“We were going to track you down,” Atlas adds. “Wanted to thank you.” His voice catches. “But you were discharged before we could.”
“Lucky for us, you decided to hang around,” Harlowe says.
“This is fun,” Emmett deadpans, “but I’m still convalescing, and Aspen is probably dying to tell me to rest.”
I really am. The shadows under his eyes have shadows, and his color is off.
“He’s allergic to small talk,” I say. “Well . . . any talking, really.”
A smirk flickers across his mouth before he can hide it. Then Emmett clears his throat, blue orbs landing on mine and sticking as he lifts his brows in question.
Oh, he wants me to save him.
Cute.
Jokes on him, though; I’m thrilled he’s getting to know Atlas. Maybe they’ll hit it off because, even though he doesn’t want it, people on his side are exactly what he needs.
Atlas holds out his phone. “We should exchange numbers. If you’re going to be around for a while, I’ll take you out for a drink.”
“You’re going to get sick of only having me to talk to sooner or later,” I add.
Emmett hesitates then taps his phone to Atlas’s.
“This feels like a setup,” he mutters.
“That’s because it is,” I tell him honestly. “But you could do worse.”
His gaze lifts to mine, searching.
I hold it for a second before I step in, reaching for one of the bags at his feet.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
EMMETT
“I’ll help you get everything upstairs.” Her tone is flat as she pulls in the driveway, and it reeks of defeat. I don’t know what happened between when we left the house together and now, but I don’t like it.
“Maybe get you some lunch,” she adds.
For the first time, her offer of help sounds like an obligation.
I like that even less.
Before I can ask her what’s going on, she slips out of the SUV. A few of the bags are slung over her arm by the time I join her, and when I think she’s going to stop, she just keeps adding more.
“There’s no trophy for taking them all at once.”
My weak attempt to break through her shield falls flat. She doesn’t banter with me like she loves to do, or give me shit. She just stares back blankly before shaking her head and starting up the stairs with overflowing arms.
When I catch up, she’s already at the landing, shifting the load to shove the door open with her shoulder. Once inside, she dumps everything on the island in a heap before her hands land on either side of the pile and her head drops between her shoulders.
“I’m pretty oblivious to other peoples’ feelings, so I’m going to need you to clue me in to what’s going on.”
She shakes me off and shoves the carton of milk into the fridge harder than necessary.
