Page 82 of My Heart Before You

“You could never hurt me.” His words came out hoarse.

Emilie stepped back, toeing off her sneakers as he settled himself into bed. She crossed to the other side and tucked up under his left arm, hesitantly putting her hand against his side. He collected her hand and settled it where it belonged, deeply exhaling at the feeling of her palm over his heart.

He probably shouldn’t have felt so much satisfaction lying fully clothed in bed with Emilie after being beat up by a speeding bicycle, but it hummed in his body nonetheless. When the morphine kicked in, it hit him harder than he expected, and he felt himself doze in and out of consciousness. Every time he came back, Emilie grabbed at his senses first: her honeysuckle scent, the softness of the back of her hand under his fingertips, her quiet and peaceful breathing.

When he returned again, he felt the absence of her warmth along his side. Turning his head, his vision swam a little.Next time half a dose, he thought. Emilie was sitting up against the headboard, not touching him. Her thumb was tracing each of her other four fingers in turn—pinky, ring, middle, index—again and again.

“Hey,” he said.

Her brow remained furrowed, but her fingers gently pushed through the hair on the left side of his scalp. His eyes closed at the touch and when she repeated the action, an incapacitating peace ran through his arms and legs.

“You should stay.” He forced his eyes open against the medically induced drowsiness.

She was gazing at the triple canvas panoramic photo of the Appalachian Mountains on the opposite wall. “I will for a while.” Her voice sounded distant, but everything was a little fuzzy right now.

“No, you should stay. Here. I know not all the time would make sense, but maybe between shifts.”

The hand in his hair froze, and he felt the energy shift immediately.

“I can’t.”

Stupid morphine. Immediately, he remembered they hadn’t even gone on a proper dinner date without his friends there. He was pushing things again becausehewas ready, instead of waiting for her to be.

“That’s okay. I understand.”

She shifted on the bed and pulled her hand from his head. “I need to go.”

Colin pushed up and almost immediately regretted that action as a painful groan left his mouth. “Emilie, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m just . . .” He blinked. “The morphine is hitting me hard, and I’m losing my filter. Don’t leave.”

She got up and stood at the end of the bed. “It’ll only get worse. It’ll be too hard.”

The narcotics flushing through his system made him groggy and inaccurate. When he pushed the covers back from the bed, he missed the first time. “What? You’re not making sense. Please sit down and talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

A new pain pierced through his body. “Why?”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She moved briskly to the side of his bed, crouching to pick up her shoes. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He swung his legs over the edge, but in an instant her hands firmly pressed down on his shoulders, preventing him from standing.

Blinking up, the look in her eyes shattered what was unbroken in his body. They were haunted with sadness, fear, and ringed with something else he couldn’t place. “Please, Colin. Let me go.”

Before he could answer, she covered his mouth with hers in the most exquisite and excruciating kiss of his life. When his eyelids finally opened, her shoes were in one hand and the other swiped at her cheek before she sprinted out of the room. He registered the slam of his front door before he could stand enough to stumble into the kitchen.

I’ll never catch her like this.

It took two attempts to pull up her contact on his phone once he found it plugged into the charger on his nightstand. He collapsed on the edge of his bed when the call went immediately to voicemail. Hanging up, he called again, this time waiting to the end of the message, her happy voice punching him in the stomach as it played in his ear.

“Emilie.” His breath heaved. “Please. I’m sorry. You told me and I didn’t listen and I’m so sorry. I promise I can do slow. I can back everything up. Just . . . just come back. Please come back and let’s talk about this.” He almost added that he loved her, but then remembered that was what got him into this mess in the first place.

His hand nervously ran over his head, his pinky snagging in his blood-matted hair. She probably went home, but what if she didn’t? How could he find her?

He was pulling up the Uber app when a knock sounded on the front door.

“Thank God,” escaped his lips.

After half stumbling, half walking to the front door, he opened it quickly. Kate—not Emilie—stood on the other side in a streamlined navy pant suit. As she took him in, her friendly grin immediately fell as her eyes widened.

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