Pushing off the wall, Tristen takes a step toward me. Another. Then another until he’s right in front of me and I have to arch my neck back to keep my sight level with his.
“Don’t you ever do something you don’t want to do.” His palms slide along my jaw, holding my face gently despite the severity of his words, and my lungs catch. “Especially if it’s just because you think I want it.” Eyes flicking between mine, his brows bunch in the middle of his forehead, his gaze softening. Like maybe he sees something worth looking for. “Please, baby, know that I don’t fucking want anything unless you’resureyou do, too.”
Heart pounding in my chest, I will away the mist that gathers, but it doesn’t work. I feel it trail down my cheeks and slide along the arches of his thumbs.
“O-o-okay,” I nearly sob and dive into him, my cheek crashing against the radio strapped to his chest.
I don’t even care that it hurts, the plastic digging into my face as I fling my arms around him.
His gasp is quiet, gentle, as if maybe he’s relieved.
He wraps me up, his hands sliding along the warm spot left behind by my hood towards the top of my back and Ibreathe.
Antiseptic, sweat, and sage.
Chapter 54
Tristen
Being back in BarrenRidge, on the same street, and pulling up to the same house that I found Emmet in has my stomach in knots.
He’s alive, tucked into my side as Hatley pulls the rig over, and yet there’s still something ominous floating over me when we climb out together.
Emmett finds the hidden key beneath the faded welcome mat and lets us into the house.
Why doesn’t he have his own set?
The stench is the first thing that hits me.
The second is a wave of complete despair.
And that’s before I step inside and see the state of the house.
Piles and piles of …thingsline the walls, stacks of opened boxes and books ready to topple over at any moment. The carpet is even more worn than our house, a matted blacksomethinglining the walkways from the couch to the arch leading to the bathroom and the kitchen.
I don’t remember it being like this.
Take out containers and bottles cover the coffee table and spot the floor like a trail of crumbs all the way to the overflowing trashcan next to the filled sink.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath.
Something squishes beneath my boot, and I cringe.
Is this what he had to live in?
Bile burns the back of my throat, and I rush to find Emmett clearing clutter out of the way to make room for Charline’s gurney.
I don’t even know if there’s a bed to safely transfer her to.
“Emmett, you don’t have to stay here.”
He half-assed shrugs and reduces two piles of garbage to a single, taller one that looks like it could fall over with the slightest breeze.
“Her shit is here. This is what she knows.”
“But it’s—” I cut myself off when he straightens and tosses a bunch of magazines and envelopes onto the mess of a table.
It’s fucking dirty.
