’s nothing.”
Sweat clings to the back of my neck, and the room tilts as I sway on my feet. I lean into the counter as we pass, hoping Aspen doesn’t notice.
She doesn’t relent, rolling her eyes and holding tighter to my arm.
“Couch,” she demands.
I let her move me deeper into the loft, because fighting her will only make her dig her heels in further.
She looks up at the ceiling. “Why am I always surrounded by stubborn men? Two hardheaded brothers weren’t enough, so the universe dropped a stubborn hotshot in my path too.”
I open my mouth, but it’s pointless. I can’t seem to make words work, and she’s quick to respond.
“That was rhetorical, and you’re very much not fine. Don’t even insult me by lying. I worked hard enough this week, and I’d really rather not have you pass out on me.”
I grunt my disagreement but stumble the last few steps to the couch before collapsing onto it.
Dots dance in my vision, and blinking them away proves useless.
Across from me, Aspen perches on the coffee table, close enough that a whiff of sweet mint hits me. Just like in the helicopter, it’s a shock to my system, but my lungs won’t cooperate. I can’t pull in enough air to calm me the way I want it to.
The shirt the hospital gave me sticks to me, and I tug the material from my body.
Aspen’s watchful eye catches the movement. “Are you feeling lightheaded?”
I am, but I shake my head, the motion sending me into a coughing fit.
Her hands move toward the hem of my shirt.
“You want it off.”
I nod, releasing the hem in defeat.
Nothing’s working. I can’t speak, can’t get my fingers to work right. My mind and body have me imprisoned.
It’s starkly different from the physical pain she’s seen me in. This is private—all the carefully hidden pieces of me I keep from the world. But my panic has me stripped bare and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
All I can do is watch as she swallows. I trace the movement of her throat while she lifts my shirt—deliberate and careful. She works my arms through the holes, then I lose sight of her while she eases it over my head.
Each inhale comes easier with it off.
She scoots closer, taking my hand and flipping it, her fingers finding their home inside my wrist.
“Your pulse is elevated.”
“Probably why my heart feels like it might explode,” I mutter, more to myself than her.
“It’ll settle once you rest a minute; you probably just overdid it.”
She’s not saying what we both know—it’s not just over-exercion. She’s trying to spare me because she sees how her being here is killing me.
I pull my hand back.