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)
“This time?” Emerson’s voice had taken on a higher pitch.
“Uh-huh. And it felt endless, and I was so frustrated and tried to reach for stuff, but there was nothing there.”
He started shivering again, and Emerson pulled him closer. “It sounds like one of those anxiety dreams where you feel out of control.”
“What do you mean?” he murmured, burying his nose into his skin, taking another deep whiff into his lungs.
Emerson drew back to look at him. “After my parents passed away, I would have these driving dreams where I’d crash into a wall. The car would spin and spin, and I wasn’t able to straighten the wheel or get the hell out no matter how hard I tried.”
Rhys inhaled sharply. “Fuck, I’m sorry that happened to you. Why didn’t you tell—”
“There was so much going on then, you know?” Emerson confessed in a tortured voice. “So much fucking stuff in my brain, I barely slept those first few weeks.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He pushed a stray lock of hair behind Emerson’s ear, muscle memory by now. When his fingers lingered near his temple, Emerson sighed. “And here I am, invading your life when you—”
“Are you kidding me?” Emerson’s voice was harsh and demanding, making Rhys wince. “Fuck, Rhys. You make me feel…” He trailed off as his rough breaths released against Rhys’s neck, making him shiver.
“Feel what?” Rhys whispered, almost afraid to ask.
The question hung heavily in the air, and Rhys couldn’t make rhyme or reason of why the answer seemed to matter so darned much.
Suddenly Emerson reached for Rhys’s hand and clutched it to his chest. “Like I’m not so alone. Like maybe the burden isn’t so great.”
Rhys’s breath hitched. “For real?”
His gaze was soft and searching. “Yeah, for real.”
“Fuck, I’d do anything, Em.” His trembling fingers curved against Emerson’s jaw. “Anything to lessen the heavy load.”
Emerson briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.”
“For what it’s worth, those kids adore you.” He twisted a lock of Emerson’s hair near his ear. “You’ve made their lives worth living.”
“I dunno. I sure fuck up a lot.” Emerson bit his lip. “Half the time I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“But you’re still here, and that’s exactly what they need.” He felt Emerson’s shoulders unwind a fraction. “I want to be here too—for all of you.”
“You already are,” Emerson murmured. “They adore you too. We all do.”
His heart tripped at the profound affection he heard in Emerson’s voice. Emerson didn’t pull away and neither did he, feeling so safe and comfortable in his arms. His best friend’s warm flesh, pattering heartbeat, and breaths against his neck made him feel alive. But also something deeper than that. Something he was too afraid to name because it was sure to propel him into a black void he might never recover from.
16
Emerson
Did you happen to catch the game last night? It was a text from Neil, asking about the Rockets championship that Emerson had caught earlier using the First Pitch app on the iPad.
Of course! It was a kickass win.
Playoffs, here we come.
Looking forward to it.
“What are you smiling about?” Rhys asked.
Emerson didn’t realize he’d been grinning at his screen. He hadn’t shared his excitement about the team win with any of them, knowing it would undoubtedly fall flat, and now he felt guilty, wondering if Rhys had always felt the same about his own interests.
They’d just returned from a walk where the clouds opened up and drenched them in buckets of water. They couldn’t run home because Rhys’s ribs would protest, so when Rhys made a game of stepping into as many puddles as he could find and the kids joined in, Emerson knew it was a lost cause.
Towels were passed around, their muddy clothes thrown in the washer, and they were currently cuddled under blankets on the couch. Audrey had selected the latest Marvel movie to try and distract Sam from the storm. From the first flash of lightning, he’d burrowed himself farther beneath Emerson’s arm. Something about lightning and thunder and dark clouds had always freaked him out.
“It’s just Neil, my friend from work, remember?” Emerson asked, and Rhys nodded. He’d spoken briefly about him in the past and about their shared interest in the minor leagues. “The Rockets won the championship game.”
“Now I know why your nose was buried in your device last night.” His tone was part smirk, part accusatory. Emerson had clicked the screen as soon as they’d returned from carrying to Rhys’s house some of the stuff he’d accumulated since coming to stay with them. It was also a good distraction from the fact that Rhys would be back at his own place tomorrow.
“Yeah,” Emerson replied sheepishly. “Which reminds me. Neil has tickets to an upcoming playoff game. You said once that I should—”
“Absolutely, you should. And I’ll stay with the kids while you have a fun night out,” Rhys replied, though he looked a bit shell-shocked. Most likely because Emerson rarely went out.