Chapter 38
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
ASPEN
Beside me, Emmett drags a hand over the back of his neck and stares out over the overlook like he’s trying to pull himself back together after handing me more pieces of himself.
“Em,” I say softly, maneuvering my body as close as I can in the cramped cab. Whoever designed Jeeps clearly didn’t account for comfort when crawling across the center console.
But I need to be closer. Fuck, I’d crawl into his skin and take this pain from him if I could. I’d wear it all day, every day, just to give him a break.
The lump in my throat thickens as the need becomes tangible, and I find myself moving. Last time he didn’t shy away from contact. It seemed to soothe him, but I won’t assume this is the same.
“I’m coming over. If you don’t want that, tell me.”
His hand reaches out. That gesture is all I need. I’m in his lap, palms framing his face.
“Baby.” I tip his chin, waiting for a breath lodged so deep in his chest it looks painful. “Look at me. Tell me five things you see right now.”
But his eyes don’t wander past me. His throat bobs with a swallow so thick I feel it like it’s my own. Like I’m the one on the verge of a panic attack.
“Say it again.”
I retrace my memory, reaching for what he needs, unsure because my head is a mess.
“Baby?”
He shakes his head. “Not that one. It’s not the one I need.”
“Em?”
His chest lifts, bumping mine with his first deep inhale—like my voice reached inside him and forced his lungs to work again.
“Em. Tell me—five things. You can do it.”
“Gold flecks in your eyes. Your necklace with your name. My hoodie on you.”
“Anything outside this car?”
He shakes his head. “Everything I need is right here.”
“Humor me.”
“Blue skies. And this freckle right here.” His thumb presses into the dark mark above my lip.
“Good. Four things you feel.”
“It’s all you. That work, or are you going to be picky?”
The corner of my mouth ticks as I slide my fingers through his hair, knocking his backward baseball cap loose.
“Whatever you need.”
“That feels good. Your fingers on my scalp. Your breath against my neck. The weight of you grounding me. Your hair tickling my face with the breeze.”
“How are you feeling?”
A shrug. “Better.”
“Want to keep going?”
He shakes his head. “Let’s get out and walk. I’m too . . . I need an outlet.”
“Okay,” I say, shifting to let him out, but before I can slip away, he anchors me to him with his hands on my hips.
“Thank you.” His lips land tenderly on my forehead and stay for a heartbeat—one that I savor—letting my eyes drift close.
I etch the feeling onto my heart because I don’t know how long it’ll last. There’s so much uncertainty in this thing that we’re doing.
Part of me is aching to push for answers, but the other louder half is terrified that if I tell if I can’t imagine how I’ll recover when he moves on with his life, it’ll push him to do it quicker.
When he pulls back I look down at him, giving him the feelings I can safely spare. They’re only a fraction of the way my heart beats for him.
“You’re important to me. I’m glad you’re here and that you allow me to be there for you.”
Stay. Don’t leave. Let me keep being there for you.
“Every instinct I’ve gained tells me not to let you help. Looking past them is hard.”
Tell me it’s worth it.
I slip out of the Jeep without another word. When his boots hit the ground next to me, he holds out his hand, and I take it.
The air is crisper up here, a reminder that everything is about to change. Fall in Wyoming is short, and winter will be here, cold and bitter, before we know it. There’s only a few weeks left before it all turns, and if that’s not a metaphor for life as I know it, I don’t know what is.
Unwilling to drop Emmett’s hand, I suppress a shiver at the breeze whipping up my hair.
To the northeast, rock and timber plunge down the mountainside. Remnants of an avalanche or landslide leave Coyote Creek rugged and raw. Trees along the valley floor are already dusted in amber. Fall has unpacked her bags here.
On the contrary, the high slopes of Timberline Peak are green, clinging to summer. Two worlds, split by the ridgeline we stand on—one appears to be thriving, one scarred to the casual observer.
Emmett stops at the rickety wooden rail like he’s bracing himself against the view instead of enjoying it.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
Lifting his gaze from the valley below and all it holds, he finds me. I’ve never felt so seen by anyone with a single look.
His thumb drags over my cheekbone, rough and warm against skin chilled by the mountain air. Still holding my hand, he lifts my knuckles to his lips.
“The most beautiful.”
Those words pull me in deeper yet. By the end of the day, I fear I’ll be so buried in my feelings for this man that I’ll be the one in need of rescue.
“You okay?” I ask quietly instead.
It’s a small question, but his laugh catches like something frayed.
“Honestly?” His eyes drift back toward the valley. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”
I let that simmer. “Try not to get caught up dissecting it.”
“The only thing I know with certainty is that I’m glad you’re here with me. Whatever happens on the other side, knowing I’ve got you is keeping me going.”
My fucking heart hears that and takes off at a gallop.
Instead of saying something I’m not sure either of us ready for, I lean into his chest, taking shelter from the cool breeze kicking up the ridge and swirling around us.
Like he always has, Emmett wraps me up in the safety of his arms, doing everything he can to protect me from the elements, myself, and maybe even him—for now.
There’s a bigger conversation waiting for us somewhere down the mountain. One about what this is becoming and what happens when he has to leave.
But Emmett’s handed me so much of himself in such a short amount of time that I can give him a moment to breathe before I ask for things he once swore he couldn’t give me.
“Shall we?” I ask, eager to keep moving, because staring down at the landscape below with my brain on a mission to undermine my heart feels like jumping from an airplane with no parachute.
He gives a small tug on my arm toward the Jeep, his grip clammy. I follow, wrapping myself around his arm because I think he needs the extra comfort as much as I do.