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It could’ve been minutes or an hour when she finally said, “If you just drive me back to the hotel, I’ll get my stuff and see if I can find somewhere else to stay.”
Leaning back until I could see her face—and damn, her red eyes and tear-stained face squeezed my heart—I asked, “Why the fuck would you want to do that? Yes, I’m told I snore sometimes. But you can just toss a pillow at me, and I should shut up.”
“Y-you still want to share your room with me?”
Unable to resist, I brushed the messy hair from her face, wiped away her tears with my thumb, and then cupped her cheek. I fucking hated how much she was suffering right now.
I couldn’t solve all her problems, but I could ease her mind on this one. “Of course I want you to share my room. We’re friends now, right? And friends don’t abandon friends when they’re hurting.”
Emmy searched my eyes, and fuck, friends didn’t seem the right word. Because despite every reason I shouldn’t, I wanted to kiss her right now and help her forget her worries.
What the hell?Where had that thought come from?
Before I could panic, she moved away and retrieved her uneaten sub sandwich. “You don’t have to pretend, West. I’m a big girl and just want the truth.”
I blinked. “The truth?”
"Yes, stop being nice to me. If you want to run, go ahead. I understand.”
Like hell I’d be running anywhere.
I stood and moved until she had to look at me. “You want to hear the truth, Emilia? Then here it is: you’re as much a murderer as I am.”
“Now you’re not making any sense.”
I leaned closer. “I am, by your logic. Think about it—maybe if I’d tried harder, or pushed Andrea’s parents to do more, or even fucking moved cities to get away from her toxic friends, maybe my wife would still be alive.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same thing at all. You tried to help her, and she didn’t want it.”
“Just like it was the drunk who got behind the wheel and sealed your parents’ fate, not you. You were a child, doing what all tired children do. Not only that, you were their second child. Any parent should be able to handle a cranky kid after so many years. No, Emmy. Even if you’d been asleep, I doubt it would’ve made a difference.”
Standing, she raised her voice. “You don’t know that! I was irritating and whining and throwing a fit.”
“Was it your dad or your mom who kept answering you?”
For a second, she paused. Then her voice was quieter when she replied, “My mom.”
“And your dad was driving, right?” She bobbed her head. “Just like I thought. With two parents, it makes sense for one to handle the cranky kid and the other to focus on the road.”
“But I was loud and probably screaming and being annoying! I was a distraction.”
I gripped her upper arms. “It’s the drunk driver who’s to blame, Emmy, not you. And even if you don’t believe it, that’s what I believe. So, no, I’m not going to kick you out of my room and suddenly hate you.” And even though it was childish, I added, “You can’t make me.”
She growled in frustration. “Why are you being so stubborn? Is it because you’re too nice to tell me to my face that I killed them? Too nice to tell me how you can’t stand to be around me, let alone believe you allowed me to watch your kids? And so you’re just pretending everything is fine until we get back to the hotel, and then you can ditch me? I can take a lot, West, but don’t you dare fucking lie to me. Just leave and I’ll find my own way back.”
Emmy tried to turn away, but I didn’t release her. I lowered my face closer to hers, trying not to notice her hot breath against my lips. “I’m being fucking honest, Emilia Mendoza. Hate is the farthest thing I feel for you right now. And I’m not. Fucking. Lying.”
We breathed heavily, staring at each other, and I wondered what else I’d have to say for her to believe me.
This frustrating and stubborn and unbelievably strong woman was so damn complicated. And I sensed that if I couldn’t convince her I was telling her the truth—that I didn’t believe she was at fault—I’d lose something I wasn’t even sure I had.
She whispered, “I wish I could believe you.”
Frustration raged inside me. I leaned an inch closer, and her breathing picked up. An idea hit, but it was wrong on so many levels.
And yet, it seemed right at the same time. It would certainly convince her I was far from hating her.
So I said fuck it and kissed her.
