The thought hits like a slap. Emma drove fifteen hours to see me. She tricked her way into my apartment. She’s standing on these stairs fighting back tears because she came here even though she doesn’t have all the answers.
And I’m sending her away because what? Because she can’t promise me forever? Because she’s scared and confused and still figuring shit out?
“Fuck it.”
I’ll make her figure it out.
10
BONES
Emma’s halfway down the stairs when I reach the door, her back to me, shoulders tight with anger and hurt.
“Emma.”
She stops. Doesn’t turn around. Just goes still, one hand on the railing, like she’s deciding whether to keep walking or give me one more chance to say something worth hearing.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I take the stairs two at a time, my boots clanging on the metal loud enough to wake the whole block. I don’t care. Don’t care who hears, who sees, what anyone thinks.
She’s leaving and I can’t let her.
Not again.
Not this time.
I catch her wrist just as she starts to turn, and she spins fast—dancer reflexes—eyes bright with unshed tears and something that looks like fury.
“What?” The word comes out sharp, wounded. “What do you want from me, Bones?”
Everything. I want everything.
But I can’t get the words out because my throat’s too tight and my chest feels like it’s caving in, so I do the only thing that makes sense.
I pull her into me and kiss her.
For a second she goes rigid, but then she makes this sound. Half gasp, half groan, like she’s been holding her breath and finally remembered how to exhale.
Her mouth opens under mine and suddenly we’re both trying to get closer. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me down, and my hands slide into her hair, holding her exactly where I need her. The kiss is desperate, uncoordinated, all teeth and tongue and six months of wanting packed into a single moment.
She tastes like whiskey and something sweet. Like coming home.
I press her back against the railing, needing to feel her against me, needing proof that she’s real and here and not a hallucination brought on by too much loneliness and liquor. My body covers hers, one hand braced on the railing beside her, the other still tangled in her hair.
“Bones—” She breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe my name, and the sound goes straight through me.
“I’m sorry.” I kiss her jaw, her neck, anywhere I can reach. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Shut up.” She pulls my mouth back to hers. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
So I do.
I kiss her like I’m trying to make up for the silence. Like I’m trying to prove something I don’t have words for. Like she’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning.
Her legs wrap around my waist and I lift her, turning us so her back is against the brick wall of the building instead of the railing.
“I missed you,” she whispers against my mouth between kisses. “God, I missed you so much.”
