Page 95 of There's No Us Without You
The smirk on Emerson’s face when I climb into the driver’s seat has me gripping the steering wheel so tight, my knuckles are white.
Staring straight ahead, I start the engine. “Don’t you say a goddamn word.”
TWENTY-SIX
Eden
Sunlight streamsin through the open window of my bedroom, warming my face. I lick my dry lips, but it does nothing because my mouth has also dried up, and the bitter taste left on my tongue from the beer I drank last night has me almost dry retching.
Did I get run over by a truck? Because it sure feels like it. My brain has a beat of its own, thumping against the inside of my skull.
I don’t regret one minute of hanging out with Tyler, though. It was the most fun I’ve had in... forever. I don’t remember a single time when I was with Kent that I enjoyed being at a party. His version of a party was hanging out with his friends while I sat alone in the corner somewhere. Or I wasn’t invited at all.
I groan as I roll over, pressing my cheek against the soft cotton sheets. They’re cool against my sweaty skin, and I breathe in the fading scents of Will and Emerson, closing my eyes again for a long moment.
As much as I hate my night terrors, I miss them. Not the night terrors themselves, but what they give me when I have them—strong arms holding me, and waking with my cheek pressed against a hard chest.
My stomach growls, letting me know I need to put something in it before it eats itself, so I reach over to grab my phone from the bedside table.
When the screen lights up, there’s a message from Tyler, so I open it up.
Tyler: Sorry about last night. Hope you didn’t get into too much trouble!
A smile creeps onto my lips as I type a message back.
Me: Worth every minute of the wrath of Will.
With Tyler, I don’t have to hide myself. He doesn’t tell me what to do either, not like Will and his overbearing bossiness.
What’s worse is you’d think I would hate him for it, except his form of control makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Not that I’m willing to admit that to him. I don’t want him to beanother thing I have to hide from. I’ve done enough of that in the last twenty-two years.
But his threat from last night plays on repeat inside my brain.
He’d do damage to me; I know that much. God, just grinding myself for a second on his thigh had me ready to explode. Imagine if he actually touched me.
I drop my phone onto the bed beside me and roll onto my back to stare at the ceiling while I fan my face.
Hopefully, Will has already left for the day, and I can avoid any further embarrassment—at least until I’ve had breakfast.
My stomach growls again—this time a little louder—so I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the bed while pulling my mess of hair into a bun. I change out of the clothes I was wearing from last night—ones Emerson left me in after helping me to my room—and throw on a pair of denim shorts and a black tank top.
The shorts are a little shorter than what I’m used to, and the top a little tighter. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but being around the boys, and not having my weight shoved down my throat on a daily basis has given me some confidence. I don’t hate my body quite as much as I used to.
I grab my phone again and shove it into the back pocket of my shorts as I head into the hallway. Will’s door is slightly ajar, which is not unusual, and I instinctively take a step in that direction.
If I recall correctly, not only did he threaten to do some very appealing things to me, but he was also pretty upset I was hanging out with Tyler. I can’t deal with his disappointment right now. It’s almost like being grounded by your parents for the first time.
So, instead of doing something I’ll likely regret, I close my door gently, then tiptoe down the hall towards the staircase.
Emerson’s bedroom door is closed, which means he’s already out for the day. Most of the time, if he’s home, the door is open.
I wish he was here to help me defend myself, though. When he helped me into bed last night, his curls had tickled my nose as he hovered over me to tuck me in. I remember wanting to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him on top of me, but once my eyes closed . . . that was it—I was dead to the world.
When I reach the top of the staircase, I grab the railing and slow my steps as I creep down. Although carpeted, there’s one stair where the floorboard always creaks under the weight of someone’s foot, so I overstep that one, using the railing as support, and hold my breath.
Why am I so worried about seeing Will? God, I’m twenty-two years old, for crying out loud.
Yet, I still can’t control my hormones.
