It feels like we’re talking about more than his burn.
His palms press down the flank of his thigh, his pinky brushing my leg.
“Okay then.” I ignore the wobble in my knees at his slight touch and lift the dressing from his skin.
A tic in his jaw is the only indication that Emmet’s uncomfortable, but I don’t stop. Sometimes it’s better to work through the pain.
Knowing that, I still find myself swallowing down another apology he doesn’t want to hear.
“Almost there.”
He wets his lips, his piercing eyes giving me permission to do what’s needed. The bandage comes off as well as it can, and I wash the wound, hiding my grimace every time his breath catches.
Then, I switch my attention from the burn to the cut on his brow for a moment, letting the do it’s thing.
With my free hand, I cradle his jaw, his stubble scratching my palm, before tipping his chin down and smoothing a thin layer of ointment on the gash.
Silence settles over us as I move back to his shoulder, applying the ointment and covering it with a fresh dressing.
By the time I’m smoothing the last piece of tape over it, my muscles are strung tighter than a bow . . . as are his.
“That’s it.” I step back, my hands trembling. I hide it by cleaning up.
Space.
I need space and air. Maybe a cold shower, too.
Since when has caring for someone left me feeling strung out?
I check the clock on the stove. “Can you be ready in ten minutes?” I ask, snapping the kit closed.
He nods, grimacing when he stands.
“Are you sure—” I start, unable to help myself.
“I’d like to keep a sliver of dignity, if it’s okay with you.” He’s not as short with me this time, just tired.
I lift my hands in surrender, watching as he crosses the kitchen and slips out my front door. All I can do is let him go, though, or I’ll push him away and risk him screwing up his recovery.
But the thing is, I already care more than I should, and I can’t put my finger on why.
Since he held onto me in that helicopter like heneededme, I’ve felt this tether to him, like maybeIneed this too.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
ASPEN
Even having lived here my whole life, the nostalgia of walking down Summit Street hasn’t faded. I like knowing that if I stop into the General Store, Gerty will be scooping ice cream, and if I wander one block over I can get a pint of beer and a free therapy session with my girls at Jude’s, or dance my ass off at Tips Up.
There’s comfort in the expected.
After dropping Emmett on Summit Street to grab the essentials, I walk down the block toward the river.
Powderline Donuts isn’t as busy mid-week as it is during the weekends, but with so many tourists still in town, and its proximity to Timberline Peak Lodge, the matching bright pink tables are full when I spot the girls waiting in line.
I slide up to them with apologies already spilling out of me, but one look from Briar says she’s not buying a word of it.
