CHAPTER 42 (2)

I survey the bowl of marshmallows and box of Rice Krispies cereal someone must’ve brought, because I’m pretty sure they weren’t in the hotel cupboards. “This, though—this is a priority.” She smiles. “Here, lemme help.” I take the bowl and stick the marshmallows and butter in the microwave. When I grab a spatula and turn, I bump into her, jostling my arm. I hiss out a breath of pain. “Shit. I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You should sit down.” “I can microwave marshmallows.” “Evidently you can’t, bro,” Jacob calls. Every muscle in my torso tightens, but I grab my coffee and sink into the chair across from Jacob. I watch Emily make the squares as Jacob catches me up on stuff from school. “This is a nice place,” he says after a few minutes. “Zeke’s taking care of you.” Emily comes over and sets a plate of squares on the table. “He knows you’re going to recover. There are options for reconstruction. The doctor said so himself, and physio—” “Physio won’t do shit when what’s in my hand is sliced in two,” I state. Emily and Jacob are quiet while I take a bite of a square. It tastes familiar, but everything else has changed. “You’re still a musician, love.” Emily says. “This doesn’t change that. Zeke believes in you.” “He gets a paycheck when people bring in money, which I don’t see me doing. He has a tour leaving in ten days, and if I can’t play, there’s no way the invite still stands.” My voice has a new edge. The anger’s not directed at Emily, but she stiffens. Jacob looks between us before rising from his seat. “I’ll leave you guys to it. One for the road?” I don’t say anything as Jacob takes a treat and leaves. Once the door’s closed, I shove out of the chair and say what we’re both thinking. “I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole.” I drop onto the couch, and Emily shifts onto the arm, tucking her feet up in front of her as she watches me. “It’s understandable,” she says softly. “It’s not. None of this is understandable.” A wave of panic rises up, and I fight to keep it down. It’s a losing battle. I’ve never felt out of control. No one has ever made me out of control. They can take things from me—home, family. I’ll survive. But this… I’ve always managed myself. I’m the one I can count on. But now I’m broken. Someone took me from me. The worst part is I never saw it coming. I was prepared to lose everything, had felt that before between walking away from Emily and then having my dad die in front of me and losing my contract after. But how can you prepare for the possibility of losing yourself? The question is still spinning in my mind when Emily shifts over me, careful not to bump my bandaged arm. Her weight settles across my thighs, and suddenly my attention’s on her, not my fucked-up life, not my fucked-up hand. It’s impossible to think of anything but her floral scent and the way she feels pressing against my groin. My bad arm’s off to the side as if I can forget it by keeping it out of sight. With my good hand, I brush the hair back from her earnest face, tuck it behind her ear. No matter what’s going on, I have this girl. It feels like a small mercy, but I know it’s more than that. It’s everything. “Don’t give up on me, love.” I murmur. Her eyes turn liquid. “Never. My love.” Her lips find my neck, and I shift, giving her better access. Maybe if I pretend hard enough to be normal, it’ll happen. “Back when we were kids,” I start, “I used to check you out. I didn’t admit it to myself. I’d tell myself I was curious what you’d come up with next, but I really wanted to stare at those lips. I was obsessed.” “Can I tell you a secret?” she murmurs, kissing down my chest. “They’re obsessed with you, too.” My heart kicks. So does something else, because she’s squirming in my lap. There’s no hiding how hard I’m getting under my sweatpants. “You’re gonna kill me,” I murmur at the ceiling as my head falls back on the couch. Cool air flows around my groin, and before I know it, a smooth hand fists my cock. “You seem healthy to me,” she replies. My tortured groan ends on a laugh. “Emily—” “Relax. You’re supposed to be healing.” She works the pants down my hips, and I lift to help as my cock springs out. The first stroke of her hand from tip to hilt has me hissing out a breath. Fuck, yeah. The second has my ass tightening, my hips thrusting up into her grip. Sharp pangs of pleasure jolt up my spine, pulling my balls tight. The blood flows through my veins, and I’m throbbing. My arm throbs too. It’s been days since we’ve done this, and I haven’t forgotten the need I have for her. She’s eager and open. She meets my gaze with a look of wickedness, silently telling me exactly what she’s going to do next. Yes. This beautiful girl with a heart the size of the world is going to make me see stars. But I can’t kick the throbbing down the left side of my body. Her tongue finds the head of my cock, licking the bead at the end, and that’s what I need to forget everything. I want to flip her over and drive into her until I’m so deep she’ll never get me out. I want to spread her wide and eat her until the only word she knows is my name. I can’t. So, I let her fuck me. “Harder,” I grunt. She resists, licking down the underside of my dick while giving me a little squeeze at the bottom. “You’re saying you don’t like this?” she teases before pulling my head into her mouth and sucking slowly. I groan. “Emily.” There’s arousal in my voice, but the frustration has her brows pulling together. “Quit dicking around.” With a moment’s hesitation, she moves back down my body and there’s no dicking around this time. She fists me with both hands and takes me as far down as she can. Yes. This is what I need. I need her. I need this moment. Everything’s okay in this moment. I catch her hair in my hand, twist it behind her head to keep it out of her way—and to tug on her, to pretend I’m dragging her toward the inevitable conclusion of this when she’s the one dragging me. A piece falls back in her face, and I capture it, tugging it into the makeshift ponytail. Doing that jerks the necklace out from under her shirt. The rose and the ring. My heart twists. I’m so close to coming, and the blood rushes in my veins as thoughts rush to the surface of my mind. They’re incongruent, but they feel true. I wish she’d never kept that rose. I wish I’d put that ring on her finger. I wish I hadn’t stayed with my dad in the hospital and bailed on my first contract. I wish I’d made us take a cab home. I wish I’d never let her talk me into believing I could be more than I am. When I come, she takes everything—my release and my anger and my devastation. As I sag back into the cushions, Emily settles herself on my thighs once again. She kisses me, and I taste my own salt mixed with her. “How does it feel now?” she asks, pulling back. It sounds like a casual question, but it’s not. She needs to make me whole again. It might as well be scrawled on her cheek, words she wrote herself. “Better,” I lie. It’s the one gift I can give her, and we’ve lost enough this week.