Instead, I’m almost gleeful. And it reminds me of when I learned the German wordschadenfreudeduring a philosophy course at university. It describes the feeling of finding pleasure in someone else’s troubles. And I remember thinking,what aperfect wordbecause anyone who could look me in the eye and say they’ve never felt that way is a big, fat liar.
Which is why I don’t beat myself up as a nasty little voice inside of me murmurs “good.”
It’s just a littleschadenfreude. Perfectly natural.
“Oh my god,” she whimpers. “Emmett, can you help me?”
I could stomach the kiss, but the thought of watching him take care of her the way he took care of me sends hot, stabbing, undeniable jealousy through my gut.
Emmett looks at her, then at me, his head tilting ever so slightly. Richard follows his line of sight, looking perplexed when it leads tome.
And after what Ben told me about the last location manager’s demise I don’t want to be at the center of whatever this is. So, I turn away, pretending to take a call that is entirely made up.
I don’t want to get myself into trouble and do not want to watch any retakes either.
Desperate to get away, I walk down the path, silent phone pressed to my ear, away from the scene playing out on camera. My presence is no longer necessary in any professional capacity. I’m just hanging around on set for no reason other than trying to learn as much as possible.
The tree line swallows me, but not before I hear Emmett’s voice ring out through the evening air. “Actually, I’m really not good with blood.”
A loud groan follows, then an irritated-sounding “Cut!”
I don’t turn back. I continue down the mountain feeling strangely flayed open and satisfied all at once.
Because Emmett seemed to handle my bloody hands just fine.
CHAPTER 20
Emmett
IWAKE UP EARLYwith an unfamiliar weight pressing against my sternum.
Guilt.
Partially because kissing Evelyn felt all wrong, but also because Prickle Point holds so many memories for me. Wholesome family memories with people I love. Parker, Riley, Evan, Oma, and Opa.
If I close my eyes, I can even see flashes of having gone there with my mom and dad.
And now I’ve sullied it.
The discomfort of lying with that realization draws me out of bed before the sun is even up. It has me agitated and unsettled.
I make a pot of coffee and scroll social media, but I’m distracted. Not myself. Like a dog with fleas, I can’t stop itching, can’t get comfortable.
All I want is space and fresh air, to move my body. This unrest is what drives me to do risky things. It’s what gets me on a bull. It’s what sends me searching for my next conquest.
Neither of which is an option right now. So I pour my coffee into a thermos, slip into a pair of gym shorts, lace up my sneakers, and make my way out of the cottage. I pop my earbuds in to blast something distracting and head toward Prickle Point.
When I hit the trail, I decide I won’t just go for a simple hike. I make it hurt and run the incline just to challenge myself—just to clear my mind. My lungs burn as badly as my quads do. They are screaming by the time I near the top.
The air is still cool against my damp skin as I suck in deep breaths and slow to a walk, approaching the peak.
I wipe the back of my hand over my forehead and sigh. The view from here makes the pain worth it. And I’ve made it just in time to watch the sun come up over the horizon.
“Yeah. You’ve got this.” I puff the words out as I gaze at the sky. Giving myself a pat on the back for adding the memory of an intense cardio workout to Evelyn straddling my lap.
Genius.
Shaking my head, I take a sip of my coffee. It’s not refreshing, but I know I’ll need the caffeine boost to make it through today.
