Sirens echo somewhere down the mountain.
I pull her against my chest.
“I’ve got you.”
Her arms lock around me.
“I know.”
Hours later, she’s sitting on my kitchen counter in one of my shirts while I wrap her wrist.
“You’re doing it too tight.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“You complain too much.”
“You kidnapped my wrist.”
I look up. “Bad choice of words.”
She winces. “Sorry.”
I finish the wrap. “Better?”
“Yes.”
I start to step away.
Her knees close around my hips.
I stop.
“Emily.”
“No.”
My hands settle automatically on her thighs.
“No what?”
“No walking away.”
“I’m getting you water.”
“I don’t want water.”
“You need water.”
“I need you to talk to me.”
I exhale. “Not tonight.”
“Tonight.” She’s learned all my worst habits.
“Why did you do that?”