“You better be gone when I get back, Emmy. Or that ass is finally mine.”
My stomach rolls at the threat, bile burning the back of my throat, and I step back.I want it to end. I want him gone.
“You can have it. All of it.” That has the man stopping mid step into his truck, one worn-down boot still on the dirt-caked pavement. And I just … never want to be on the same grounds as him ever again. Not the same house, or property, ortown. I never want to see his face or feel his dark presence hovering over me. “The house, the money, anything left. It’s yours as long as you leave me alone.”
“Emmett, no. You don’t have to do that,” Tristen murmurs, his softened gaze burrowing into me.
The way that Eric’s eyes flip to his back when he turns to me with concern weighing down his brows, has my skin crawling.
“I don’t wanna stay here. I don’t wanna see him again. Please don’t make me—”
“Okay, okay. We’ll figure it out, bubs.”
My eyes burn when he pinches my sleeve quickly, letting me know he’s with me without touching me, and I swallow hard.
It’s not until I state it again, and the slam of the truck door echoes up the neglected lawn, that he finally leaves and the tiniest hint of relief settles in my stomach.
Chapter 71
Tristen
“I miss her,” hemumbles quietly to the rickety table between us, his toast untouched and pushed away.
My too-dry eyes burn wickedly, the exhaustion and worry melding into one giant ball of fucking anxiety ready to burst in my chest.
“I’m sorry, bubbles.”
“Does everyone change when they love someone?”
The question catches me so off guard that my lungs freeze up, and I rock back in my chair.
Does he know?
Hope blooms mistakenly, weaving its way through my ribs as I lean into the table. I swallow it back as best I can, preparing an answer in my head. None of it feels right to say, especially when he finally meets my gaze, his wide and innocent and so damnhaunted.
I think I hate that the most about all of this. How he carries it all right there in the window, easily seen if anyone would justlook.
I see you, baby. I see you.
“Bubbles, I …” My throat clogs with emotion, hand frozen in the air above where his sits on the table. I want to hold it. To touch his arm. To grab his face and kiss him.
Anything. Something.
But he doesn’t need that, or want it, from me.
What if I need it from him?
My heart stutters in my chest and I drop my arm to the table, settling on hope that he’ll reach for me if he wants to.
I selfishly want him to.
Need him to.
It’s been so goddamn long since I felt like Ihad him. Like he wasn’t going to float away at the first chance he got.
It’s unfair.
So unbelievably unfair.
