Page 92 of Tackle

Oz carefully set Emerson on her feet, leaning her against the bathroom counter. “Don’t move.” He stepped to the shower, turning it on to let the water run hot.

He went straight back to Emerson. His girl looked wiped, sagged against the counter, barely able to keep her eyes open. She’d had a long, busy day serving customers and an even longer night where emotions had run high.

He peeled her sweater over her head, baring her from the waist up—he hadn’t allowed Rich to go digging through her lingerie drawer when he’d stopped to pick up their clothes—then he knelt to tackle the brace. He ripped at the Velcro and removed it, tossing it on the vanity. Peeling down the leggings she wore, he noticed the swelling around her knee looked a little better but the bruise was more pronounced. It made his stomach hurt to see it, to know the kind of pain she was in.

He lightly traced the edges of it. “It kills me that you got hurt.”

She brushed her fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to glory in the sensation before standing up to cradle her face in his hands. “Don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. If that door, with that much force, had smacked you in the head instead of your knee…”

“But it didn’t,” she reassured, her hand coming up to stroke along his jaw.

He leaned his forehead to hers. “You’re my whole world.”

Her arms wrapped around him. “You’re mine too.”

He could hold her forever, but knew he needed to get her off her leg or the swelling would worsen again. Quickly shedding his clothes, he picked her up and stepped into the shower, leaving the door open to give them more room.

“Be careful. I don’t want you slipping,” he said, setting her down. “Keep hold of me.”

“I’m more worried about you slipping when we get out. The floor’s getting all wet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put a towel down.”

He took care shampooing her hair and soaping her body but made quick work of his own. Then he dried her, wrapped a towel around his waist, and carried her to bed.

Covers creating a cocoon, they lay facing each other, Emerson looking lost in thought.

“You doing okay?” he asked, cupping the side of her face, running a thumb over her cheek.

She blinked, her eyes coming back into focus. “Yeah. Just thinking about Britney. Now that my anger has cooled, I feel bad that the position she was in made her feel as if she had no other option but to do what she did.”

Oz had zero fucks to give to Britney. She’d had other options, she just chose the easy one. But his girl had a big heart. Of course, she’d feel sorry for the woman, even after nearly getting killed. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

She gave him a ghost of a smile. “Someone’s been watching Psych again.”

Smirking, he admitted, “I might have binged the third season while you were at work.”

Her eyes drifted closed. “It seems like such a waste,” she mumbled almost incoherently.

Oz’s thumb traced along the shell of her ear. “Go to sleep, beautiful.”

Her breaths evened and he knew she’d finally drifted off. He, on the other hand, even though bone tired, couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, unpleasant images of Emerson, fire surrounding her, filled his head. So he lay there and watched her sleep.

Watched her chest rise and fall.

Thinking how it all could’ve gone wrong.

He must have dozed because when he startled awake, he noticed the room had darkened to a gloom. Emerson hadn’t moved, still curled on her side facing him.

Gently, he brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and his chest swelled with an emotion so strong, it was almost impossible to breathe. He couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. Every morning of every day, he wanted to wake up next to her, just like they were, now and forever more.

He traced her lips with his thumb, staring into her beautiful blue eyes. “Marry me.”

Her eyes glistened as she drew back to look at him and he repeated his plea, “Marry me.”

A slow smile curved her lips. “Yeah?”

He knew nothing could be more right. “Yeah.”

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