“He’s a sarcastic asshole, but he’s good people.”
Another nod, but this time it’s accompanied by a small sip.
“He might have a guy with him.”
That one gets a twitch to Emmett’s brow, then a tip of his chin. “I have met people before.”
I can’t help the grin that slides on my face.
I go to pat his shoulder but stop mid-motion and withdraw back to my side of the cab. A repeat of what happened when I woke him up is not what I’m after. “Just making sure you’re also good people. I’d hate to have brought you all the way out here only to turn around.”
I’m mostly joking because there’s no way I’d just dump him somewhere but the way his lips thin almost makes me take it back.
But then he’s undoing the seatbelt and climbing out of the truck with nothing but the cup in his hand. It’s the same way he left his hospital room. No phone, no extra clothes, no loved ones crowding his side. Nothing. Just the baggy long-sleeved shirt hanging from his frame, some sweats that looked like they didn’t belong to him, and the cup I gave him.
The lack of support sits raw in my chest.
No one came for him.
How anyone, family or friends, couldn’t see the pain etched into his face and run to his side. How they couldn’t hear thesuffering hinging on his words. The torment darkening the depths of his pretty eyes.
Bobbie had even confirmed my suspicions were right.
He didn’t have a single visitor other than her, if she counts. No calls from a job or school looking for someone they missed.
Just Emmett.
My stomach twists.
“Hey! Wait for me,” I call out and jab at my own belt, the button taking two tries with my shaking fingers before I’m freed. Go-bag trailing behind me, I bound up the few steps that creak beneath my weight and jam the key into the lock, a forced smile stretching my lips. “You’re in a hurry.”
Emmett’s eyes track my movements, the weight of it drawing my attention to him as I twist the key. Push back the front door with a window in it. Hold the storm door back with my ass. Swipe out an arm in invitation into the house.
It’s then that those honey eyes of his slide to meet mine and hold steady.
We’re at a stalemate. A standoff only broken up by his subtle blinks.
And I am … jittery.
Self-conscious.
Will he like it?
C’mon, Ten, it’s not like you gave him an option.
I even texted Hatley before we left the hospital saying I was bringing home a friend and didn’t bother to wait for his response.
He’s gonna give me a look when I see him next,thatlook that tells me I probably fucked up, but he’ll support me anyway.
Considering how often his room is filled withguests, having an extra one for a few days won’t kill him. At least until I figure out what to do with Emmett.
It seemed like going home was the last thing he wanted.
“After you,” I mutter when what feels like minutes have passed but is probably only a few seconds, staring into the depth swimming beneath long dark lashes. It’s another contradiction on him with the blond hair falling into them, his brows pinched and just as dark.
Like his outside is trying to keep the balance of things while shit on the inside is in turmoil.
There’s something familiar about the way he’s looking at me, watching me, that takes me back. Reminds me of simpler times and playgrounds at recess. And I let it take me, claim me, pull me into the memory of mulch crunching beneath my beat-up shoes and a brilliant sunlight blinding me.
