Of all the fucking days.
I force my smile to stay in place.
“Hey . . .” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up before I can leave.”
Emmett’s brows pull tight, and I reach for the hand that just brought me coffee, squeezing it.
“I’ll catch up with you later. Thanks for the coffee.”
My smile is tight and uncomfortable, same as the tension radiating off him—so thick it nearly chokes me.
“Aspen—” he starts
“It’s fine. I’ll be home soon.”
I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him . . . or myself.
“Thanks for this.” I lift the cup slightly. “Seriously.”
For a second, he doesn’t move, and my stomach dips, my gaze flicking from Emmett to Jeremiah against my will.
Emmett follows my shifting focus over his shoulder.
Every ounce of warmth drains out of him as his focus locks on Jeremiah.
Then Emmett steps toward him, and I tug on the hand still gripped in mine.
“Emmett.”
He doesn’t look at me.
“No.”
His chest rises sharply beneath the flannel. “You’re not going in there alone with him, Aspen.”
I step into his line of sight, forcing those stormy blue eyes back on me. “He’s a colleague.” My voice stays low and even. Professional. Controlled. “He’s consulting on my patient.”
His stare doesn’t soften.
Not even a little.
“I don’t trust him.”
Neither do I. But agreeing with Emmett right now would be like tossing gasoline on a fire.
His nostrils flare. The muscles in his neck go tight enough to make me wince, and for one terrifying second, I think he’s going to ignore me.
Instead, he drags a hand through his hair, spins on his heel, and stalks toward the exit, looking like he’s one bad decision away from putting his fist through a wall.
My stomach revolts, the coffee suddenly too bitter.
I hate that pushing him away feels this awful.
I hate even more that he looked . . . hurt.
But Emmett isn’t going to be here forever.
And this?
