Chapter 17 Emory
EMORY
Ihave nowhere to go.
The only family I do have is miles away. It’d take days by car to get there. I could get a last-minute plane ticket, but most of my life is here in Coralhaven. Leaving isn’t going to help anything. It’s just going to make it worse when I’d ultimately have to come back.
And besides, I’m not sure my parents would really understand what I’m going through. They don’t know Lance as well as I would’ve hoped. I also haven’t heard from them since my mother mentioned me coming out West, which tells me that I’m not a priority in their life.
I sigh, letting out an uneven breath as I stare at the apartment complex in front of me. The same one Dawson lives in.
What I’m doing—showing up here like this—probably isn’t smart. We’ve shared a few intimate moments, but I can’t exactly say that they were enough to warrant me showing up on his doorstep with a damn suitcase.
I lift my hand in front of me, the emerald-shaped diamond glittering in the light as I twist my engagement ring around my finger.
If you want to jump, Miss Prescott, I’ll be right there jumping with you.
A part of me hates that he’s the only one I have, the only person I can turn to when I’m struggling, but I don’t know what else to do, so I drop my hand and grab my small suitcase out of the backseat and head into the foyer.
I take the elevator to the second floor and find his door, hoping like hell he’s home.
An unsteadiness I don’t like plagues me, slipping in under the surface as I stand limply at the door, the weight of a messy life settling in around me.
I lift my hand to knock and squeeze my eyes shut in preparation for Dawson turning me away. But before my knuckles can make contact with the wood, the door swings open and the light from inside the apartment flicks off.
Dawson doesn’t see me at first, but I also don’t have time to step to the side before he walks into me. The handle of my suitcase drops from my grip, and I stumble to the side.
He’s quick to take in his surroundings, his hands coming up to my arms to hold me steady, and god, do I want to walk into him, cower in his embrace, and draw strength from it.
“Emory?” There are a million questions in the way he says my name, even more when his attention drops to the bag at my side. Tear tracks stain my cheeks way too suddenly, embarrassment flushing my skin as shame marks my soul with metallic paint.
In a tone I’ve never heard come from his mouth, he asks, “What the hell did he do to you?”
My heart thaws from the frozen temperatures it’s been in for way too long. There’s something undeniably soothing over Dawson assuming Lance is the one at fault—even though he was the other party involved in my illicit behavior.
When I don’t answer—because honestly, I’m having a hard time finding my words now that he’s in front of me—he presses his thumb to my chin and lifts my eyes to his. “Now isn’t the time to go quiet on me, honey.”
“I-I didn’t know… Oh my god, I’m sorry. This is the last place I should have come.
You… You were just leaving, and I’m interfering with that.
” Despite my sudden urge to run, that hand of his stays where it’s at, holding my head up while I try my damnedest to keep my emotions in check.
I’m seconds away from shoving his hand to the side and dropping my chin.
“I was only heading out to get a few groceries,” he says before his voice drops. “Emory, you can always come here, but that doesn’t explain why you’re on my doorstep with a goddamn suitcase.”
I want to bypass his question and drown in the warmth of his eyes, in the heat of his affection and protection.
“He kicked me out,” I explain. “I was talking to him about the cake issue, but it eventually turned into a discussion about our relationship. I told him about the kisses—about you. It was going to come out eventually, and I didn’t want to hold it in and lie about it.”
“There’s no reason you should have to keep it in. You did the right thing.”
I nod. “I stood up for what I wanted at the tasting and walked out. Then I waited for him to get home so we could discuss it, but…” I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the soreness in them.
The entire time I packed my stuff, I cried silent tears.
I’m sure my eyelids are rimmed red and inflamed.
“I couldn’t take it anymore—not being listened to and heard. The wedding is off.”
He observes me as his hand slowly moves from my chin, his soft palm smoothing over my cheek.
I lean into him, because I can’t help myself.
I want to steal every good thing about him, every little action and attribution that adds to this sensation swirling in my stomach—the one that tells me this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Did he agree with your decision?”
“What do you think?” I ask in a whisper.
“He didn’t give either one of us the time for it all to really sink in.
Not that I necessarily wanted to stay, but I thought he’d at least be somewhat decent about it and give me time to figure things out.
” I swallow down the reality of my situation, which is that… “I have nowhere to go.”
“That’s not true,” Dawson murmurs. “It doesn’t matter to me that we still have a lot to learn about each other. What matters most is that I feel you in here.” He makes a fist and presses it to his chest. “And I’ve never fucking felt that before, which means you are always more than welcome here.”
This raw understanding slips through me, brandishing me with Dawson’s truth, with his words, and all the potential promises they hold.
Dawson doesn’t say anything else.
He acts.
He reaches down to pick up my suitcase with one hand and intertwines his other with mine before tugging me into his apartment and letting the door fall shut behind us.
And relief fills me. Because even though my life feels like it’s falling apart, it’s almost like this was always meant to be—me showing up at Dawson’s door and him welcoming and accepting me with arms wide open.