Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Of course I do,” she said with determination in her eyes. “I’m your mother.”
“Let your mother fuss,” Emerson said as he pushed through the door, and he was like a burst of sunshine with his red hair, blue eyes, and smattering of freckles dotting his cheeks, which he’d always hated. “It’s what she does best.”
“Emerson,” she said in a singsong voice as he kicked out of his shoes, then pecked her on the cheek.
“She is pretty darn good at it,” Rhys agreed, meeting both of their smiles.
“And now you’ll have Emerson fussing over you too.”
His stomach tightened with anticipation. Pretty soon he’d be heading across the street to stay with Emerson and the kids, and he had warring emotions about it—half pride, half shame—which Emerson would no doubt tell him was ridiculous.
But hell, Emerson already had enough on his plate. Did he really need to take care of Rhys too? However, they’d all insisted Rhys needed to be looked after for more hours than not for the next couple of weeks. If he tried getting out of it, his mom would no doubt try to concoct a way to stay longer, and short of quitting her job… He knew he’d be putting her in an uncomfortable position, and he wouldn’t do that.
He also hoped that now that he’d been released, Emerson would finally relax. Lately, he seemed the most uptight of them all, and Rhys was dying to know what was on his mind. Maybe it was just the usual stuff, which was plenty, but Rhys couldn’t help feeling there was something more to it. His memory was shit at the moment, so he hoped he wasn’t missing too many relevant details.
“Get comfortable while I make us lunch,” his mom said, reaching for the bread on the counter.
“Mom, you don’t have to—”
“Hush. It’ll be my last time for a while.”
Sadness washed over him as he conceded.
“Want a soda?” Emerson asked, heading toward the fridge.
“No, thanks,” Rhys replied, feeling out of sorts.
He’d avoided taking a pain med—he wanted to stay awake for the last hours with his mom—but he was aching all over and knew he’d need to soon.
He watched as Emerson clumsily opened cupboards, rooting around for a glass like he was preoccupied and couldn’t remember where they were located. It made his stomach tilt uneasily.
Emerson set his soda down on the coffee table, then adjusted the afghan over Rhys’s legs.
“I don’t know who’s being more of a mother hen.”
“Shut it,” Emerson replied, finally cracking a smile and sitting his ass down.
Christ, this was going to be interesting. Maybe they’d kill each other before this was all over.
8
Emerson
Why was he being so awkward around Rhys?
He obviously had some inkling. When he looked at Rhys, he could remember clear as day how it felt to kiss him, to hear his quiet moan as their bodies aligned… Fuck.
Whereas when Rhys looked at him, that same bald honesty and trust shined back, polished by shared history and a long friendship. His gut told him that Rhys had freaked that night, realizing it wasn’t at all what he wanted, and that was why he’d made such a quick exit. And the idea of Rhys suddenly remembering everything with the same outcome really made him nauseous.
But what if, after they’d seen each other again, everything magically clicked back into place? Or maybe it would’ve been Emerson deciding they should only be friends—doubtful, because that night was everything—but still possible.
He would never freaking know, and wasn’t life just shitty in that regard? Fuck, he hated the feeling of having crap happen and not having any say in any of it. He wanted to rage and cry and scream, but he didn’t want to worry Rhys, which is why he did his best to school his expression, attempting to conceal all these frustrating thoughts.
He knew how much Rhys hated feeling helpless, so he needed to snap out of it and stop thinking about how much things had changed—how he’d changed—because Rhys was none the wiser and might never be.
It was only a kiss, for fuck’s sake, but Emerson knew he would experience few like it in his life.
“How do you like my new couch?” Rhys asked with a smirk.
“Huh? It’s not— Oh, I see, funny guy. It’s new to you.” He arched a brow, grateful that they could joke about it. “You got it on sale and then made me haul it inside with you instead of paying the delivery charge.”
Rhys shrugged. “Sounds about right.”
Emerson rolled his eyes just as he caught the tightness in Rhys’s jaw. It was similar to moments of frustration he’d witnessed in the hospital. He must’ve been a ball of contradictions. But now Emerson wondered if he felt uprooted because he had to leave the security of his own house. Thankfully they were only across the street. And when Emerson noted the stairs to the second floor where the bathroom and three bedrooms were located, he knew it was the right decision. Managing those steps would be murder on Rhys right now, especially alone.