She shook her head, refusing to look up at me. “I have to go tonight. Now. That’s pretty clear.”
“You’re talking crazy. It isn’t like you to be mean like this.”
Finally, Emerson showed some emotion. She gaped up at me, looking like someone had slashed her with a knife.
“Tell me what happened. Christ, I feel like I’m going to stroke out.” Kicking off my boots—I’d come straight from the farm—I lay down the bed and slid in next to her, and for a second or two, I felt okay. “You don’t have to go anywhere. I know this is new, and a lot, and maybe it’s too soon to live together. But sometimes it happens. This is right. I get that it’s overwhelming.”
“I have to go,” she said as a tear ran down her cheek. “I want you to know this, though ... I care for you. I’m not being mean on purpose, I swear.”
I swiped away her tears. “Em? What is all this?”
“I care about you. Too much, way too much. And this, all of this, living here, you taking me under your wing, giving me your affection ...” Her words came out in hiccups, disjointed and crazy-sounding. “It’s been incredible, and I was going to run out and only leave the note, but you deserve better. My dad said this wasn’t your fault.”
What wasn’t my fault? I didn’t know what any of this was about.
“Where is this coming from?” I cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes. Forcing myself to calm down, I decided to proceed carefully. My frustration wasn’t helping anything.
She cleared her throat and spoke, her words raspy with emotion. “I have to go, that’sit.”
She gave me a tender, closed-mouth kiss. It felt like good-bye for fucking good, and I hated it. No way was I going to accept it.
“Emerson? Tell me, what the fuck?”
I didn’t want to move, but I pulled back from her mouth. Standing up, I paced and took in the room. Nothing of hers was on the counter anymore, and there was a duffel in the corner.
“What the hell?”
Emerson dragged herself off the bed and to her feet, looking like a drunk on a bender. She went toward her bag and bent down, ignoring me.
“No!” It was the first time I’d raised my voice in this cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs situation. I thought of my mom; she’d used the expression a lot when I was a teenager. But this was crazier than anything I’d done back then.
A growl emanated from Emerson’s chest, and I was glad to hear it. Finally, some damn emotion from her other than crying.
“I. Am. Going.”
“I see that,” I bit out, my tone curt.
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I’m doing this for you. I adore you. Adore, do you hear me? I’m trying to be strong. Mature.”
“Mature? You’re running away from me!” Sweat beaded my brow. I cracked my knuckles to keep myself from punching a hole in the wall. I had to remind myself I wasn’t in a barn anymore—I was in a penthouse with the woman I was falling for, a very young woman who was acting her age.
Shit. I had to remember Emerson’s inexperience in matters of the heart. Her tough outer shell could be so deceiving. But it didn’t matter. I cared for enough for her to wade through this shit—whatever the fuck it was.
“You’re doing this for me? Come again? Me?” I leaned back against the wall and watched her face fall. Damn straight, she wasn’t the only one who could cause pain. Squeezing my eyes shut, I hated myself for it, though.
Emerson gave me a bleak look. “Yes, you. Why? Because your dad is ...was... married to my mom. He loves her. He does. And she’s nothing but a problematic bitch. Shocker, she doesn’t love him back, like she did with me too. And now, spoiler alert, he’s chasing her around like I am. Your dad and I are one and the same, desperate for the love of a woman who can’t give it.”
My mind raced as I stared at her. “What? Where the hell did you get that? Are you hallucinating? I don’t even fucking know my dad. He roared into my life and then basically walked back out.”
Emerson shook her head. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I hate to tell you all this. It makes everything so messy.”
“You need to slow down and explain what the fuck is going on.” I paced as fast as I could in socks, wishing to put my boots back on so I could stomp my feet.
“I heard all this from Sheila. It’s why she didn’t want to give me my mom’s last address. Because it’s this address. Right where we’re both standing.” Emerson threw her bag down on the floor. “This is so twisted. My God, I’ve made a mess of my life,” she screamed, tugging wildly at her hair.
I’d never seen her look like this. A mess. Totally out of control.
“Em, this doesn’t mean we can’t be together. We’re not kids, and they’re not married anymore. Christ, we didn’t even know each other when they were married, I’m guessing. This has no bearing on us,” I said, my voice gruff. I was stifling back a combination of anger, tears, and frustration. “My mom would say this is utter nonsense and to think logically.”
