“You were thinking about me?”
A rough laugh leaves him. No humor in it whatsoever.
“Aspen, I’ve been tryingnotto think about you since the day we met.”
He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Those oversized shirts you wear around the house? The way you take care of everybody but yourself?” His eyes drag slowly over my face. “You bringing me into your home was already dangerous enough.”
Dangerous.
The word settles low in my stomach. It’s exactly how I’ve been feeling. Like I’m on the edge of something that has the power to destroy me.
“And then today happened.” His expression sharpens. “You sending me away. Jeremiah cornering you. Walking into this house pissed off at myself and half out of my damn mind?—”
He exhales harshly.
“And then I walked into your room—a place where I couldn’t escape you—and realized I was too tired to keep running from it.”
Oh.
That lands like a confession dragged out of him against his will.
He steps closer. We’re both under the doorframe now. I should back up, but just like when I first walked in, I can’t convince my feet to move.
“Emmett.” I don’t know whether his name is a warning for him or me. “We can’t.”
“Can’t we? I’m not a patient anymore. I took the referral out of the system. And we both like each other.”
His arm lands on the doorframe overhead. My hand comes up, landing on his bare chest.
“It’s not a good idea.” But instead of pushing him away, I find my hand traveling over his hot skin until it’s wrapped around the back of his neck and my fingers are threaded into his wet strands.
He leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “It feels like a good idea to me. Even more now that you didn’t tell me I’m wrong.” There’s an unmistakable playfulness to him, and dammit, it only makes me want him more. “You want this too.”
I swallow hard. “Just because something feels good doesn’t make it good for you or make it right.”
He pulls back, and my hand falls away. The sharpness of his jaw is back, but he’s gentle as he brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“You’re leaving.”
“I am.” His eyes bore into me like a warning. “I don’t know how to stay and you deserve someone who knows how to give you more than pieces. But I’ll give you everything I have, while I can. That much I can promise.”
A man can’t say something like that and not have a girl second-guessing everything. As I turn his words over, looking for a reason to tell him yes, something tickles my brain. The danger. Knowing he’s leaving sparks an emptiness in my gut, and we haven’t even crossed that line.
“And what if I can’t give those pieces back when you leave?” I ask.
“I haven’t been whole in a long time. Anything you take from me is yours to keep. I’d rather walk this world a fraction of who I was before I met you than take them back.”
My ribs cinch tight, breath catching, like I swallowed something sharp.
How am I supposed to walk away from a promise like that? It’s the saddest and most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.
But at what cost? Both of us ending up missing pieces of ourselves. Because one thing is certain—Emmett’s been different since I met him.
“I need to think about it.”
“Considering what just happened in your bathroom, I think I can give you a minute to think.”
“Oh my god.” My hands come up to cover my face but Emmett traps them between his.
