I only nod. “Yeah. It’s okay. I miss them, of course. Every single day. And you know how it is. Every birthday. Every achievement. Every Christmas. But I’ve gotten used to it.”
That’s a blatant lie.
They all hurt. All those days. All those benchmarks. They’re all excruciating. And that keeps me running. It’s easier to breeze past those big life moments than to sit with the fact that they’ll never be exactly what I wish they would be.
Julia doesn’t respond to that, but I can feel her gaze on me. I wonder if she can tell—she probably knows. After all, she’s lost a parent too. But rather than squirming in my own discomfort, I keep going. Plucking and talking. Multitasking and spilling my guts.
“That must have been a lot to navigate for a ten-year-old.”
I shrug. I don’t remember. Actually I do, but I don’t like to think about it.
“My dad got me on sheep, and then on broncs, and then on bulls. If it bucked, I rode it. And I was good at it. Plus, I loved it, and for all his shortcomings, he taught me well in many ways, so it wasn’t all bad. Anyway, when he took me out to the rodeo, he registered me as Emmett Bush. Carl Bush’s son. And that’s how I became known on the circuit. Never on a passport, never on a driver’s license, never in my head. I still do a double take when someone calls me Emmett Bush.”
My heart pounds as the words tumble out of me. There’s a part of me that wants to stop. But there’s a bigger part of me that feels relieved by sharing this. God knows I’d never lay these insights on Oma and Opa.
“It’s just never been me. Emmett Bush is a coping mechanism. Emmett Brandt, well, that’s who I’ll always be. I have one season left in the WBRF, and then I’ll probably never go by Emmett Bush again.”
I finally chance a glance up at her, and I might be imagining it, but her eyes look glassier than before. Glassier than they even did when she came limping down the road covered in blood and prickles. Glassier than they did the morning she burst out onto my cabin’s balcony and accused me of god knows what.
There’s no pity in her eyes. No judgment. Instead, it looks a little like understanding.
I don’t know what to make of the way she’s looking at me.
All I know is that I like it.
OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 14
Julia
OUR EYES LOCK for several beats. The only sound in the cottage is the soft tick of the freestanding grandfather clock in the living room, like a metronome hypnotizing us both.
His parents. The familiarity of that heartache splinters across my chest. But both of them? It’s incomprehensible. It’s too much for anyone to handle, let alone a little boy.
Now he’s an adult running from anything remotely sentimental. And in an instant, another piece of Emmett’s puzzle falls into place.
The punch of understanding causes me to blink, and it breaks the spell. His attention returns to tending to the backs of my legs. Gentle and intuitive. It isn’t lost on me that he picked up on my discomfort.
It’s charming. Rather than trying to erase it, he joined me in it. Vulnerable. Uncomfortable.
I don’t know what to say about everything he just shared with me. It feels precious somehow, like I need to cherish this side of him, handle it gently. I don’t want to spook him. I—
“Fuck!” I bark out as he plucks what feels like a full jousting lance from the back of my leg.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers from behind me, rubbing his index finger softly over my vertebrae. “Almost done. I got you.”
The pad of his digit is rough, calloused. But his touch is warm. Tender.
“It’s fine.” My voice comes out raspy, though I don’t mean for it to. They’re tiny prickles. They should not hurt this bad, but after so many the entire area is on fire.
He audibly swallows before asking, “I’m going to lift your shorts now. Is that okay?”
I nod, not wanting to do the weird raspy voice thing around him again.
“Jules.” I still. He’s never called me that before. “I’m going to need you to say it. I don’t want to—”
I cave and look back over my shoulder at Emmett. Complicated, infuriating, gentle Emmett. Our gazes clash, and I’m a tad irritated this situation is remotely intimate. And yet… here I am getting lost in this cocky motherfucker’s baby blues, all because he’s being wildly respectful and a whole lot more vulnerable than I knew he was capable of.
“Yes, it’s fine.”
Emmett nods before dropping his gaze to my waist. Taking zero liberties, deft fingers carefully roll the thin fabric of my jogging shorts, making as little contact with my skin as humanly possible. He pushes the fabric high, but it doesn’t feel lewd. I’m showing as much skin as I would in a bathing suit, and I’m wearing a thong, which means he doesn’t even get a glimpse of my underwear.
This time, I give up on the ugly counter and watch Emmett from over my shoulder. It does seem like we’ve moved past being embarrassed around each other.
He’s laser-focused, the tip of his tongue pressed between his shapely lips as he plucks out the offending pieces of cactus. His breath comes out firm and even against my bare back. Each spine stings as he removes it, but a blooming warmth takes each one’s place.
My relief grows with every moment spent under Emmett’s skillful hands.
“Other side,” he mumbles, his touch dusting over my rib cage as he lets one side of my shorts fall while edging up the other.
Within minutes he’s done. He steps back, eyes raking over my ass like he’s Picasso and I’m a painting. “There. Looks good. I think I got them all.”
I sigh and drop my head to the counter in relief. “Thank fuck and thank you.”
“Literally any time,” he quips, voice notably rough.
A tired giggle tumbles from my lips as I push myself upright and shake my head. He’s propped himself against the opposite counter, crossed his arms, and pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek. His brows—a few shades darker than his hair—are drawn low on his forehead, which only adds to the brash smolder.
He’s doing that whole James Dean pose thing.
But I know enough about him now to realize he uses his sexuality as a shield. And after everything he just shared, I won’t let him.
My ass is burning with the fire of a thousand suns, but I ignore it and stick my hand out like we’ve just signed a contract. “Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way… it’s nice to meet you, Emmett Brandt.”
Cool, calm, cocky—Emmett is usually all those things. But as he stares down at my reddened and slightly puffy hand, he appears uncertain.
I step closer to him, bobbing my hand as I do. “Shake it.”
His brows knit together. “But we’ve already met.”
“Have we? I kind of think we knew of each other and got tossed together a few times, and now we’re functioning under a lot of different pretenses. You told me about your childhood, and I showed you my ass. We’re basically best friends now. Consider this symbolic.”
He tilts his head, his expression telling me that he thinks I’m being ridiculous.
“Come on. Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite.”
He stares at my hand before reaching out and sliding his large palm over mine. His grip is firm, his warm skin slightly calloused.
“Biting isn’t something that would scare me off, Baby Silva. But thank you for the reassurance.”
When I finally look up from the sight of my hand enveloped by his, he’s smirking at me. Far too amused by his own joke.
His tongue pops into the side of his mouth again, and he looks away while shifting and tugging at his belt.
Which draws my gaze down.
Down to where the front of his jeans has grown uncomfortably tight.
