“I’ll take you, bubs.”
Those sweet eyes grow wide and glassy as I get my wobbly feet beneath me. “You’ve been?”
My throat goes thick, and I nod.
“Yeah. Me and Hatley went with Bobbie.”
Tears collect on his lashes but don’t fall down his cheeks. “Can he come, too?”
I swear, my heart stutters in my chest, a mix of pride and jealousy swirling around me.
“I’ll call him.”
Emmett nods and settles back into a ball on the couch before looking up at me innocently. “I want to wear the suit.”
Gutted, I nod again, my voice too small to trust, and I head back to the room where I stashed them.
It doesn’t take long after calling my best friend and inviting him to the cemetery with us that I emerge from the bedroom clad in stiff black and white fabric, Emmett’s suit draped over my arm.
“What do you think? Thrift threads looking good?”
He leans up slowly, drawing his hood back, and blinks at me.
Then blinks some more.
His silence makes me flush as I hold my arms out and do a little awkward spin, showing him what I hope is a decent fitting outfit.
By the time I make a full circle, he’s on his feet right in front of me. “You didn’t have to wear one, too.”
I flash a small smile, and he dives forward, crashing into my chest so hard it knocks me back a step and steals all the air from my lungs.
Thin arms circle my waist, the bones aching with how hard he squeezes me.
It takes me a full minute to snap back to Earth and return the embrace.
“I know,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of his head. “Just wanted to look like I belonged with you.”
The feel of his face rubbing against my chest makes the spot feel warm and my heart leaps but then he’s pulling back, pressing into my stomach as I untangle my arms from his shoulders.
It’s too short, the embrace, and I want so badly to pull him back against me.
Instead, I hold up the suit Bobbie found for him at the second-hand shop.
“It’s all you, bubbles.”
Has been.
Chapter 73
Emmett
I don’t know ifI’m ready for this.
My hair is combed back, and my hoodie is still in the truck, but that doesn’t stop me from constantly reaching for the hood I wish I could pull up over my head. Or yanking on the cuffs.
The material is stupidly stiff and smells like it sat in the back of a closet for too long. It’s uncomfortable as fuck.
I try to turn around, to run back to safety, but Tristen isright there. Eyes swimming, brows furrowed really low, a crease forming on his forehead.
