Page 51 of The Emma Special

James’s shoulders sank. What was he meant to do with that? “I— Emma⁠—”

“Just go.” Her gaze traveled from his shoes all the way up to his eyes. “You’ve… done enough.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. He was supposed to help, not hurt. He had wanted to help carry her load, not leave her with doubts.

“Emma.” He took one step toward her, and his phone rang.

Not now. He couldn’t answer a call when the bridge between Emma and him was going up in flames. He reached out to her, begging her to see him. “Please, let me help you inside.”

She took one small step and winced. A soft sob retched from her throat. “I⁠—”

“Please.” He extended his hand closer to her and prayed she would take it.

After a few deep breaths, she nodded, keeping her chin down.

James moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her back. After one hobbling step, he stopped. “Can I carry you?”

Her nod was immediate, and the assurance did nothing to calm the turmoil inside him. If she was allowing him to get this close when she wanted him to go away, what did that say about the intensity of her pain?

Gently, he slid an arm behind her knees and swept her into his arms. She barely weighed anything, and the realization that something had broken her, both mentally and physically, stabbed into his chest like a hot iron stake.

James carried her to the door where she reached for the unlocked knob and turned it. He was about to tell her it was unwise to leave her door unlocked, but that probably wouldn’t go over well. Inside, she pointed to the rust-red couch centered in the living room.

Once he’d lowered her onto the cushions, he forced his hands to release her. Glancing at her bent knee, he asked, “Can I get you some ice?”

“Please,” she whispered before pointing to a doorway on the far side of the room.

The kitchen was small but functional. It smelled of fresh lemons. Linoleum covered the floor, laminate covered the countertops, and stained wood cabinets lined the walls. He grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, returned to Emma’s side, and knelt beside the couch.

She accepted the ice pack from him without making eye contact. In fact, her attention was glued to the blanket she’d draped over her legs. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He trained his voice to carry none of the stress he felt. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. What did I do?”

Her shoulders swelled as she gathered air to let it all out, but his phone rang again in his pocket.

Emma tilted her head toward the ringing. “You’d better get that.”

“It’s not important.” Nothing else was important right now. He had to know things between Emma and himself were good.

The ringing stopped and immediately began again.

With a frustrated exhale, he pulled the phone out. His dad’s name was on the screen.

“I’m sorry. He never calls unless it’s⁠—”

“Important?” Emma interrupted.

“Yeah.” James raised the phone to his ear. “Hello.”

“Get to the office now. The Hamilton case is trashed.”

The Hamilton case? That was a guaranteed multi-million dollar verdict. How could it be trashed? “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’d better get to the office right this second before I burn this place to the ground.”