Up close, the girl had claws. Push too hard, she had bite. It intrigued and infuriated him, and it was the hot blast against his skin as he approached.
“Amelia,” he greeted tepidly. “You’ll ride with me today.”
Her eyes darted to him, the electric shock of her name passing his lips perhaps or maybe the arrangements she had no say in. Without a word, she flounced down the steps to the circle drive below.
“She’s got some fire to her,”Mirabelle once said.
All Emory ever saw was ice. Amelia wouldn’t protest with passion and panic, only biting aloofness and willing estrangement.
Mirabelle frowned, apparently shattered it wasn’t roses between them, just a wasteland of salted earth that bore no understanding. Emory would happily call it a red zone and have that be that, but Liam pointed at him with a stark reminder.
“She’ll come around. When she does, you know what to do.”
Make her sing.Emory balked but bit his tongue.
The men divvied up. The ones staying behind ambled inside while the others hustled to their cars. Arms crossed, Amelia stood stiffly next to Emory’s car and eyed him warily as he approached. Every time he came near, she braced herself that way.
Emory didn’t invest in lost causes, so he’d stopped coming around, but their time apart only made things worse. Amelia couldn’t bear to be near him, and he couldn’t stomach the rejection.
“You don’t have to look so heartbroken,” he said and tried in earnest to mask his resentment.
There was no disguising it, though, as he tore open thepassenger door. She peered up at him, her eyes searching his face for something more. Emory understood well enough that he intrigued her, that she wanted to take him apart just to figure him out. She puzzled on what he just said, and her head went on its side as if she didn’t comprehend.
“You’re not what’s breaking my heart.”
“Well, you might be what’s breaking mine,” Emory replied, half a joke, and even laughed to prove the humor. Of all things, that made the difference.
Amelia uncrossed her arms, and her gaze flicked to his chest before meeting his eyes again.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said with surprising softness, a departure from her usual defiance.
For the moment, Emory could believe she meant it too. The tension dissolved in her shoulders, and she came closer with less affliction than before.
“It’s a long ride,” he said. “Plenty of time to tell me about your broken heart, and maybe I’ll tell you about mine.”
EIGHTEEN
EMORY
They rolled out along the highway, a pejorative for two dusty lanes with nothing to see and nowhere to go except Las Vegas. Emory glanced at Amelia in the passenger seat. Grief had imparted a haunting stillness in her. She wore it like armor and settled comfortably in the silence between them.
When she lost her mother, he said nothing about it because his words would’ve come out of order. Demands before apologies, upside down and inside out. She made his pulse rise and blood boil, so Emory withheld condolences lest he dish them out hot and jaded.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t once been knee-deep and sinking in the same devastation, though. He owed her something. Commiseration, at least.
“About your mom,” he said and shattered the silence, “I lost mine too. I was eight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amelia replied but declined his gaze.
“I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I just mean I know how hard it is.”
She looked over at him and even went to speak but must’ve thought the better of it. Emory waited. Nothing came, though, only the rising tide of frustration on his end and a vast sea of reticence on hers.
“Look,” he said forcefully, “this will go easier if you try, even a little, to trust me.”
Emory trained his eyes on the road, but in his periphery, Amelia crossed her arms and stared. What did he expect? Some ground, maybe more frigid resistance, but certainly not her honeyed voice firing back a piece of her mind.
“Thiswill go much easier ifyouunderstand that kidnapping people and forcing them to go on your little field trips doesn’t inspire trust.”
