“Easy now, sweetheart. Nothin’s wrong. We’re here.”
“Oh.” Her fingers flutter along the edge of the bruise on her forehead. “Shit. That isn’t going to be pretty in the morning.”
“I reckon you ain’t gonna be on camera for a few days. At least, I hope not.” If I could, I’d get her out of town, but I’m not even sure she’ll let me stay with her tonight. I can’t push her for more.
Get over yourself, Jas. You’re in no shape to protect her. Not anymore.
“I have to finish the story,” she whispers. “But…not tomorrow. Need to sleep...” Her words are starting to slur, and she rests her head against the seat back.
“Fuckin’ hell, Emi. You should have stayed at the hospital. What if that concussion turns into a brain bleed? I’m sleepin’ on your couch tonight.”
“No, you’re not.” She jerks up, her eyes unfocused, those big brown saucers rimmed with red. “You can help me out of this damn truck. Hell, I’ll even let you walk me to my door. But that’s it.”
“We’ll see about that,” I mutter as I round the hood and pull open her door. She’s already got one foot on the running board. With a concussion. In those heels. I need to touch her more than I need to breathe, and I mold my hands to her waist to ease her the rest of the way down.
Emi sways for a moment, giving me the perfect excuse to hold on. “Careful there. You ain’t steady. Lean against the truck while I get your kale.”
Her anger chills the air between us. Or maybe that’s the late October night. She starts for the building’s front door on her own, but before she can make it more than three steps, I’m at her side with her canvas grocery bag slung over my shoulder.
The building isn’t too shabby. She punches in a six-digit code to enter the lobby, and there’s a security guard sitting at the desk in front of the elevators. “Good evening, Ms. Marsh. You having a good night?” the man asks.
“I’m fine, Benny. Thanks for asking.” Emi jabs the button for the elevator while the guard goes back to watching something on the monitor in front of him.
I scan the lobby. There’s an electronic keypad on the stairwell door, and before we get onto the elevator, I catch sight of a pistol strapped to Benny’s hip. The doors don’t close until Emi enters another six-digit code on the security panel.
“Benny any good at his job?” I ask when we start to rise.
Emi braces a hand against the mirrored wall, fighting to keep her swollen lids at half mast. “If I hadn’t said ‘thanks for asking,’ he would have called the police.”
“You ain’t serious…?”
She gives me the side eye. Fuck. She is.
“That’s brilliant. He do that with all the residents?” I’m impressed, and that doesn’t happen often.
“Yeah.” She’s slurring her words again, and I wrap my arm around her waist to keep her upright. “Jasper…I can manage?—”
“You probably can. But if my mama found out I let you, she’d slap the taste outta my mouth. I’m well north of forty, but that wouldn’t stop her from tryin’.”
The elevator doors open on the sixth floor, revealing plush blue carpet lining the halls, and fancy etched glass lights every ten feet. I’m half expecting classical music to start pouring from hidden speakers any second.
Emi stops in front of Unit 608 and digs around in her purse until she comes up with her keys. But she misses the lock twice.
“Let me, sweetheart,” I say as I ease the chain from her hand.
“I’m not an invalid.” After a second, she sighs. “Shit. I’m sorry. This…isn’t me.”
I pull her against me again and press a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re exhausted. Probably in a fair bit of pain too, I reckon. Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”
“I can find my own damn bed,” she slurs.
“Sure. Just consider me a backup plan.” The apartment is every bit as swanky as the lobby and the hall. Ain’t much personal about it, though. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the glittering lights of downtown. Flipping a switch on the wall, I get my first good look at the living room. Three chairs, a coffee table, TV, and a deep purple area rug over the hardwood floor.
No couch. Guess I’m sleepin’ on the floor tonight, because I sure as shit ain’t leaving her alone. We lurch down the hall together, my hip on fire, and her eyes mostly closed.
Her bedroom is pristine. Not a single sock on the floor or wrinkle in her duvet.
“Sit down, sweetheart.” She sinks onto the mattress, and as soon as I drop to one knee to remove her shoes, she tries to bat my hands away. “Emi, stop. I’m gonna take care of you tonight. In the mornin’, you can kick me out and you never have to see me again.”
