Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
EMMETT
Laughter drifts through the open windows of the loft.
Even with the TV on low and a muted baseball game flickering across the screen, I can pick out Aspen’s laugh from the chaos of overlapping voices downstairs. Soft. Unrestrained. The kind of sound that settles somewhere under my ribs before I can stop it.
The girls linger long after they start saying goodbye, voices carrying across the driveway while headlights sweep through the loft in passing flashes.
I sit there, listening anyway.
Years of keeping people at arm’s length should’ve dulled the instinct to notice when I’m the topic of conversation. Usually, it’s unpleasant when I catch it happening. Tonight . . . not so much.
Aspen’s flushed cheeks when I walked inside replay on a loop behind my eyes. The way she looked at me like she was remembering exactly what she saw in the shower earlier nearly drove me out of my damn mind.
Not that my body needs much encouragement where she’s concerned lately.
Downstairs, another burst of laughter spills through the night air. Aspen sounds happier than she has since I met her. Less tightly wound.
It does something unexpected to my chest.
A car door slams outside, and Atlas’s voice joins the mix.
If their volume is anything to go by, the tequila never stopped flowing after I escaped upstairs.
“Mr. Taximan, won’t you take me home?” Harlowe sings dramatically.
“There’ll be no funny business in the truck,” Briar warns, failing completely when she dissolves into laughter. “Aspen’s accidental peep show was enough excitement for one night.”
A horrified gasp cuts through the night. Gravel crunches sharp and fast.
“Shut up!” Aspen hisses. “His window is open.”
“Now you care,” Briar slurs around what sounds suspiciously like someone covering her mouth.
“Ow!” Aspen squeaks. “You bit me!”
“You smothered me!”
Their laughter hits again all at once, and before I can stop it, a chuckle slips out of me too.
“I needed this,” Aspen says, softer now.
Something in my chest pulls tight at the quiet honesty in her voice.
“Thanks for coming to get them.”
“Anytime,” Atlas says easily. “And remind Emmett about horseshoes this week.”
Car doors slam one after another, the noise fading into the night until only the TV and the hum of the loft remain.
I groan quietly to myself.
Briar was right.
Apparently, in Timberline Peak, refusing friendship just turns it into a group project.
I’m going to end up playing horseshoes with a bunch of strangers on Monday whether I like it or not.
Staying a foot back from the window, where I won’t get caught, I strain, listening to the breeze and the crickets singing as foolish hope blooms in my chest while I try to make out the sound of Aspen’s footsteps.
She shuffles, and I swear they get a fraction closer before they’re gone.
I have no right to the disappointment that sits over my heart like a tree trunk, but that doesn’t make it any easier to breathe when her patio door slams shut.
I shove off the couch and head for the bathroom.
The toothbrush scrapes hard against my teeth, my gums protesting while I work through the restless energy buzzing beneath my skin.
I spit into the sink and brace both hands against the counter, lifting my head just enough to catch my reflection in the mirror.
Same tired eyes—same worn-down bastard staring back at me.
Earlier, walking in on Aspen and her friends, there’d been a second where I felt lighter than I have in years. All the shit I carried around was gone and I could just be.
But it’s back now.
Sleep isn’t happening tonight. Not with my head this wound up.
Still, I strip down to my boxer briefs, toss my clothes into the hamper, and head for the bedroom, hoping exhaustion eventually does what my brain won’t.
A noise outside jerks my attention toward the door and for one foolish second, I let myself believe it’s Aspen.
That hope is dangerous.
“You’re an idiot, Slate.” I drag my hand down my face. “Stick to what you’re good at.”
Being alone.
Another rap has me straightening.
Maybe I’m not imagining things.
I grab a pair of shorts and slide them over my hips before walking through the loft, fully expecting to find a family of raccoons digging through the garbage or the wind playing tricks on me as I yank the door open.
I blink hard, half convinced she’s a mirage sent to finish me off. Because I can’t think of a single reason Aspen would be standing at my door this late that doesn’t end badly for both of us.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, hooded eyes dragging over my skin with enough heat to singe.
Fuck.
Every instinct I’ve got says to shut the door before I do something stupid.
“What are you doing here, Aspen?” With my restraint stretched to the limit, it comes out rougher than I intend.
I hate the way she blinks at my tone—want to take it back immediately. But I’m wound too tight to soften it now.
“Your wallet.” She holds out her hand, but I don’t look down, too locked onto her to focus on anything else. “I found it on the floor in my bathroom. Something fell out when I picked it up.” Her voice catches slightly. “It got a little wet, but I dried it off. I think it’s okay.”
My gaze drops to the tattered picture of Rory, and my heart nearly stops in my chest.
My feet shift backward before my brain can catch up, silently inviting her in.
It’s a mistake.
The first step down a road that only ends with Aspen seeing all the broken, ugly parts of me I keep buried. And when she finally sees the man underneath all this, she’ll run, like the smart girl she is.
I can’t even blame her.
Cool mountain air follows her inside, carrying the sharp bite of mint tangled with tequila as she brushes past me. The combination hits like a warning I’m too weak to listen to.
I shut the door and lean against it while Aspen turns the photograph over in her hands.
She doesn’t give me space to figure out an excuse.
“This is Rory.”
Three words obliterate any hope I had of keeping my past out of her hands.
My throat locks tight. Air catches somewhere in my chest.
“Yes.”
The answer comes out rough and broken, but it’s still more than I’ve said about my best friend since the day she died.