I want to cry but instead, I spring into action, refusing to let the man who saved me at my most vulnerable endure this vitriol. I sprint back down the alleyway and turn to walk toward them once again, but this time I’m extraheavy on my feet.

I want them to hear me coming.

“Emmett?” I shout as though I’m looking for him. I make a show of poking my head into the indoor arena even though I know he’s not in there. “Emmett? We need you on set!”

My heart pounds in my ears. Because I don’t know the extent of this man’s abusive tendencies, and I’ve just waltzed right into his rage fit. I turn and head for the office.

Emmett hasn’t moved. He’s frozen in place. Jaw clenched, body tense like he’s made of stone. His dad has stepped away from him, but I can tell he’s still seething.

I brush past the discomfort, dedicated to pretending I’m oblivious to what I’ve just walked in on. “Oh, good.” I smile briefly. “There you are.”

Neither man says anything, so I keep it going by pulling out my phone and swiping open my email. I click on one that tells me IKEA is having a summer sale and pretend it’s an important work memo.

“Okay, so we need to go over a few things in this email before we film today. Do you have a few minutes? Really got to get these points covered fast or Richard will kill me.” I point down at a daybed frame called Fyresdal as though it’s a vital note from my boss.

His dad snorts and shoots him a mocking glare before turning and breezing past me without another word.

I lift my gaze to Emmett, but he won’t meet my eyes. It appears as though he’s found something exceptionally interesting on the floor in the corner.

So, I give him space. I follow Carl’s path quietly and check the barn alleyway before closing the door. My fingers flip the small lock on the door handle, the click echoing in the silent office. If someone needs to get in here, they can fucking wait.

I make my way back over to Emmett.

Emmett who looks like a beaten dog and is breaking my fucking heart.

“Hey,” I venture, wanting to comfort him but also recognizing that he looks like an elastic band pulled too tight right now. Tense and ready to snap.

“Just tell me what Richard’s email says.”

A ragged inhale lifts my shoulders, then I let out a rough breath. “I lied. There’s no email.”

He finally tilts his head in a way that allows his eyes to meet mine. Crystal blue and full of so much pain. He’s trying to look exasperated, but all I see is a broken boy, covering for years and years of hurt feelings.

It draws me closer. My hands visibly shake as I reach for him and cup each of his elbows. I get no response. But he doesn’t tell me to stop, so I move closer, my feet bracketing his as my hands slip up and around his neck.

Then, I hug him.

I hug him hard and with intention. I don’t know what to say to him, but I’m hoping my touch says everything I wish I could.

Several seconds pass, and he still doesn’t move. It freaks me out. He feels completely unresponsive. Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to touch him—after all, this is pretty sappy for the two of us.

So I fall back on something that has historically worked for us.

Humor.

I turn my head, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear as I whisper in a deadly tone, “Do you want me to kill him?”

A rough chuckle lurches from his lips, and—finally—he hugs me back. Strong arms encircle my rib cage as he crushes me to him with a level of desperation I didn’t expect.

It feels less like he wants me, and more like he needs me.

We’ve touched each other before, but not like this. My entire body sighs in relief at the sensation of his arms wrapping around me. I exhale and give in to instinct, pressing a firm kiss to his neck before hugging him tighter.

I don’t know how long we stand here, holding each other. Breathing each other in. He smells of cedar and laundry soap. To me, it’s heaven. And I revel in him holding me.

“Jules?” he finally whispers after several quiet minutes.

“Yeah?”

“We’re supposed to be staying away from each other. What are we doing here?”

I roll my forehead across his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. “Fuck if I know.”

His arms flex around me in response. And then, “Me neither. But I know I like doing it with you.”

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 31

Emmett

TONIGHT I’M SUPPOSED to eliminate another dater.

But first I get to endure the distinct pleasure of meeting all four women’s families, or friends—whoever they opted to introduce to me. Which is a fucking joke, because why would any of them want to introduce their family to me after my disinterest throughout this entire process.

Richard has arranged for all this to occur at the local rodeo this weekend, and I swear it’s to inflict maximum embarrassment. Now that someone has leaked the show, he’ll film anywhere with zero regard for my preferences.

I’ll also be doing a bull-riding demo. It wouldn’t be fair for me to compete at this level now. My days of tossing my hat in the ring on the local circuit are far gone, but it’ll make for good TV, or whatever the fuck Dick Wad always says.

I’m sitting at a picnic table, waiting to meet Catherine’s mom and best friend while the crew looks on. When they approach, I stand politely and shake their hands.

If I had to pick a favorite of the girls, it would be Catherine. She’s quirky, interesting, and kind. She’s not the hair-pulling type, either—for that, she gets extra respect.

We sit at the table with a pitcher of iced tea, a red and white umbrella fluttering lightly above us. The cameras surround us, but after this many weeks I’ve grown used to them.

We mostly chat about Catherine’s favorite topics, murder and kidnapping, along with a little light stalking. All in a day’s work when you’re pretending to date someone who’s obsessed with true crime.

Much like me, her mother and her friend seem charmed by her interests, and I find myself relaxing and enjoying their company. The crew must notice because Teri shoots me a double thumbs-up and a big grin, like she’s thrilled about whatever footage they’re getting.

I wonder if it ever leaves them feeling empty, that they’re forever producing the perfect scene.

I get a few questions about my intentions with Catherine, and it’s awkward as fuck. I can’t tell them the truth, that I’m just not interested in her that way.

So I settle on explaining how I’m still getting to know Catherine. I tell them I have a huge amount of respect for her and love how her brain works. I say that I admire the way she conducts herself on the show. It’s not overly flowery, and it’s definitely not some sort of declaration of love, but it is true, which is more than I can say for my next few family meetings.

The crew moves me to the next spot where I meet Jada’s family. I disassociate for most of the conversation and resort to saying things like, “It’s been a pleasure getting to know your daughter. And I can’t wait to see where this takes us.”

I keep it vague and distant, which is exactly how I feel about the whole thing.

When I move on to Akira’s family, I feel like a walking, talking zombie that tries to tell them the things they want to hear, that smiles at the right times, and laughs at their lame jokes.

I’m sure her dad picks up on it. His distaste for me is clear in every facial expression, but I don’t have the grit to rally. By this point in the day, my brain has spiraled into thinking about the only person who seems to hold my attention these days—Julia Silva.

She consumes me. It’s not fair to any of these women or their families. But what am I supposed to do?