Judgment dripped from Emory’s questions that camewrapped in so much affront. Something gave way in Amelia. A softening of the resistance, a fissure in the barricade.
She slumped against the wall with a winded breath, as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. What kind of man was Emory Holt? She couldn’t say anymore.
Emory exhaled a quiet, scathing laugh. “Nothing? Alright. I’m going to bed.”
“My point still stands,” Liam said. “I told you to cool off a bit, not ice her out. You’ve made no effort to speak to her since she decked you.”
“She doesn’t trust me.”
“Why the hell should she? Try harder. You’re down here raising hell on her behalf. Look at you, tough guy. You’re up my ass about it. I would have helped her, by the way. Fuck you for thinking otherwise.”
“Fuck you too, old man.”
Their voices rose with dueling heat, so close to fisticuffs, but they called a truce with laughter, and the tempo of their banter turned on a dime. A patting sound followed, the telltale way men embraced—hard hugs with open palms whacking each other’s backs.
Emory muttered something Amelia couldn’t hear before his boots sounded up the stairs. She froze, suddenly aware how far she’d drifted down the hall, too far to make it back to bed.
Emory rounded the corner in quick strides but stopped with a shuffled step when he saw her there. His hair was combed back and gathered neatly at the nape of his neck. In a white t-shirt and jeans, he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and whiskey.
Amelia didn’t know what his business outings entailed, only that they mostly occurred after dark and kept him out late.
She remained rooted halfway down the hall in an oversized t-shirt that barely covered her ass. At least she was wearing underwear unlike their first encounter in that same hall.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained, though Emory hadn’t said anything and refused to come closer.
He stared at her impassively, but in the pale moonlight, Amelia swore he looked mildly relieved.
How convenient for him to have revealed his motivations indirectly. He could divulge how he felt in a confessional of his own making as she listened through the veil. Emory wasn’t a coward, though. He withheld deliberately.
That pebble smarted again, sharp and paining her more than she cared to admit.
“I imagine not,” Emory said flatly. He crossed his arms and chewed the inside of his cheek.
“It wasn’t the noise. I was already awake.”
“I know.” He glanced at her bedroom door cracked open and probably glimpsed the sheets in a tangle. “I hope you can get some rest.”
Emory resumed hurried strides and breezed past her on the way to his bedroom.
“Why didn’t you come?” Amelia demanded more than asked as he reached his door. She tried to banish the hurt from her voice but couldn’t match his stoic detachment.
Emory turned to her with a look of confusion, but his shoulders tensed as if steeling himself against accusations. For such a strong man, he couldn’t carry the weight of his guilt. He needed her to relieve him of it. Amelia refused.
“My mom died,” she said and inched toward him with a lump in her throat that she swallowed down. “I missed her funeral. My dad buried her alone and probably expects to bury me too. My entire world has crumbled, and you have nothing to say to me.”
Emory clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath that filled his chest. Amelia imagined he did that on purpose. He made a show of how he tamed his anger, and she was supposed to be grateful that he didn’t unleash it on her.
“You heard me down there,” he said, his voice raspy with fatigue. “You want me to repeat it?”
Amelia shook her head. They’d already been down that dead-end road. He could touch her but not console her; was generouswith his passion but austere in his affection. She knew his boundaries and wanted no part.
In prowling steps, Emory started down the hall to her. He approached with the confidence of a man who got what he wanted, always and without exception.
“Then what the fuck do you want from me? You want me to turn myself inside out for you? Down on my knees to tell you I’m sorry? To beg your forgiveness that your life turned out this way?”
Emory loomed over her, and Amelia craned her neck to meet his eyes.
“Yes,” she answered honestly and noticed the gun tucked into his waist band and the flecks of blood on his shirt.
