Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Will found her like that when he came home from work.
She was sleeping in the sunlight with the bright green grass and cheerfully colored flowers all around her.
One leg tucked under the other. The breeze caused her hair to ripple gently over her face.
A strand caught on her full lower lip, and he saw her mouth was parted ever so slightly.
It was like some modern take on a fairy tale wherein Sleeping Beauty wore sweatpants and Prince Charming stank of hospital and sweat.
Another big difference, Will thought as he set his shopping bag down on the front step, was that he wasn’t going to kiss Emmy awake.
It was tempting. She was tempting. But he didn’t have the fairy tale prince’s loose grip on morals that would allow him to kiss a sleeping woman.
Instead, he sat down in the grass beside her and gently shook her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she frowned up at him in confusion.
“Hey,” she said blearily.
“Hey, yourself. You often take naps on the front lawn?”
“Is that where I am?” She sat up and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Right. Yeah. I was admiring my work after Bright left. I just meant to soak up the sun for a second. Must have dozed off.”
“You been sleeping okay?” Will asked, trying to subtly check her pulse and temperature. “Any headaches or dizziness?”
Emmy was not amused. “Put the stethoscope away, Nurse Watson. I’m fine.
” She pushed herself to her feet as he did, but as quickly as she’d stood up, she fell back down again, her leg evidently asleep from the way she’d been lying.
Will tried to catch her a second too late and ended up overbalancing on the uneven ground.
With an “oomph,” a grunt, and several curses, Will landed on his back with Emmy draped over him.
They lay there for a moment, both of them panting and trying to process what had just happened.
He could feel her heartbeat with how close their chests were pressed together, could feel her warm breath ghosting over his face.
“Do you wish to amend your previous statement at all?” Will asked quietly, brushing some of her disheveled hair out of her face. He grazed his fingers lazily up and down her back, let his gaze flick down to her lips. It would be so easy to just lift his head slightly to kiss them…
All at once, the fondness on Emmy’s face disappeared. “Oh God damn it, no. I am not doing this,” she snapped, pushing herself off him.
She stood up just fine now, Will noted. In fact, she looked like she was bracing herself for battle. He rolled into a sitting position and looked up at her.
“Of all the dirty tricks,” she continued, starting to pace as the tirade overtook her. Will didn’t think she remembered he was there, she was so worked up. “That never happens in real life. I should’ve been ready for it. I should’ve expected it.”
“Want to clue me in?” Will asked. “I didn’t plan that at all. It wasn’t a trick.”
Emmy stopped pacing and planted her hands on her hips. “Not you. The book did this. I just know it. Motherfucker tried to pull a fast one, but I’ve got its number.”
“What exactly did the book do?”
“I fell down on top of you!”
His smile was slow and a little cocky. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“See? That’s exactly the point. This always happens in romances.
Books, movies, whatever. Somehow gravity affects people differently, and two adults who should be perfectly competent at balancing on their own two feet fall all over each other.
And then there’s the breathless gasps and the swooning as they realize they are basically in the missionary position but with clothes on.
Then they start thinking ‘Hey, we could do this with our clothes off,’ but they don’t because it’s only the second act and they can’t have sex until the third act even though they are both consenting adults. ”
He wished she could see herself, hair flying around her face in the wind, fists clenched as if she could punch the romance away.
He had never met anyone like her. Probably because he’d never met anyone from the real world.
Still, she’d hit his thought process pretty much spot on.
How could he not think about getting her clothes off when she was nestled against him?
He was only human. Rising slowly, Will approached her.
He saw the wariness in her gaze as he moved into her space.
Her breath shuddered out when he reached up to run his fingers over the side of her face.
“And did you?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers.
“Did I what?”
“Start thinking about doing that with our clothes off?”
She turned her head until his hand no longer touched her face. “That’s not the point,” she huffed.
Will bent enough to intrude on her eye line again.
“I’m curious. Come on, Em, I won’t hold you to it.
” When she remained silent, he decided to wait her out.
Finally, she sighed and looked back up at him.
It was easy enough to read the turmoil and the desire in her eyes.
He nodded, cutting her off before she could formulate words.
“I won’t hold you to it,” he repeated quietly.
“But I want to make sure we’re, no pun intended, on even ground here.
I want you to know I think about you that way. ”
“We can’t.” She said it like a plea, though she could no longer remember why they couldn’t. Why they shouldn’t. Any argument she thought of sounded weak, even in her own head.
“We can. We’re both consenting adults, after all,” he said, using her earlier words.
His expression was somber, sincere. “I know what I feel for you, Emmy. I think you feel something, too.” Emmy almost gave in at his words, but he stepped back.
“I won’t pressure you.” He smiled a little, ran a finger slowly down the side of her face. “But think about it. Think about me.”
How could she not? Just that one touch had left her skin tingling.
That was another problem. Who was to say she felt anything real for Will at all? Maybe it was the very air inside the romance novel that made her see him in that light.
And that argument was as weak as all the others she’d tried to come up with.
She either believed in his realness or she didn’t.
She couldn’t simultaneously believe in his validity as a person and that her feelings for him were manufactured.
It was tempting to take that escape route, but she couldn’t stomach it.
Her feelings for him were as real as the man himself.
But she was adult enough to deny herself what she wanted in order to find what she needed.
Will stopped after unlocking the door to pick up a nondescript plastic grocery bag that was weighed down with clinking bottles.
Emmy felt a sense of trepidation overtake her, effectively wiping out her thoughts of intimacy, as they went into the house.
He’d hit the liquor store before coming home?
She knew the last few days had been rough for him.
There were shadows under his eyes, and sometimes when he walked in the door, he had this expression on his face that made her gut clench. Grim. Defeated.
He went to the kitchen, set the bag down on the counter, and opened the fridge. He frowned as he noted the vegetables.
“Where’d these come from?”
Once again, her train of thought shifted. “Oh, some farmer named Paul came by to drop them off. He said this is a regular occurrence. It is, right?”
“Yeah, it is. I should’ve warned you about that.” Will looked over at her, still frowning a little. “He didn’t come on to you, did he?”
Emmy decided not to tell him how vulnerable and uneasy she’d felt. He didn’t need her adding to his mental load. “A little bit. But he left without proposing to me, so I think we’re good.”
“Okay.” He turned back to the fridge, stared at the produce.
Emmy held back a laugh. “Just rearrange them. You know you want to.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. They’re fine.”
“Will.” Emmy smiled indulgently. “I tried my best, but it’s your fridge, not mine. I won’t be offended if you move things around.”
“Just the tomatoes,” he muttered, reaching in to grab them.
After arranging everything to his liking, he grabbed a couple bell peppers and shut the fridge.
“It’s not like I’m a freak of nature,” he insisted, turning to Emmy and brandishing the peppers at her.
“Lots of people like to keep their things organized.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Yeah, but I bet you thought plenty,” he replied, setting the peppers on the counter.
“Maybe a little. Mostly I think it’s cute. I swear.”
The look he gave her told her exactly what he thought of being called “cute.” She only smiled back at him. Until he reached for the bag on the counter and began to unload it, lining the liquor bottles up on top of the fridge. Emmy felt the smile slip off her face, and her stomach clenched.
“Rough day?”
He looked at her over his shoulder, noted her expression. Then he sighed and dragged his free hand down his face. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“Was the liquor store having a sale?” she asked carefully.
“The liquor store had liquor.”
“Okay.”
“Look.” He set the last bottle on top of the refrigerator with an impatient clank. “I don’t need your judgment right now. Or ever. Yes, I had a rough day at work. I didn’t mind coming home so much. We had a nice moment. I liked bantering with you about vegetables. Let’s not ruin it.”
“I don’t want to ruin anything. I just… you bought a lot for one person. A lot for two, even.”
“Relax, Emmy. I had a hard day, that’s all. I’m going to have a drink to wash the bad taste out of my mouth. You don’t have to worry. My liver isn’t real, so it doesn’t matter if I drink myself stupid.”
With that, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and strode out of the room.
Emmy heard the TV going a moment later. She leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, mortified to discover that she was blinking back tears.
If he wasn’t real, then why did this whole shitty situation hurt so damn much?
*
He was an asshole. Will was man enough to admit it. A part of him hoped Emmy would join him on the couch so he could share the cheap liquor with her and offer an apology. Another part of him hoped she’d give him space to wallow in peace.
The whiskey tasted like gasoline mixed with rubbing alcohol, but it burned magnificently on the way down his throat.
He knew he could have sprung for the good stuff—his bank account was no more real than his liver—but he’d needed the cheap and caustic; the kind of drink that could double as paint thinner.
In no time at all, his brain had a nice fuzzy blanket wrapped around it.
The comforting warmth was almost enough to drown out the thoughts that had been plaguing him ever since the end of his shift.
Sure, his day had started out great. There had been the usual routines.
Nothing engrossing about distributing pills or changing IV bags, but he found comfort in the familiarity.
He’d also found time to entertain a pair of twins in the pediatric wing while one of them recovered from having her tonsils removed.
Then he’d had a quick lunch with Jared who casually tossed out the idea of Will and Emmy joining him and Bright for dinner sometime soon.
That one sure had thrown Will for a loop, but it was a happy sort of loop.
His friend was starting a new relationship, and he didn’t have any problem with the fact that the relationship was with Bright.
All in all, it had been a fulfilling and productive shift.
Until Tabitha McGrady had started coding.
He knew this was the risk you took when you worked in a hospital.
It was especially hard when you worked in peds.
Sure, you got to hand out lollipops and make the kids giggle with silly faces.
But you also had to deal with the other end of the spectrum.
Things go wrong in hospitals. He told himself this.
He told himself he was prepared to deal with the good, the bad, and the ugly.
But Tabitha, who preferred to go by Tabby, was in the hospital because she’d been in a car accident on the way to her best friend’s birthday party.
He had been there when she coded, and he knew the drill.
Even as his mind balked at what was happening, his body went through the motions through sheer muscle memory. Crash cart. Compressions. Paddles.
God, she was so small.
He watched in a daze as a team of doctors and nurses tried to save her.
That was when his brain hit him with the none-of-this-is-real sledgehammer again.
Why was he trying to save this girl’s life?
Why did he care that he was failing to save this girl’s life?
Why did his heart feel like it was shriveling up into a wrinkled husk when he heard the doctor declare time of death?
It doesn’t matter.
It’s not real.
She’s not real.
She’s not dead because she was never alive.
Fuck!
He hadn’t made a conscious decision to hit up Cobalt Wine & Spirits. His hands had just turned the steering wheel. Muscle memory. Like packing up a crash cart after time of death is official.
He hadn’t made a conscious decision to bite Emmy’s head off either—hell, he’d been in a pretty good mood only seconds earlier—but he’d done that just fine, too.
Will dropped his head into his hands. He could still hear the chaos of that little girl’s hospital room echoing in his head, and he cursed the fact that it made his pulse race.
The sound of his blood rushing in his ears grated on him.
He was no more alive than Tabitha “Tabby” McGrady. Why couldn’t he just accept that?
Reaching for the bottle again, he drowned everything out in the burn of cheap alcohol. Until even that faded away into numbness.
Then he slept.