Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
EMMETT
Headlights sweep over Aspen’s SUV in the driveway as the rumble of Atlas’s truck disappears into the night. It’s just a flash, and I almost miss it, but my gaze snags on Aspen, slumped in the driver’s seat.
I’m there and reaching for the door handle in an instant, my heart hammering as worst-case scenarios flash through my head. But then, a loose brown strand flutters in front of her mouth and she shifts, halting me with my hand inches from her shoulder.
She’s passed out cold.
Relief hits first, then concern.
How long has she been sitting out here?
Neither answer sits right with me. Because only one of two things can be true: she’s been sleeping in her driveway for hours, or the hospital kept her so late she couldn’t make it farther than the driver’s seat before crashing.
Either way, Aspen’s running herself into the ground again.
Deciding to make her my priority for the night, I fold myself into the cramped space between her and the steering wheel.
“Aspen, Angel, I’m going to unbuckle you and bring you inside.”
She turns toward me, sighing softly as I release her from the seat belt.
“Emmett?” she asks, soft and unguarded.
“It’s me. I’ve got you.”
“No. You can’t. Your ribs.
Shit, she’s right.
I’ve been feeling better—tonight proved that much. But I’m still under lifting restrictions, and the last thing Aspen would want is me tearing something because I got stubborn.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting to carry her anyway.
“I can walk. Just—um—give me a second.” She blinks a few times, like she’s trying to clear the fog.
She takes my hand and sways the second her feet hit the ground.
“Sorry. I’m just so freaking tired.”
“I can see that.” Keeping one hand on the small of her back, I shut her door. “Did you at least get a good nap?”
“Hardly.” She snorts. “How you sleep in a camper van year-round I’ll never understand. I need room to spread out.”
“In that case, I recommend moving this slumber party to your bed.”
As soon I breathe life into the words, she stills. I grip the back of my neck. “I just—let’s get you inside. Couch, bed—alone, obviously. I’ll help you there, make sure you’re good and then poof, gone.”
Poof, gone?
Who the hell am I?
“Poof, gone,” she repeats, unable to stop her lips from pulling into a sleepy grin. “And I thought I was a mess.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a weird night—a weird few days, actually.”
I follow Aspen to the porch, taking the keys and unlocking the door for her, and she lets her head fall to my shoulder.
But when the door swings open and I hesitate at the threshold, she lifts an eyebrow.
“So . . . are you coming in, or are we going to keep avoiding each other?”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“Really?” she asks.
No.
“Yes,” I concede.
“Here I was, thinking maybe you were just really that excited about the invitation for Monday night horseshoes. Really chomping at the bit.”
“And you weren’t avoiding me.”
She dumps her purse on the kitchen counter and continues toward the living room, dropping onto the couch in a heap.
“Oh no, I for sure was.” She yawns, snuggling into the corner of the couch.
I push off the wall and grab the blanket neatly folded over the back of it, shaking it out.
“Do you need to shower or are staying put for a while?”
“Is that an offer to help?”
“After you avoided me?” I deadpan. “You usually head straight for the shower when you get home.”
“Ah, did that at the hospital.”
I swallow down guilt. “Because of me?”
“No. Because I was . . .” She rubs her temples and lets out the kind of yawn that makes your eyes water. “Because I got baptized in vomit tonight.”
I stop mid-step, blanket dangling between us. “You what now?”
“Oh, yeah.” She drops her head back against the couch cushion like she doesn’t have the will to fight gravity. “Full coverage. If they gave out medals for Most Thoroughly Doused, I’d have gold, silver, and bronze.”
“That visual is really something.”
“Neuro patient.” She waves a limp hand. “Stroke alert from another hospital. He was okay-ish when we loaded him, but altitude, plus confusion, plus a helicopter is not a winning combo.” She snorts, but it’s weak.
“He sat straight up, exorcist style, and let it rip. I was collateral damage.” She snaps her fingers.
“Actually, now that I think about it, I should share my medals. He really did a great job.”
“Damn,” I breathe, wincing sympathetically. I deal with my fair share of nasty shit at work, but Aspen handles things I couldn’t stomach half as gracefully.
“Yeah, well, it managed to get down the front of my scrubs, in my hair, and somehow—under my watch.” She lets her head roll to the side to look at me. “I don’t understand the physics of it, but I’m filing a complaint with the universe.”
A laugh escapes me before I can catch it, but she’s too tired to even pretend to glare.
“That bad?” I ask.
“That bad,” she echoes. “I cleaned everything as well as I could in the chopper, but the smell was . . . lingering.” Her voice softens, fraying at the edges. “There was no way I was closing myself inside my car until I showered. And didn’t want to bring the day home with me.”
And hell . . . something tightens in my chest. Because I know she doesn’t say stuff like that lightly. She never complains about the hours or the work. She talks fondly about her patients and her job, always with a smile, so the weariness etched into the crinkle of her eyes is . . . telling.
“Another long day,” I murmur. “So long you fell asleep in the car.” The thought sits heavy in my gut. Driving that tired could have ended so much worse. I drape the blanket over her to hide the reaction crossing my face.
She nods, eyes heavy. “Yeah. I just sat down for a second and . . . my body clocked out.”
I tuck the blanket around her as she watches curiously before curling into it, instincts taking over where her brain’s too tired to help. I sit opposite her..
“You should’ve called someone for a ride if you were that tired,” I say, brushing a stray curl off her cheek.
“I know.” Her voice cracks halfway through. “Today was just . . . a lot. And I needed the drive to process, you know.”
I nod, waiting. There’s more, though, I can see it in the tremble of her bottom lip.
Her fingers curl into the blanket, tugging it to her chin.
“Emmett . . He was scared out of his mind and so confused. Kept asking if he’d get home again and worrying about his cat.
I had to hold his shaking hands—keep him calm.
” She sniffles, wiping at her eyes. “By the time I got to the shower, I just fell apart. Didn’t care about the smell or the mess.
I just stood there and let it out until I heard someone else come in, then I cleaned myself up, changed into my spare scrubs, and left. ”
Her voice softens, red-rimmed eyes finding mine. “Some days are harder than others.”
I shift closer, unable to sit back and do nothing. Taking her feet into my lap, I rub slow circles over her arch with my thumbs.
A moan falls from her lips at the contact, shooting straight to my groin, but I don’t allow it to take root, focusing my attention back where it belongs.
“I get that,” I murmur. “You spend all day holding everyone else together. At some point, you’re bound to crash. Even the strongest can only carry so much.”
She melts deeper into the couch cushions. “I hate that letting it hit me makes me feel like I’m failing, when I know it’s just part of the work.” Her voice cracks slightly, the exhaustion seeping through. “I love what I do.”
“Everyone sees that,” I say quietly. “All of it. Hell, I’m new to town, and I see it—how selfless you are; always the first to help and last to rest.” My hands knead the arches of her feet, slow and steady.
“The extra hours, how you make time for your friends, the way you’ve helped me.
It’s okay to take time for yourself, though.
To let someone put you first. Maybe for tonight, you let me take care of you. ”
She exhales, shuddering softly. “What are we even doing here, Emmett?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in her tired smile. “You’re rubbing my feet, being sweet. You said you didn’t have more to offer, but this feels like more.”
She’s so fucking right.
I swallow hard, dragging a hand over my jaw like I can physically hold myself together. “I don’t know.” The confession comes rough. Honest. “All I know is I can’t stop myself where you’re concerned.”
“And what if I don’t want you to?”
God.
My eyes close for half a second because hearing her say that feels like standing too close to the edge of something I won’t survive.
“Aspen . . .” Her name is a strained warning. “You make me want things I stopped letting myself have a long time ago.”
Her expression softens, but I force myself to keep going before she can answer.
“You make me want to be a better man, even if only for a little while. But I’m not, Aspen.” I shake my head. “You’ve had a hell of a day. You’re exhausted. Sleep on this. If you still want me tomorrow, we’ll talk.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
The words hit like a direct shot to the chest.
“I told you I needed to think about things, and I’ve done enough thinking.” Her eyes hold mine. “I wanted you before the shower, Emmett. After it . . .” The breath she releases is as shaky as I feel. “God, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Every muscle in my body locks tight.
“You want me to put myself first?” she whispers. “What I want right now is for you to kiss me.”
Kiss me.
Two words and every ounce of restraint I’ve been clinging to goes to hell.
My hands find her waist and I’m dragging her into my lap, her knees coming down to bracket my hips. “You want a kiss, Angel?” The blanket slips to the floor along with every excuse I can come up with. This feels like exactly where we are meant to be.
Her eyes are half-lidded as they fall to my lips. And, fuck, if that doesn’t make my dick jump in my pants.
“Yeah. I think I do, Hotshot.”