His fingers stop their trek across my open palm and flatten, pressing them together.
“I wish I was better, too,” he whispers to our hands.
Curling my fingers lightly around his feels like grabbing a lifeline and hanging on for dear life. It’s barely there and cutting off circulation, but goddamnit, it’s there.
Right there.
So close.
I can fuckingtaste it.
“I think people do change when they’re in love,” I say softly before flicking my gaze up to the swirling in his sweet eyes. “I have.”
Chapter 72
Tristen
Having Emmett back onmy couch, curled up and snoozing in my hoodie after a fresh shower he insisted on feels so damn normal that it’s making my eyes burn.
Turns out, he wasn’t kidding.
Nothing came home with us from his old house, his old life, and I don’t blame him.
The ability to leave all that shit behind felt good even to me.
Especially the little black case I made sure was on the kitchen counter before I walked out and got in the truck.
I’d almost turned around on the drive here, desperate to go back and get it, if only just to have it. But then Emmett squeezed my arm, and the urge fell away.
I can always get another.
Sucking back a breath, I settle into the couch beside him, keeping a few inches between us.
The TV is on mute. Fans blowing around the house.
It’s … quiet.
So quiet that my knee bounces and the idea of sitting here in silence makes my brain itch.
Dammit.
I drag my hands over my denim-clad thighs and glance at the clock just beneath the TV.
“Do you work tonight?” Emmett’s groggy tone pulls me back down, his heavy gaze landing on me. He’s just tired. Yet it feels like he canseethe things inside my head that he shouldn’t.
“No, I called in.”
He sighs and straightens, pulling his hood up over his head. “I’m fine.”
“I know, I know,” I rush out and force my lips up in a smile. “I just thought it would take longer to bring you home.”
He sighs again, thin fingers wrapping up the cuff of his hoodie—my hoodie.
“Can I … see her?”
“Uhh.” I clear my throat. “You mean the—”dammit why is this so hard?
“Yeah,” he says softly, saving me from asking whether or not he means the place they buried his mom. “Where can I find her?”
