“I like your tattoos,” I mumble into his pec and squeeze him tighter.
The grunt he lets out makes me loosen, even though I really don’t want to.
“Not so tight, baby. Bruised ribs.”
“That’s your own fault.”
His chuckle echoes through the ear I have pressed into him. “I’d do it all over again. Can I come in?”
Looking up at him without letting go, I rest my chin on his breastbone. “In a second. I’m not ready to move yet.”
The look in his eyes soften, making the brown seem lighter. Smoother. His brows less harsh, and the scar through the one less intimidating.
Should I have not said that?
“Me, either.”
The rest of the tension in my chest releases and I bury my nose in his earthy scent.
“I …”I missed you.
My throat goes thick, the admission sitting heavy on my tongue.
“You what?” he asks, the rumble of his voice tickling my nose.
“I—do you want some toast?”
His snicker fills something inside me that I didn’t know was empty and I lean back, putting just a smidge of distance between us.
“No offense, bubs, but unless you went to the store while I was gone, there is nothing here that I want to eat. I brought us some shit.”
My hands slide away when he folds to pick up a grocery sack and a duffle bag from the porch. His muscles flex with the movement as he slips the strap over his shoulder, then flashes me a smile.
He’s so fucking pretty.
Always smiling …
“I guess that’s okay,” I mutter with an eye roll and step into the house, his chuckle following after me.
I haven’t wanted to eat the shit here, either.
But Tristen is here and I’m finally … not alone.
Chapter 56
Tristen
At some point, I’mgonna need to eat something more than just toast with peanut butter but as I watch Emmett wolf his down like he hasn’t eaten in days, I can’t find it in me to care much.
Charline’s vitals are holding steady for someone fighting infection, and though she woke up long enough to look me in the eye, she’s been passed out the rest of the time.
I’m glad for both as Emmett glances at her with a swirling mix of hurt and hope that keeps my stomach in knots.
“Should we move her?” he asks after standing from his spot on the couch next to me.
It’s cleaner now than it was, most of the clutter and trash gone, and my chest aches for a whole different reason as Emmett grabs our plates and heads straight for the kitchen.
“No, she’s fine. The less jostling, the better.”
