Henry’s voice jolts me from the waterfall of thoughts rushing inside my mind. I nod along, trying to listen, but my chest starts to constrict. I’m so close to everything I’ve always wanted, but there’s an Emery-sized hole that won’t go away.
My brother nudges my shoulder and raises his right brow. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to hurl.”
“Yes,” I choke out, forcing a smile.
But the truth is, none of this will mean a damn thing if she isn’t there when the dust clears.
“Fuck,” I yell, losing my grip on the wrench. I let out a frustrated grunt and toss the wrench on my workbench before slumping over in my chair.
Working on my Mustang usually helps me clear my head when I’m working through an issue. I nearly reupholstered the entire car in the aftermath of my so-called affair last year, but tonight, it’s not helping.
Dark green eyes are haunting my mind, and even though I have three unread messages from their owner, I’m trying to keep my distance until I either come to terms with letting her go or grow some balls and tell her how I feel.
And then there is the whole Henry element. Once I tell her my dad isn’t co-signing anymore, there’s really no point to our arrangement. She’ll probably want to call it quits like any sane, normal human would.
I hear my phone buzz again and I groan into my hands. I know if I look at it, I’ll wuss out and answer her. She’s probably so irritated with me. I can just imagine her squeezing her tiny fists and stomping on the ground with those obnoxiously huge combat boots. She wears them with every outfit, but somehow she makes it work.
Shaking my head, I hoist up toward the propped-up car hood and grab another wrench. This time, I’m determined to let AC/DC drown out the outside world and let my hands work faster than my brain.
I’ve always enjoyed working on cars, even when I was little. From the time I was old enough to operate an impact, I was a goner. There was something freeing about building an engine from scratch. I liked being able to fix something with my bare hands. It made me feel useful in a world that had deemed me useless.
I almost have the bolt loosened when the side door to my garage flings open. I lose hold of the wrench again, but this time my hand slips completely and slices across something, cutting open my hand. I quickly grip the area before blood can drip out and turn to the hurricane that just blew in.
"You have some nerve, Knox Cooke,” Emery shouts, pointing a long finger accusingly at me. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day, and you’ve been ignoring me. You never—why the hell haven’t you been answering your texts?”
A smile curls up my lips, distracting me from the throbbing pain I’m clutching onto. Emery looks breathtaking as always, with her hair swept up into a messy bun and a long T-shirt that almost covers the tiny shorts peeking out from underneath. Her eyes are wild, and her chest is rising and falling in perfect rhythm with my own heartbeat.
“You got bangs,” I smile, noticing the way they fall out of the pile of hair on her head. “I like them.”
Emery’s face turns a light shade of pink, causing me to forget about the pain in my hand altogether. She drops her mean girl mask for two seconds before bouncing back into it. “God, you always do this. I asked why you’re not answering your texts?”
I grin wider. “When someone gives you a compliment, you’re obligated to say thank you.”
She narrows her brows and pushes her lips togetherbefore ending it with a grand finale of an Emery classic—the eye roll. “Fine, idiot. Thank you. Now answer the damn question.”
“You’re welcome.” I smirk, letting out a small wince when I move my hand.
Her eyes flicker to my injury. “What happened?” she asks, not hesitating to step forward and grab my hand. The motion sends goosebumps down my spine.
“I—um—I cut my hand on one of the bolts. It’s not deep. I just need a Band-Aid.”
“Let me see,” she asks, peeling back my blood-soaked hand. “You need to clean this before it gets infected. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“I’m fine, Bambi. Really. I?—”
“First aid kit, Knox,” Emery snaps. “Don’t fight me. You’re already at the top of my shit list, and I’m afraid you can’t go any higher.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” I smirk, but hiss when I bump the cut. “Fine. There’s a bathroom in the corner. It’s in the cabinet above the sink.”
She nods in triumph. “Okay, great. Follow me so I can clean out the cut first. I’m assuming you have towels in there, too?”
I nod and follow her without another word. I’m curious to see Emery's nurturing side. I truly didn’t think she had it in her.
It’s a tight squeeze into the small half bath, but we make it work. She grabs my shoulders and makes me lean up against the counter as she washes the blood out of my cut.
“I can do that,” I argue, trying to wiggle my hand out of hers. Typically, I’d eat this shit up, but being in a bathroom reminds me of the one time we… Well yeah. And the whole small space thing is not helping. It makes me never want to give her space again.
Emery firmly grips my wrist and threateningly raises hereyebrows before going back to work. “Why are you being such a baby? I thought guys loved the whole nurse thing.”
