His dart away.
“Please don’t. Just butterfly it.”
It’s such a contrast to the way Tristen was earlier that it’s hard to remember the fight even happened. That the conversation between us even occurred.
Almost feels like it never did.
If it weren’t for all the cuts, the purpling bruising under his eyes, I would believe it was nothing but my imagination.
But then he hisses again when Hatley pulls at the busted skin and secures it back together with a sticker.
“Less chance of a scar if you let me in there with a needle,” Hatley grumbles distractedly, and rips open another alcohol pad to dab at Tristen’s lip.
“Fuck you,” he snarls and slaps back the hand. “And stop mother henning me, man. I’m fucking good.”
Hatley snorts and presses the white pad down hard on Tristen’s lip, making him groan in pain.
It makes my queasy stomach roll.
“Asshole,” Hatley mutters and tosses the trash in Tristen’s lap. “Clean yourself up then. And come to bed when you’re done. We have a shift in twelve.”
Tristen smacks his lips and flips his friend a middle finger that Hatley doesn’t see because he’s already walking away.
I find myself watching Hatley’s back all over again. Wishing hewasn’tleaving me behind for the second time tonight.
And with each of his thunderous steps, so loud that I internally cringe, the air in the room gets heavier. Thicker.
Awkward.
“Bub.”
I jump, which makes Tristen curse. Lick his lips. Ball up the left-over packets and stained wipes I try not to think about from his lap in a fist.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers near soundlessly, and I risk a glance through my lashes.
“You shouldn’t hurt people unless they deserve it,” I whisper right back.
“He did, Em. I fucking swear he did.”
I shake my head. “Not at my expense. I’m not worth it.”
“Emmett,” he almost snaps. His brows furrow deep, and his fists clench tighter. “Youare.”
There’s another shake to my head when he leans closer, fingers at the loose fabric around my calf. The tear in the sweatpants expose the socks I have pulled up high, and I jerk back just before he can reach the top.
“It’s fine.”
“Did you come after the crash? Or … or me?”
I swallow hard. Because the truth of it is neither. I just froze. Until—
“Don’t make me sleep by myself,” Hatley calls from down the hallway.
Brown eyes bore into me. Waiting. Willing me to say it out loud, to tell him I didn’t run after him at first because fear got in my way, only to roll when Hatley calls again.
“Coming!” he calls over his shoulder and sighs. “I’ll grab you a new pair.” His fingers leave the fabric on my leg, digits I didn’t even realize we’re still so close to me, to my secrets, and stands. “Go get in bed.”
He leaves me standing here without waiting for confirmation and darts up the stairs.
