“My forehead may as well be glass with how easily you see through me.”
“If it makes you feel better, ninety percent of the time I’ve got no clue what you’re thinking.”
“You see more than anyone else ever has.”
“Because some of the time you let me.”
“Hmm.” I look over at her and find her staring at me with a look that says duh. “That’s new.”
Her head tips back and laughter spills out. “Do you want me to meet your grandma?”
That’s a loaded question but one with a simple answer.
Yes, without a doubt. I want her to know all of me, and that includes meeting my grandmother. The thought of the conversation when I need to have makes me want to puke. There’s so much in the past she doesn’t know yet, but I think it’s time.
“She raised me.” I stare out over the overlook, throat tight. “I’m protective of her because, for a long time, she was all I had left.”
“She’s not all you have left anymore,” Aspen says, vulnerability shining in her eyes.
“There are only a few things in my life I truly cherish. She’s one and you are the other.The two of you in the same room is monumental.”
“Okay. Then I want to meet her too.”
“But, Aspen, I’m fucking terrified. She might not know who I am.” My jaw tightens. “I don’t know how she’ll react.” My grip tightens around hers. “And there’s still more you need to know about Rory—about that day.”
Aspen just looks at me with all the patience in the world, like hearing there’s more doesn’t scare her nearly as much as it scares me.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “Then tell me when you’re ready.”
The trust in her voice scrapes against every ugly thing I still carry.
“I will,” I swear, meaning it.
Saying it out loud scrapes something raw inside me. Because no matter how many times it happens, I never stop hoping this visit will be different.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “We’ll keep the visit simple. No expectations.”
I nod, but the pressure building in my chest doesn’t ease.
Nothing about this is simple.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
ASPEN
Beside me, Emmett drags a hand over the back of his neck and stares out over the overlook like he’s trying to pull himself back together after handing me more pieces of himself.
“Em,” I say softly, maneuvering my body as close as I can in the cramped cab. Whoever designed Jeeps clearly didn’t account for comfort when crawling across the center console.
But I need to be closer. Fuck, I’d crawl into his skin and take this pain from him if I could. I’d wear it all day, every day, just to give him a break.
The lump in my throat thickens as the need becomes tangible, and I find myself moving. Last time he didn’t shy away from contact. It seemed to soothe him, but I won’t assume this is the same.
“I’m coming over. If you don’t want that, tell me.”
His hand reaches out. That gesture is all I need. I’m in his lap, palms framing his face.
